“‘sob!’ ‘choke!’ It seemed like the perfect love I’d been searching for… until he carved that X on my forehead!!”
True Hippie Romance!
Happy National Feral Cats Day! (celebrate responsibly)
October 16 National Feral Cat Day!
The proud mama Scaredy Cat with her two kittens from her second litter — Thurston Owl the 3rd and Micro Scaredy.
The secret origin of Columbus Day
I got both sides of today’s holiday covered because I’m Indigenous on my mother’s side and Italian on my father’s side. . . I find it ironic that Columbus Day has become identified in some people’s minds with white colonialism. Because originally Columbus Day was intended as a celebration of Italian-Americans who at time were just starting to immigrate in large numbers to America and were considered borderline subhuman by large swaths of white Americans at the time, so the holiday was an attempt to upgrade their image and assimilate the Italians into the mainstream. Here’s the origin of Columbus Day:
President Benjamin Harrison first declared Columbus Day a one-time holiday in 1892, in response to 11 Italian immigrants who were lynched by an angry mob in New Orleans. Anti-Italian sentiments were rampant back then, and the holiday was intended to placate Italian-Americans, as well as promote cultural diversity (an ironic aspect considering how the holiday is perceived by some nowadays). Several different prominent Italian figures were considered to be named as the holiday’s figurehead — it was considered more of an Italian-American holiday in general, than a Columbus holiday specifically. And Columbus was chosen largely because it coincided with the 400-year anniversary of Columbus’s voyage. Oddly, contrary to popular opinion, Columbus never made it to the North American mainland, the closest he got was the Bahamas. . . Columbus Day didn’t finally become a federal holiday until 1971. And all the wops, guineas, dagos and greaseballs lived happily ever after. The End.
Happy Columbus Day. Or happy Indigenous People’s Day. Or happy nothing if you’re not in the mood of celebrating anything.
The Twisted Image underground newspaper internet archive — 1982 to 1986
Cats and their bodies
One thing I enjoy about cats. They seem to get a lot of pleasure from their bodies. And I get a vicarious pleasure from watching them. They’re constantly stretching and rubbing and licking themselves. And when they sharpen their claws by scratching against a tree they always seem to get off on it. And when they lie down, they’ll curl up in the most comfortable position as possible (though at some point they’ll usually re-arrange themselves, like they’re thinking: “Yes, but this position might even be MORE comfortable than the previous position!”). Then they purr and purr when you pet them.
Cats are just a naturally sensual creature, I guess. Myself, I have more of a love/hate relationship with my own body. It often seems to bring me more discomfort than comfort. Maybe that’s why I enjoy seeing cats mostly being so comfortable in their own skin. The cats’ body truly is a marvel of construction and design.
My great grandfather Frank Gearwar makes the headlines of the local newspaper
Since this is Indigenous Peoples Day, that got me thinking about my great grandfather, Frank Gearwar, who was a full-blooded Iroquois Indian.
Originally from Canada, Frank Gearwar somehow ended up in New Hampshire around the turn of the century (1890) where he lived in a small town on a 100 acre farm with his wife and their 9 sons and daughters. One of his sons was Clyde “Jim” Gearwar (everyone called him Jim because for some reason, Clyde didn’t sound Indian enough — go figure). Anyways, Jim would end up marrying this woman and they begat a daughter who turned out to be my mother, who later begat me, so that’s how I got connected to the whole story (but that’s another story). . .
But getting back to my great granddaddy Frank Gearwar, I don’t know too much about him, except, according to the local newspaper, he had a history of being “troublesome when intoxicated” (a fine family tradition that I continue to perpetuate to this very day). And according to the newspaper article, trouble did break out one afternoon at the Gearwar household on December 25, 1910 when the family was allegedly celebrating Christmas. Apparently, when ole Frank was on one of his notorious drunken binges he’d go berserk and terrorize the wife and kids, beating the living crap out of them and sometimes even throwing them out of the house to fend for themselves amidst the four-foot snow drifts that New Hampshire winters were renowned for. Anyways, on this particularly Christmas day, Frank was beating the crap out of Jim Gearwar, age 16 at the time, and he had him down on the floor and was choking and pummeling him. But Jim managed to reach out and grab one of Frank’s guns and fired off four shots, three of which connected — one grazed Frank’s ear, another lodged in his leg, and the third shot (that’s the one that did some damage) got him in the chest. At any rate, Jim was found to be not guilty of the shooting on the grounds of “self-defense,” even though Frank claimed he “never touched the boy.” But his mother backed up Jim’s story that he was in fact getting the shit kicked out of him.
