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The Faux-Tropical Hootenanny Solitaire Pitcher - Deep South, Deep Cuts

It is, finally, the beginning of summer. For those like me, who are working indoors all day and fantasizing being outside in the sunlight where, in this particular dark fantasy, every single other person on the planet is sunbathing as we speak and recuperating in the light from the long barren winter of the utmost discontent: this is the alcohol beverage for you. I was taking a power hike after a shift, briskly walking to the beat of my current favorite album and enjoying the gradual greening of nature and the fact that after months, one could feel sweat trickling down one’s spine instead of the freezing Northern gale blowdrying it in an instant. I was being good after neglecting my health for many months out of sheer exhaustion and lack of energy for it.  Spiriting my soul in the luminosity that is Finnish early summer, I had a wonderful idea, and, for a ceremonial ending of my solitary selfcare date, walked straight into the liquor store. For those who are new to the blog: yes, the s
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Coy Apples: To the Girls I've Loved Before

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  This is not a blogpost of me coming out of the closet. In fact, I have been so far out of the closet for as long as I can remember I’m almost completely outside the house already, but I can also say that no, I am not really a lesbian.  Or am I? I know young women and gender-fluid persons and non-binary people today like to think outside the containment of a sexual orientation – or gender nomination - box, and this is all good – this is just me talking, and this is me being, specifically, a woman about it. Despite a life-long habit of crossdressing ever since early puberty, and adopting behavior patterns traditionally reserved for the man, I have never wanted to be treated or referred to as a man, nor have I ever entertained a single moment’s desire to transition into one.  Be that as it may, I feel often that what I consider discussions worth having are not the same discussions that are actually being had, and one such notion is that of the ever-evolving spectrum of sexual tastes and
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The Human Touch: Pretty Woman Grows Up

I recently wrote in passing about a romantic comedy from the very final days of the previous millennium, which reunited director Garry Marshall with his very successful old leads Julia Roberts and Richard Gere. Even more recently, I was watching the original flagship movie, Pretty Woman, and a lot of things sprang to mind. Like Focusing mainly on Vivian’s point of view, the story of Pretty Woman morphs early on into a stylized, granted, PG, version of An American Pillow Book for the lady into the intricacies of the art of subtle, understated seduction of a man. Like Instead of bringing the hammer down about such notions as the story’s implicit go-ahead for buying people and treating others like merchandise, and the shallow presentation of values and what is considered the good life, I think interpreting Pretty Woman as a story of the transformative power of the human touch and finding sexual freedom at any age, and through it, individual freedom, a clearer sense of identity, and contin
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The Eye. A Horror Story. Chapter Two: PULP FICTION

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How long do you reckon birds live, darling? There was an eclipse today, real pretty, Liz. It happened in late evening, just before sundown. The clearing behind the main house went all quiet, and the skies turned into orange and dark grey. The sun was partly covered behind whirls of thin clouds, so when the moon eclipsed it, it looked all soft, like soft ice dropping on your chin that time on the pier, and I’ll be damned if it weren’t orange and vanilla that day, too, darling.  Nothing moved, the moon covered the sun for maybe a few minutes, and during that time, the weirdest thing happened. I kept thinking of this book I read as a young boy, where this housekeeper lady offs her no-good husband during an eclipse. I kept watching the clearing and the sky looking all mystical and the tree line, the sky was so nice I tell you, but then, I spotted a deer on the clearing. It was hard to spot at first, since the eclipse seemed to drain the color from the landscape, and everything was this pal
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How the Literati Is Like a Beauty Pageant

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1. It’s who you know. 2. Dismissal has as often to do with fringe factors as not having the right face. 3. Pick a lane, but not any lane. Pick one that thrills the right sort of audience, deals with the right political agenda, and/or trending ideas, i.e. in writing, against the current, but not too much so to not make people uncomfortable about the wrong things; in pageantry, with the current, since those in power can snap you like a twig. 4. Ostracizing becomes a relay sport, kind of like in high school. NOTE: Major difference: pageantry; the panel will give more favorable reviews if bosom buddies and late-night calls to hotel rooms; literature; being too close to gatekeeping professionals leads automatically to near-invisibility and being left to own devices. 5. Devices are all one has. One has better learn how to use them.  6. If anybody is ever rude to you - sneeze muffin.* 7. The swimsuit round is the definitive round. A year ago, I applied, at my publisher’s request, and his enth
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These Boots Were Made for Beyoncé, Were They Not?

Some years ago, I wrote a piece on this blog on my secretly harbored love for country music in general, and Dolly Parton in particular.  After the release of Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter last Friday, I revisited what I had written so that I wouldn’t repeat myself any more than is my signature repetitive streak.  Beyoncé hails herself the Queen, and why not? For she is the most, the wildest while also the most controlled, and the most extravagant popular singer in the world today. When she releases new music, the world stops. As it did this time, too. She is the most important artist right now to voice her opinions on any given topic, because she is widely revered and extensively heard. You cannot ignore Beyoncé if you tried. She doesn’t have powerful friends in high places; she is the place of power incarnate, and what she has already done, her body of work, will not be equaled or ignored, ever. No one can erase her or take her place. She has mythologized her persona and her family, and wi
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