South Carolina


I have a separate dream blog but the dream I just awoke from was so powerful and revealing I have to share here. Basically I was back in South Carolina at the beach with friends, old and new. Lifetime friends, a new man who was extremely hot and promising.. indeed the dream was sex filled and left me longing upon the several wakings I had during the night… I also woke up crying a couple of times. The South Carolina coast, Pawley’s Island, Litchfield Beach and Murrel’s Inlet in particular, are the most beautiful, peaceful and genteel places on earth. Right here in the old USA. I must admit I say that having never traveled outside the US other than to Canada and Mexico. At any rate, having grown up vacationing at  those ” elegantly shabby” beach towns I have a special place in my heart for them. Although development is continuously threatening to encroach, last time I checked (and it’s been a few years)  the beaches remained pretty under-developed and natural.  Clean sand, warm water in the summer, flat, rock free beaches. I mention rock free cause here in Washington the beaches are brutally unfriendly with their rocks, boulders and frigid waters. Pretty yes, but not meant for swimming or getting in to and having the sensual experience of being in the water, being with the water and the waves… at least not for this east coast native.

In my dream coastal towns of SC, the inlets have marsh grasses, crabs, fish, shrimp. Long docks out into the waterway where you can sit in the little gazebos at sunset and tie chicken necks to a long string, drop them in the water and come up with a crab dinner in about a half hour.  In the morning, take the shrimp nets and drag them through the more shallow waterways and have a fresh shrimp dinner after an afternoon of “heading” them in the shade of  a huge moss draped oak tree.  Take a jon boat to one of the small  inland waterway islets and sit in the silence with nothing but ocean birds and waves lapping at the pure white sand.  Get a hammock and a screened porch and have a cold beer at sunset.  It’s pretty much paradise as I recall.

But I digress. The dream was the usual combo platter of me looking for love, looking for a coffee cup and coffee, looking for a private place to shower (we were all staying in the large, luxurious but still a lovely kind of rustic beachfront house of my childhood friend Christina) and there I was  looking , looking, longing. At one point my friend Barb and I were in some public waterfront place , a marina perhaps, and looked out the window where a crowd had gathered to watch a spectacularly weird occurrence of a huge school of dolphins swimming in the canal out front while the Seattle Mariners and The Sounders where also doing some choreographed routine along the bank of the canal. The Mariners, the Sounders and Dolphins!!! All at once?? I had to have pictures, but had a hard time capturing the dolphins on camera, they were always just out of my lens view. Why a baseball team and soccer team from Seattle were in there,  I have no idea. I don’t even go to the games or consider myself a fan in any way .

Bottom line. The coast of SC is where I have always planned to retire. My life is currently at a crossroads. I woke up mumbling and crying “I have to go back. I have to go back.” As in, I have to leave Seattle and return to my home. I think I do.  This could be part of the alcohol free, new antidepressant, good night’s sleep cocktail I am enjoying, but I think not. I think my core psyche comes out when I’m not smacking it down nightly. This is just the tip of the iceberg.

Now I must start looking at how to realize the dream of heading to Pawley’s Island. The only thing I have in Seattle is a job (a hot commodity these days, I know), a few friends and a reputation. Stagnant. Inertia. Much work to do.


Got smoked out last night, as the young ones say, and on my way home while  trying to drive without incurring incarceration, I decided to play a little game of chance to keep me alert. I decided to pull a random CD out of the console and just go with whatever it was. Knowing I only keep crappy CDs in the car, lest they be stolen. I was really hoping to get Dionne Warwick just for the soothe  factor. But the first one I pull out and plug in is some Rap group, a CD that was left at the library a few weeks back.  I don’t know which group it is as the CD is not labeled and I’m not that down with the Rap scene (see? I can talk street my peeps).  I tried to go with it as I was driving along through the hood but then suddenly,  as an old white chick blasting whoever the fuck these rappers were, I was transported back in time to Crayton Junior High,  home of The Crayton Satans…

There I am…. a tall, gawky, white girl with braces and glasses – stringy brown hair down to her waist, walking around with her cassette player (the kind with one speaker, mono) squealing out Sly and the Family Stone’s “Don’t Call Me Nigger, Whitey”.  It was the first year of desegregation in South Carolina. I really believed at the naive age of 12 that this would make me known as a friend to my new classmates. But my childhood was troubled, as we know. Nobody knew what to make of me. Not the black kids and certainly not the white kids. I’m lucky I was punched only once during my entire Junior High and High school experience.

Back in my car, in real time, I decided to ditch the rap; it was not hitting home. I pulled out another random CD…. shoved it in….

And  it was a demo made by  my husband’s band. It was fucking magic. Like the fucking message was coming through….from god straight down to me. Yes! Eureka! These guys are the real deal. Gary has a voice that is incredible. And he writes all the songs and they are fucking amazing. So i decided right then and there that we must get back together.

Still listening to the music, I thought about how  I would love to be with someone I could write songs with, play music with.  Gary never let me into that secret place. I was not friends with his friends. He kept all of that seperate from me. How in the fucking hell could I end up with a musician who wouldn’t play music with me? ugggh…. So, with that realization (still careening down the road) I knew that it would never work and it never did, despite trying for 10 long and painful years. Too bad. I tend to end up with guys who are more like begrudging, resentful brothers rather than lovers.

That was a freaky realization.

I finally made it home,  and as I sat typing away in my THC haze I heard Telemundo blasting somewhere but was not coming from my house nor was it coming from the neighborhood.  It’s in my head.  Ahora!  Vamanos a la isla…… Arrrrrrriba!