Well sir, that sure screwed up that not-so-merry Christmas. And Jim figured he’d better get the hell out of town before his Daddy got out of the hospital because he knew ole Frank would pepper his sorry ass with buckshot the second he got his hands on one of his rifles. So his sister helped smuggle him across the border to Canada. And eventually Jim ended up down in Virginia where he enlisted in the U.S. Army. And at some point he ended up meeting my grandmother who was a mean old coot that we all called “Nana.” And eventually — thanks to Jim — I would end up incarnated on the planet earth where I would one day type out this Facebook post on my cellphone. So the whole story has a happy ending.
Happy Indigenous Peoples Day, everybody!!
My new glasses
I got new glasses today. After going a year without wearing glasses, I’m back to wearing glasses. And it’s like a Superman to Clark Kent kind of deal. It’s a superficial thing. And yet it can make a difference as to how you’re perceived. Or like that corny old line: “Guys don’t make passes/ at girls who wear glasses.” …. I like wearing glasses in a way because they cover up, or obscure, my eyes. So people can’t get a good look at me. And “the window to my soul” (as the damn poets put it). Plus you look more harmless if you’re wearing glasses. And, on a subliminal level, people actually think you’re smarter if you’re wearing glasses. Ha ha. Also, cops are less likely to give you a ticket if you’re wearing glasses (I can’t prove this with statistics but I believe it to be true).
This is just my little corner of the universe where I amuse myself.
Mini Scaredy — Queen of the Jungle!
“Life is basically crap”: an observation
I often have this thing in my head where I think: “Life is basically crap.”
And it is in a lot of ways. Case in point: I ended up a homeless bum sleeping in the dirt with a bunch of feral cats. Which is not how I envisioned my life ending up at age 67 (though the feral cats part, admittedly, is pretty cool).
And there are so many horrible painful tragedies we all experience during the course of our lives. It’s easy to get sour or bitter or cynical about the whole deal. And just conclude: “The whole thing was basically just a crock of shit.”
Still, in spite of it all, in spite of all the horrors and pain and suffering — as well as this nagging sense of unfulfillment and broken dreams — there was still something cool about the whole thing.
It was a very interesting movie. And something so mysterious about the whole thing.
The Twisted Image benefit concert at Ollie’s
This grainy photo popped up tonight. It doesn’t mean anything to you — which is fine. But it sparked memories from me.
It’s backstage at the first Twisted Image benefit concert. The first show I ever put on. 1982. At this lesbian bar, Ollie’s, on Telegraph around 50th St. This guy approached me — this sort of Bill Graham wannabe rock empresario — and said he wanted to put on a show on my behalf. So I went along with it.
In the photo that’s (from l to r) Wild Billy Wolff, Sparrky, me (Ace Backwords) and Buck Moon (allegedly the Twisted Image ad salesman). I got The Lewd to headline the show. They were one of the more popular San Francisco punk bands at the time — right up there with the Dead Kennedy’s as Mab punk rock headliners. But the day before the show I got a phone call from the lead singer of The Lewd — J. Sats Beret — informing me that the band had broken up and they wouldn’t be playing the show. Which fucked things up. Because I had been promoting them as the headliner of the show. (I wonder whatever happened to The Lewd — they had this chick on the bass — Olga De Vulga — who dressed up in S&M leather outfits and they had one good album “American Wino” before they disappeared).
Aside from The Lewd, the would-be promoter who had put the show together had booked 7 other rock bands — none of whom could draw flies. The only bands I remember was the B-Team, who were pretty good but really couldn’t draw a crowd. And Berkeley legend Bailey and his band — I remember he introduced his band as “erotic politicians” — which was a good line except he stole it from Jim Morrison and the Doors. So it was one of those nights.
Adding to the debacle was the fact that Iggy Pop was playing that night right down the street at the Keystone Berkeley. And that drew the punk rock audience that we were counting on to show up at our show, to go to that show instead. So we ended up with only like 10 paying customers (who were probably lesbians who thought they were having a good time at a lesbian bar on a Friday night only to see all these male punk rock bands that nobody had heard of — so they didn’t like the show either).
So the whole show was a disaster. And the guy that put on the show ended up losing hundreds of dollars. And that was the last I ever heard of him.
But I had a good time. And that’s all that counts in the end, I guess.
Ace Backwords 