Saturday, December 13, 2014

Misfit's Memories

Remembering My First Saturn Cycle When I was 30 in 1979, I killed the motor in my family’s Vega station wagon, and replaced it with a ‘73 Gold Ford Pinto w/moon roof and a hot-ass-repair voucher in the glove box, left the kids behind, safely tucked with their Father in their GrandMother’s Pennsylvania hometown, and took off for the Jersey Shore to help my Gay Uncle, Jimmy Paul McBride, restore a Cabin Cruiser in drydock. He later disowned me for editing the name of his boat, by painting out the B in OBLIVIA with house paint, leaving an apostrophe, to read the more Gaelic O’LIVIA, because before I’d left Home, I’d had a prophetic dream about being stretched out on the bow, hunting overboard trying to find him underwater. My Father’s baby brother wasted that entire winter at the boatyard trying to impress me into his ‘Christian’ Coven…so when I trumped his naming power, I crushed his wizard’s ego. Last time I saw him, he was crumpled over a cup of diner coffee, sobbing to his rich Yew Norker Lady Priestess, who asked me to leave him alone w/ her, so I did. He was bemoaning the $500 cost of ‘repairing’ my ‘vandalism‘, totally missing the point. I found out later from my Favorite Uncle Jack, that Jimmy had tattled on me to my Dad, after years of being incommunicado, who just told me recently that Brother Paul had died young(only 13 yrs.older than me), 10 years later in the Port of New Orleans. So, I guess he got the boat afloat, and he’d survived his unappealingly sinister moog music rituals. Too bad he‘s dead, but I’ll always remember him giving me The Spring Tour of the Big Apple, and taking me to the Top o’ the Tower restaurant at the World Trade Center where he bought me a Manhattan, then took me to a bar in Greenwi(t)ch Village to meet a witchy woman who gave me a gold earring, and introduced me to Perrier to sober me up before he took me home on the Ferry under the Statue of Liberty, where he “came out“ to me, and I had to tell him that I‘d known since he was a teen-ager. At the first bar on the Jersey side, I called a pit stop to run in and BUY MYSELF the bartender’s version of his New Jersey‘s cocktail…a Brandy Alexander, which he served to me just as my impatient Uncle came in from the car, tired of waiting for me, only to pull up a stool and flirt with the bartender while I leisurely enjoyed the classy buzz of down-to-earth barfly entertainment.

Monday, December 01, 2014

http://thebroadsside.blogspot.com/2014/03/i-am-glad, not-gay.

http://thebroadsside.blogspot.com/2014/03/
not-gay.html#links