I failed to mention that the car I drive is a “dark gold”  Volvo S60.  Sporty.  I always thought it looked a bit pimpish and in fact, nicknamed it the Pimpmobile.  After 6 years of driving it into curbs, buildings, other cars and small airplanes it now has a very different look. The passenger side rear view mirror is smashed out, the gas cap cover has fallen off and just yesterday the driver’s side (electric) window broke in the “down” position.  Today I taped plastic wrap over it with masking tape.  The final touches are in place. I’m going to get me some Lil’ Kim  and hit the road.


Nighttime. Silence. Lonely hum of tv in the background. Dog whining for food he can’t have. Head buzzing with plans, confusion, desire. Wishing for more but knowing what I have is more than enough. More than what the majority of the world has. Again, the old “misery is relative” cartoon popping up in my head. The pushcart with square wheels, the little cartoon figures straining, trying to get the cart  going…..

When I was about 6 or so my favorite song, or at least the song that made me feel most deeply moved and filled with a longing that I could not possibly identify at such a young age, was Deep Purple. The imagery and the music and the feeling that the song was written right there in my little bedroom just for me is indelibly etched in my mind. “when the deep purple falls… over sleepy garden walls……”  and I cant’ remember the words now. But the feelings. Loneliness. And longing. And perfect in the way it fit right into that empty space inside of me. Cicadas with their  riotous screaming  outside my bedroom window, attic fan knocking out its crazy rhythm, warm breeze blowing over me in my little bed.   Deep purple falling.

Alone and lonely and  moved by the intensity of the feeling…. finding it lovely in its own way.


I saw the movie “Oliver!” 16 times when I was in 6th grade. I was obsessed with Jack Wild, who played The Artful Dodger. I knew every song by heart. I still know most of them and can sing them in character. Nancy, singing “As Long as He Needs Me”, Oliver sweetly singing “Where is Love?” and the Dodger singing “Consider Yourself At Home”…..  Fagan “I’m Reviewing the Situation”…..  I was so obsessed with Jack Wild that my friend Mamie and I would call the studio in LA where he was taping H.R. Puffinstuff, every day , several times a day, asking to speak to him. Mamie had her own phone line so the cost of  long distance from South Carolina to LA was of no consequence in our adolescent Jack Wild addled minds.  Finally, one day, the operator was so sick of us calling, she actually put Jack on the phone to us….. my god… imagine the shrieking screamfest that ensued….   when we were finally able to speak I asked weakly, “is this REALLY Jack Wild?”. He replied in that perfect cockney accent “who would it be if it ‘aint?”… more screaming and shrieking and crying on our end of the line.

He was cordial if confused about who the hell we were. He asked how the weather was in Carolina. I asked if he would come and be in our local Christmas parade. That’s all I remember. But god, the sheer determination of two adolescent girls still amazes me. We did it. We set our minds on talking to him and we did it.

Where is that girl? The girl with such determination? Such resolve. I guess she’s still in here somewhere. Still having various forms of hero worship. Occasionally brushing elbows with someone of some notoriety. I met Sam Shepard in a bar in West Virginia and in trying to act  all nonchalant like I didn’t know who he was I asked him “don’t you work at Jiffy Lube?”.. he was confused, looking a little scared and amused and then was very polite when I told him I was kidding. But he left the bar pretty quickly after that. My attempt at seducing him away from Jessica Lange thwarted.  I wonder still if he remembers that interaction. I can be a real ass at times.  I once took a personality test with one of the many shrinks I’ve had in my lifetime and she told me I tested as the most introverted person she had ever tested in her entire career. Funny eh?

UPDATE: Thank god I’ve aged a little better than old Jack, looks like life wasn’t too good to the child star… rest his soul….


I have nothing to say so I’m going away until I do. I’m pretty sure I’m in a depression. I’ve had bronchitis for a long time and I’m not getting a lot better. I can’t workout, don’t sleep too well, get tired really easily. All in all it’s a bit of a bummer. That and this goddamned Seattle weather… cold and rainy all the freaking time. It will pass and hopefully when it does I’ll have something to say and something to care about again. Here’s one little bit of hopeful news before I go: I talked to my 85 year old southern conservative (a/k/a a former racist, republican, southern baptist) mother today and she told me (again….it’s sticking!!!!) that she thinks Obama is the best of the 3 presidential hopefuls….. my god…..that is pretty amazing if you ask me…. cheers.


Where DOES it all end? Obviously it ends after all is said and done. After the fat lady sings. When pigs fly, when hell freezes over, when you move into upper management, when you’re marinating in soil and worms, when you’ve moved into shart mode, the jig is up, the farm is bought, the hellish sensation that you’ve been there before sets in, tax season grasps you by the balls and nails you to the desktop, the seratonin uptake inhibitor is neither uptaking nor inhibiting, in fact you are exhibiting on the downbeat, and the symphony is playing on and on. You’re toast. You’re so yesterday. Your mold is showing, your eyes have seen the glory of the coming, you bet the farm and your dog died too. You’ve gone to the dirt archives. The cat is on the bed. You’ve put the smack down on it all, you eat the big one, you eat the little ones too, and then they eat you. Repeat.


Colbert is running in SC, his home state. My home state. South Carolina FINALLY gets its just rewards…….   amen brother… if I lived there he would get my vote for sure. Will be so interesting to see if people will give the anti-vote to him. Haven’t we all been saying Stewart/Cobert forever????? And is he serious? Who knows? He should be a write-in candidate you crackers!!!! Get it together and make it happen!!!