"Max Headroom"

1987-1988
I suppose i'm the distilled essence of Max Headroom hype - i'd always been aware (and even appreciative) of his cultural resonance and schtick...but never actually saw the show. If you're the same, feel free to stay uninitiated, as the reality will likely be less than you hope. Not that it's awful! It's fascinating, and almost good. The concept, the production values and acting...top-notch. But as is so often the case, the writing struggles to rise above middling. Eventually, your interest is reduced to wondering what guest actor might pop up unexpectedly (look...it's bill maher!).
It's more purely sci fi than i'd imagined. In a dystopian, television-dominated near future, idealistic field reporter edison carter has his consciousness digitally imprinted after a near-fatal accident, and an unduplicatable cyber-version is born, who has the power to hack onto TV screens at will. "Max" becomes a media sensation, but it's okay, because he retains edison's idealism. They become allies!
Matt frewer (DOCTOR DOCTOR, WATCHMEN) carries a whole lot of dramatic/comedic water as the two leads, and never falters. His max persona is irresistible, and all the moreso when you realize it's all real - no CGI! Amanda pays (THE FLASH, THE FLASH) is solid as edison's producer...and the writers gave her a great flash of feminist potential, in having an active sex life rather than pining for edison. Jeffrey tambor (HILL STREET BLUES, THE LARRY SANDERS SHOW) is a dewy delight as the station manager. George coe (HILL STREET BLUES, THE WEST WING) is flawless as the studio head. William morgan sheppard (SEAQUEST 2032, STAR TREK VI) is strangely compelling as fringe network operator blank reg.
Perhaps given more than fourteen episodes, MAX might have eventually found its voice. But for once, i'm sympathetic to the network. After two seasons, they still hadn't figured out how to maximize max's zany irreverence. The best episode is "Deities" - i recommend you watch that, and nothing more.

dear bub

Hello bub (and jan)!
Thank you again for the Maxmas presents. Last night i finished the last of the chocolate, and this week listened to the last of the miles davis CDs. Wonderful, both...
An actual, live paper letter from bub! What a trot down memory lane.
I woke up not remembering it was my birthday, and didn't expect to take any notice of it, aside from responding to electronic well-wishing from distant friends. I ended up telling one person at the end of the day, a stranger at an open mic who was drunk and very affectionate with me, and feeling self-conscious about how "old" she was (early forties). So i whispered that it was my birthday, and how old i was. She kissed me very gently, and that was the sum total of my birthday celebration.
My life expectations? The question really doesn't apply. I've spent most of my life trying to learn how to live in the moment. Almost impossible to do when no one else is doing it...we all spend so much of our reality trapped in the past or future...caught up in creating the "story" of our lives, which we can show to people, because we know everyone is always judging us, and if our "story" isn't pleasing, we won't get the love and rewards we're taught to want. If you're forever trying to create your "story", it's based on a preconceived notion, so you end up never feeling anything you didn't start out expecting to feel. That all gets mangled up with something called desensitization. It's something that happens in a society where children are taught to stifle their natural feelings and empathy. Our culture is profoundly desensitized. The most obvious ethos is the "boys don't cry" mentality, but it runs much deeper. So i've spent the past decade trying to take down my emotional walls, to try to feel things more naturally. I think i've succeeded, but it's a hard journey. To really feel all the loneliness and aggression that surrounds us everyday is pretty horrible. It's given me mild depression and occasional insomnia...and makes it so hard to restrain my natural responses in everyday humyn interactions.
Am i happy with my life? That's not a question i'd ever ask myself, it's far too self-conscious, but...as much as one can be, under the circumstances, i'm happy with the results. I've never gotten the love i need, but no one does. I've been very creative, and unusually true to my spirit, i hope.
Would i change anything? My mind doesn't think that way...though it might be nice to have been born a century or two from now (if humynity is still around, which is doubtful). We might grow up a good deal by then. I'm perhaps unrealistically optimistic on that score.
Bucket list? Nah, the question doesn't apply. I suppose i'd like to produce one of my plays before i'm too old to act in it...and i'd like to love a pregnant womyn, or have the FULL love affair i've been capable of for a long time. It's so hard, almost impossible, finding someone on my level. We're all too trapped in our own selfishness. That's the worst part of this "life story" nonsense - other people become bit actors we accept or reject, based only on how they fit into our narrative. We never learn how to connect on a deeper level. We do our best, and some people do a little better than others...
Plus, i don't drink, i reject greed, and i don't believe in monogamy. YOU try getting some female attention under those circumstances. A damn shame too, as my last two lovers told me i was the best of their life...and that was with my spirit less than 100% present. Ah, well...
For now, i'm on a train that centers around my stories and songs, getting some amazing, humbling feedback. Let's see where that goes. I think i'm going to schedule my first-ever full concert of songs, at a radio station where i've appeared many times. I can get ninety minutes for $100, and it will go out on the internet all over the world. Maybe July.
Give hugs to all the crew for me...
much love,
wrob

