the rix mix

Yesterday, Willie Nelson debuted his version of Ned Sublette's gay cowboy song, "Cowboys Are Secretly, Frequently (Fond of Each Other)." Says Willie, "The song's been in the closet for 20 years. The timing's right for it to come out." Perhaps a tad late: Willie's manager came out two years ago. But excellent timing for Brokeback Oscar fever. WFMU Music Director Brian Turner comments, "Too bad 45s aren't on the scene much in the mainstream, Willie could have covered Ned's 'I Ain't Afraid of Girls' for the B-side." Or Patsy Cline's "Why Can't He Be You?"

Dick Cheney calls his recent hunting accident one of the "worst days" of his life. Oh how I wish he could say that of Election Day 2000.

So I woke up early today but later had to push myself out of reveries that had somehow wandered from full black burkas to Dante's idea of a beatific vision. I was thinking about burkas because I despise them, & last night gave out only my second ever "troll" rating on a discussion thread to someone who was defending them in very devious way; by attacking Barbie dolls. Actually, he got "trolled" not because of Barbie or even burkas but because he was an American man living in Qatar who frequents a so-called progressive website, & I'm sick & tired of men defending the oppression of women on the grounds of an absolutely true patriarchal religion, take your pick, there's a bunch of 'em. Perhaps there is a time & place for a burka, although you couldn't convince the hip Catholic nuns I used to meet occasionally in the Sixties (my girlfriend's aunt, for one) who had been liberated from their similarly medieval garb & allowed to become approachable human beings rather than dark icons endlessly tormented with prickly heat that one was afraid to engage personally, & discovered they were better & definitely more comfortably clothed teachers, social workers, & peace activists for it. If the Pope were like the Dalai Lama, we'd have some hope of seeing John XIII's kindly face again in this world. & it is impossible now for me to freely imagine Dante's visions of heaven, hell & in-between without thinking of Gustav Dore's wonderful illustrations, & that is a pity in a way. The Classics Illustrated comics version of Moby Dick didn't have that effect when I got around to reading the unexpurgated text-only version.

So I headed for the little downtown, & it was a beautiful day with the sun radiating genuine heat as it starts to do in mid-February. But at the library I couldn't match up the I.D. & password to my online bank account - did I ever? - & have to journey to a branch office tomorrow for some important printouts. I checked out a couple of books indifferently chosen, & paid the utility bills, picked up a frozen chicken paita bowl & Tabatchnik soup & strawberry banana yogurt at the supermarket. My landlord is at last delivering on a promise of two years ago when I moved in, installing a coin-operated washer & dryer in the basement, but only one of each, which is almost guaranteeing failure of this experiment.