(And, what he did while laid up with a monster cold.)
And so it’s here, the New Year. Feh. See, right off I have the wrong attitude!
But seriously. Over the past two years, my association with wowOwow and all of you has given me more pleasure and incentive than I could have imagined, or have enjoyed for some years. If you knew Mr. wOw, his life and “career,” you’d say of his appearances on this website: “Oh, Mr. wOw, you’ve gotten yourself into another self-defeating pickle!” And there is some truth in that. But at this point I’ll take any pickle that comes my way.
For your New Year, I wish you health, most of all. Without that — forget it. Second, if not wealth, then reasonable, comforting financial security. Without that, you can’t maintain your health. Or quite a few other things. And I wish those same things for those you love.
As for me, I resolve what I have resolved every year for the past, well … more than I care to count. I want to work harder to lift myself out of depression, which still burdens me (and those around me.) I wish to be the person I once was: more active, more involved, less self-isolated, less tentative. I can still be the old me, but it doesn’t last long. I must remind myself that though I turn 58 next week, I am still a young man. (Certainly if I dropped dead at this computer, they’d say that: “Oh, so young!”)
In still being young (ish) there can be a second act in my life. Especially as I don’t think the curtain ever really came up on the first act. (My life as been like a long out of town show: constantly tweaked and never ready for Broadway.)
I resolve to see friends more often and not let those I friendships I cherish wither.
I resolve to be more thoughtful, less anxious, aware every day that life is short, and I am wasting time.
I resolve to be forceful and confident, should my job of many years end. I resolve not to recall the opportunities I passed up because of fear and insecurity, but to make new opportunities for myself.
I resolve to do all this for B., who suffers when I suffer and who has his own problems. I know, I know, the therapists always say “You have to do it for yourself.” Well, that’s fine. When I feel better about myself, maybe that will happen. At the moment, I want to do it for B. I have failed every recent year in this area, and I hope so much that I can get over myself, and move ahead. It’s hard to hurt the one you love. No, wait. It’s easy to hurt the one you love. It’s hard to accept that you do.
I’ll keep you posted on what must be baby steps at this point. Leaping is out of the question.
* * *
And now for something lighter. Mr. wOw has been suffering a hellish cold, which only now seems to be abating. My colds are pretty bad anyway (or have become so over the past decade, with terrible sinus issues), but this one totally knocked me flat. My vacation has been spent mostly in bed. Okay, that’s not too “light” — but it is only a cold. And it had the advantage of deepening my voice dramatically. I was kind of hoping when I stopping sneezing and coughing and feeling my face would explode from the sinus pain, that the manly voice would linger — forever. Alas, as always, when the cold goes, so goes the butch.
Feeling crappy, with a shorter attention span than usual, Mr. wOw channel-surfed relentlessly and occasionally lurched to my computer, to see what was happening.
I watched all of the Turner Classic Movies special on the Disney Studio transition from animation to live action movies. It brought back a flood of wonderful memories. I saw all those films — “Old Yeller,” “Swiss Family Robinson,” “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea,” “Pollyanna,” “The Parent Trap,” and so many more — and usually at drive-ins, which I thought were so exciting and glamorous! It was a big adventure, going to the drive-in. I was very happy that night.
Otherwise, everything was kind of an annoying blur, one way or another — lots and lots and lots of Sarah Palin on Fox: with Greta, with Hannity, with Greta, with O’Reilly, with Greta and more Greta. (Forget Oprah and Gayle – -Greta and Sarah are super-duper BFF’s.) To one of her Fox friends, she declared that liberal women could not be “Mama Grizzlies” and that women who called themselves feminists weren’t really, because they expected the government and men to take care of them. Her logic, if one may call it that, is confounding. So, anyway, liberal women are lousy mothers. Thought some of you ladies might like to know that.
Also on Fox: the pathetic Tucker Carslon declaring that Michael Vick should be “executed” for his dog-fighting crimes (for which Vick paid the price.) Tucker, though he is a floundering man desperate for attention, was probably serious. As for me, I think Vick did his time, and let the man get on with his life. People who commit murder on human beings are forgiven more easily than Vick. And I am saying this as somebody who weeps every time one of those ASPCA commercials come on about the abused animals — a new one has “Blondie, abandoned and dying of a broken heart.” At that point I’m sobbing. And no, I don’t Obama think should have weighed in on any aspect of it.
Then there was Aston Kutcher, talking about how he’s preparing for the End of Times. I did not realize he (and Demi, apparently) were so nutty. If he’s looking for signs of the Apocalypse, he need look no further than the fact he has a movie career.
Rupert Everett, playing the same old song about how he wishes he hadn’t come out — it ruined his career and he wouldn’t advise anybody else to come out. Honey, maybe you just weren’t leading man material. Too late now. Enough! He also dragged Jennifer Aniston into his dirge: she makes all these flops but still works all the time. So? Bitter man. (Richard Chamberlain, who waited many years to come out, said pretty much the same thing — he wouldn’t that recommend actors who wish to be romantic leads come out. But he’s not all bent out shape about it.)
Listen, Neil Patrick Harris seems to be doing pretty good. The times, they have ‘a changed. But as with everything, nothing changes quickly. Racism and misogyny anyone?
So nice to see that Judith Miller –”Bloody Judy” as I call her — has a new job aside from her commentating duties on Fox News. Miller, whose inaccurate New York Times stories led the push to war in Iraq, is writing for Newmax, a conservative magazine and online site. Good luck, Judy! Maybe you can incite another war and have the blood of thousands more young Americans on your hands.
I read The Butcher’s Tale, a true story about a youth who was murdered in a small German town in 1900, and how the Jews of the community were accused and persecuted for indulging in “ritual murder.” Author Helmut Walsh Smith offers an intense, horrifying glimpse of the seeds of Hitler’s “Final Solution” forty years later. If you want to understand, at least partially, “how could this happen,” read this book.
And, I also devoured Kitty Kelley’s The Royals, which is out in paperback. I missed this evisceration of the House of Windsor in hardcover. (I make no excuses. I would have read it even if I hadn’t been sick.) Read The Royals and you’ll want to rush to England, join any group that opposes the monarchy, and do your damndest to pull it down — they are the Borgias, minus the poisonings. This didn’t surprise me, since I’m no fan of royalty — except, that is, for the late drama queen Diana, who was so exquisitely, neurotically rebellious.
And, I confess, I did watch a lot of gory horror movies and cheesy murder and conspiracy mysteries on my 500 cable channels. Violent bad cinema can sometimes soothe. Or maybe it was just the effects of Nyquil.