naked nurse 19

SOOTHING OUR SOCIAL/SEXUAL/SPIRITUAL STRIFE

Dear naked nurse,
Outercourse? What the hell's "outercourse"?? Just another prudish practical joke from the abstinence brigade?
-puzzled in Pennington

Dear puzzled,
Outercourse is genital/genital stimulation without penetration...and i'm a bit baffled too. Pre- (or even non-) penetrative up-and-down erection sliding between the vaginal lips has ALWAYS been one of my favorite pastimes. It's also a great way to take things slowly in a new relationship, while avoiding the dreaded condom! In theory, it sounds wonderful for the womyn, a perfect formula for maximal clitoral stimulation...which addresses one of the major complaints with intercourse, the contention that "barrel thrusting" leaves many wimyn feeling non-orgasmic and used.  Some couples seek out modifications such as the "coital alignment technique" (the naked nurse recommends!).
However...even though outercourse sounds perfect for her, in my humble experience, when you offer a womyn limitless genital/genital stimulation without penetration, many respond with "Mmmmmmmm...NO, that's really not going to do it for me."
Help us, clitoral crowd! Write in! We need guidance!
generous grindings,
the naked nurse

Send queries to nakednursing@yahoo.com!

naked nurse 18

SOOTHING OUR SOCIAL/SEXUAL/SPIRITUAL STRIFE

Dear naked nurse,
With romance and sex, is there anything i should always know about someone before getting involved?
-randy in Roanoake

Dear randy,
When i'm attracted to someone, i ask myself just one question. How will meeting the greatest lover of their life affect them?
I'm sorry...did you want the playful answer or the serious one (or the playfully serious one, in this case)?
But in a sane world, your question wouldn't make any sense! Sex should be the least self-conscious thing in life, yet somehow we've made it the complete opposite. If anyone ever loved you fearlessly and without walls, your poor brain would explode. But we keep trying, because we need love and touch to stay sane. See many sane people lately?
If you had a comprehensive answer to your question, you'd never leave home. Following pure "instinct" can be a wonderful ride, but begs for personality catastrophe. Choosing someone with your head? Also a disaster waiting to happen. In an ideal world you could love anyone reasonably well, but here...if you don't feel a powerful instant reaction, STAY AWAY. That's a horrible, myopic, anti-social reality, but it's "wise". Overall, the best you can hope for is chemistry plus mutually aligned selfishnesses, a formula that promises happiness for a year or two.
prehistoric pairings,
the naked nurse

Send queries to nakednursing@yahoo.com!

thirty days

I arrived in the Bay area nine months ago, with a $9000 bankroll and a dream. Such exorbitance...the first time in my life i'd been anywhere near five digits. Under normal circumstances, it should have floated me job-free for a year and a half, free to save the world.
Thirty days ago, after paying my $680 rent, my fortune stood at $200. I'd been trying (and failing) for two months to find a reliable part-time job that didn't crush my spirit. That had never been a challenge in the past, but all i'd found were a dribble of one-offs. I was thirty days away from being confronted with something i'd never faced - eviction and homelessness (not to mention a blow to my artistic dream of having my voice as a writer be a more significant part of the humyn conversation...plus making an actual living through the products of my creativity).
The four months i'd been in San Francisco had been all i'd hoped for. I'd become a fixture on the open mic scene, with four regular gigs a week, plus irregulars. I'd had some amazing, humbling feedback, and been accepted into a community of wonderful, often brilliant artists. I'd done virtually nothing to try to turn my art into income, for several reasons: the feeling that time was on my side, my non-pushing/non-selling personality which prefers to let things happen organically, and the inertia that comes with mild depression/PTSD.
Almost nothing had happened that might be construed as putting me on any path toward artistic self-sufficiency, so i knew it was time to be more proactive.
I had lost a month or two and a chunk of money to family vacations, both back east and exploring California. I'd lost three months and a bigger chunk of money in a hellish limbo on the other side of the Bay. I'd finally found a home in the heart of Haight-Ashbury, with a rent that would be well-nigh irreplaceable if lost. Of course, that "fantastic" rent was more than i'd ever paid in my life. But not hugely more, and we don't worry about such things in my world. Yet now i was faced with simultaneously trying to kick-start my artistic dream, and find an instant, reliable income. The longer it took to find the latter, the more the former might suffer. To say nothing of having a personal life, and time to write.
Being evicted was probably never a serious concern. Both parents offered to loan me money...a safety net not available to the majority of the residents on planet Earth, who everyday face far more stark material realities than mine, simply as a matter of being alive.
But my thirty-day clock was ticking. My needs were simple - $1000 a month. A decent-paying job for two or three days a week would do it. My scramble was on. In addition to whatever work i found, there would be time burned every day searching ads, making phone calls or e-mails...
WEEK ONE
-Two days on a furniture delivery crew, with one boss and one other worker, and more time spent traveling than lifting. It was the third time i'd worked with them. They were good company, and it felt perfect for me. Something physical and mindlessly zen which i would never have to "take home". The boss liked me, but didn't have the shifts available to be a long-term solution.
-I began the process of becoming a professional dog walker with Rover.com. I'd have preferred arranging my work through independent means as i almost always had, but after two fruitless months...
TOTAL HAUL - $200
WEEK TWO
-Three hours assembling Ikea furniture for a womyn in a fancy home (the last hour for free, because she was stressed and i try to please). I worked while she and a neighbor watched reality TV and read tarot cards and got boozy on white wine. The off-putting aroma of the idle rich didn't sit well with how attractive i found the neighbor's personality (and ass). I had walked into the middle of a job someone else had started, with three huge pieces all the same color. I'm not positive i even had the proper directions, and i apparently put some hinges in the wrong place. She called the next day to tell me my payment had been rescinded (i got a nice TV which had been destined for the curb, though).
-Ninety minutes lugging bags of mulch and stone into a garage. My fellow worker and i also moved a four-hundred pound marble slab (creatively and efficiently, i might add).
-One session helping a theater student prepare for a big audition...canceled at the last minute.
-Ten days of unending hoops and corporate conformity with Rover.com finally kill me, and i abandon that path.
-I turn my daily hour and a half of ukulele practice into busking in Golden Gate Park...and make a buck or two each time! I realize that if i became homeless, i could make all the food money i need by making music. Don't think it isn't tempting...
TOTAL HAUL - $28, a TV, two lemons, and a poem...
"Unemployable"
Did you ever hear that famous author interview -
"What would you be if not a writer?"
"A flophouse bum...
for without writing,
i am utterly unemployable"
Self-deprecating or self-congratulating?
The interviewer doesn't ask...
But the audience smiles and nods
Happy to believe talent
IS rewarded
One more bullshit mythology
But for a writer...
Intolerant of hoops
Disdainful of grindstones
Allergic to paperwork
Crucified by conformity
For a writer with pockets that echo
Two weeks from rent time
Unemployability is a gut punch
Not a fucking punchline
WEEK THREE
-One day on the furniture crew. It really is enjoyable - stefan treats us to yummy lunches.
-Two half-days in a sweat shop, assembling magnetized wooden all-purpose remotes. If you have to be in a sweat shop, this is the one - a cap on shift length, and $25 an hour. Plus pretzels!
-Fifteen minutes in a sound studio, recording my voice for a study on accents. $50!
-One session teaching improv to a couple theater amateurs...cancelled at the last minute.
-I begin the paperwork to join Varsitytutors.com.
TOTAL HAUL - $300
WEEK FOUR
-One day on the furniture crew. Stefan wants to move me onto the payroll (even though the job isn't a permanent solution, and might become a casualty of said solution).
-Two days at the sweat shop. Not a long-term solution (and i don't think i'd want it to be, even with the great pay), as the business is moving to Boston in a few weeks.
-The tutor thing is proceeding well - i'm cleared to teach! But the way things are going elsewhere, i don't need to be a go-getter on this, and i'm not sure i want to. It might be enjoyable, or just another pain in the ass.
TOTAL HAUL - $300
MONTHLY HAUL - $828
Going into that last week, making rent was still iffy. But i do, and then some. And not to imply that the universe has a sense of humor, but after a month of soul-crushing stress, i'm already booked the first seven workdays in May, which would cover all of June's rent. Yeah yeah yeah...money money bullshit bullshit. What a fucked-up world. So okay, i get to devote the last few weeks of June to getting performance gigs, and agent-calling, and THAT bullshit.
Anyway, come visit my little slice of heaven in the Haight. It's mine...for at least another thirty days.
I love you all.

"Earthlings"

-written and directed by shaun monson
2005
We do not deserve to live.
We do not deserve to live.
We do not deserve to live.
Please be over.
Please be over.
Please be over.
Stop.
Stop.
Stop.
By and large, these were the only words i was able to think or whisper during my viewing of this documentary. The only other coherent thought i recall is, "If anyone can watch this film and not stop eating other animals, i give them my complete blessing."
I know that any words i might add are pale shadows of this film's impact. Humyns are visual creatures, and this is an unrelenting onslaught. To not provide a single moment of reprieve to catch one's breath is an artistic choice, and one that i cannot begrudge. The viewer's suffering, while profound, can never be anything but a holiday jaunt compared to the incomprehensible horror that uncountable billions, even trillions, of other animals suffer at our hands...which is precisely the artistic point, i suppose. The music feels a bit gratuitously manipulative in the first five minutes, but get over it.
There's nothing in this film i hadn't already known. The only reason i subjected myself to a full viewing, when the sane response would have been to run far away, was so i could assess it for you.
Of course, "full viewing" is an exaggeration. Much of the time i was averting my eyes, or unable to see through my tears...at one point i took to watching the images in the reflection on my window, seeking only escape.
Is it fair to say that all people can be divided into two groups - those who have seen this, and those who haven't?
(with an interesting sub-divide...those who get through it, and those who don't)
The film starts by drawing parallels between slavery/racism, the dehumynization of wimyn, and our treatment of other animals. The questions of sentience and comparable suffering are addressed. The stages of denial (ridicule, violent opposition, and acceptance) are outlined. It finally moves beyond the obvious topics of food animals and the pet industry, into the worlds of fashion and entertainment. Because these last images are unexpected, they are perhaps the most devastating and damning.
This film doesn't (but perhaps ought) raise the question of what the word "desensitization" means. It's a concept that most people with an average education are at least briefly exposed to, but what does it truly mean? I have long fancied that my struggles with the world, and my descent into mild depression and PTSD, simply reflect my own self-directed resensitization. But i'm beginning to suspect that even academia doesn't fully understand this aspect of current humyn socialization. I searched for a comprehensive book on the subject, and found nothing.
Much of the history of our intellectual relationship to other animals has been the search for what makes us "unique". That pursuit, however, could be described as an abuser losing one crutch of denial after another, as we've realized that other animals embody tool-making, self-awareness, humor, death-awareness, language, art, and culture. The one bastion of singularity remaining, the notion that we're the only creature to project our lives into some abstract future, may soon fall as well. Which leaves me wondering whether the only unique facet of humynity is the ability to blind ourselves not simply to the suffering of others (which all animals do in a survival-based, competitive world), but also blind ourselves to OUR OWN suffering. This may ultimately be the only meaningful definition of humynity, and the key to understanding how we could have become the destroyer of all life, including ourselves.

P.S. It was funny to observe my own rush into escapist behavior immediately after my viewing...there was lots of chocolate and Monty Python involved.

radio WROB 2

An ex-Beatles medley, and a new Earth Day story. The fingerings are still a bit rough, but i was so excited i couldn't resist. My segment comes thirty minutes in...
http://podcasts.pcrcollective.org/CommonThreadCollective/CommonThreadCollective-20180413.mp3