All Things Heather - Spring, 2022 (Patreon)

[Editor’s note: It’s 3:30 in the A.M., and I'm about to hit the publish button. I would LOVE to give this a proofread, and I will… tomorrow. So I hope you enjoy it, warts and all, before I have a chance to give it the fine-toothed rigamarole. Kisses and Hearts, Peace and Love.]

[Other Note: This is the song I was listening to on loop the whole time I was writing this thing. Up to you, but that was the intention which which it was intended. Salud.]

April, like every other bloody month this year, has sped along at a breakneck pace. I don’t think I’m alone in observing that. If we do all live inside of some grand simulation, perhaps that’s just one of the side effects. I’ll take the pill Morpheus recommends. He seems like a trustworthy-enough fella.

In any case, with this dawning of the 26th day of April upon us, I owe you all a bit of an update. Regarding Patreon-related stuff, keep an eye open in the next few days, prior to the end-of-the-month turnover. Those of you who have been keeping up will be pleased to see Ms. Green, The Itinerary, a ukulele song, and on the fictional end of things, the first couple of chapters of Jacqui’s story, not to mention a Part Two of “Fucking Cat.” After nigh-upon 3-plus weeks of silence, you cheeky bastards deserve it. Insert Winky-Face emoji here.

But, that’ll come. Meanwhile… I seldom take the opportunity to give you an update on my own life, outside of the oblique tales and pithy asides. And So, I find myself with the unique mindset to just give you a good-old-fashioned what’s happenin,’ the kind that you would write to that grandmother you never really kept in touch with growing up, until your mom made you sit down with a pencil and paper and draft her a letter. (Though I’m sure you are all far sexier than my Grandmother; she was a cantankerous woman, and was shaped like one of those Russian nesting dolls [which, come to think of it, was likely a reason for her demeanor]). For those of you under the age of 25 or so, that’s something we used to do (the letter writing, sorry for the wandering parenthetical [which this threatens to become too — meta!]) — barbaric, right? It went into a folded and glued piece of paper to which you would affix another smaller piece of paper that proved the cost of transfer had been rendered.

The future sucks, as I say often. And for sure, take my word for it — the past sucked in its own way, too. But I saw this show on Netflix recently. It was about a dude who restored old videos, and he discovered some old cult in the videos… What was it called… He was a black dude who lived in the present day, and the woman was a student from the ‘90s who was doing this project on this old building in NYC… If you can think of the name of the show and are in the middle, have a great time with it, it was fun, but for the life of me, the name escapes me. Anyway [SPOILER ALERT, I GUESS?] the end of the season is that he ends up in 1995. Which… I dunno, doesn’t sound all that bad? The show presented it as this mind-blow kinda thing, but hell. Just buy Apple stock and short the oil market, and you’ll be OK.

There’s a little muscle in my right elbow that I never know is there until I whip out a pencil for protracted periods. I’m no orthopedist, but it’s that little squishy bit just under the lateral epicondyle. Somewhere where the tendons get all jumbled up with the ulna. Eeenie-old who.

See?! You don’t hear from me for a while, and I ALREADY guarantee you that you’re sick of this missive already. So, Hoo-Wa!.

Taxes were this month. They’re easy-hard for me. I’m officially an expat, so I get a little longer, but I still try to get them done sooner so I don’t have to think about them. Like every year, I spend two months stressing, and about 48 hours with everything short of a green plastic banker’s visor, a gnawed-up Dixon-Ticonderoga in my teeth, and a “Me-yaah, Sheeee, Coppahh?!” Transatlantic accent going on. You know, there are literally two countries in the world where you still need to file your takes, even if you live outside the You-Ess-uv-Ay full time — The U.S., of course, and Eritria. Go figure. Everyone else thinks it’s bonkers. Ah, well. Fuck it. Done for another year. But it drains. I tell ya. Have a feeling I’m speaking to the choir if you’re one of my lovelies from Freedom Land. Have a feeling the “bonkers” statement resonates with you a bit more if you’re from… one of the other 170-or-so sovereign states in the world that also have freedom.

Speaking for Transatlantic (I do love to bury a lede): long-time subscribers will know that, since when first I met ya, I resided in Spain. And I have to tell you, I miss it. The people. The ham. The Wine. The ham. The endless fields of Elysium. The ham. (Did I mention the ham?)

It was a lovely tenure, courtesy of my delightful aunt and her globetrotting ways. For the first half of the time, I had privacy; for the second half, privacy was forced. There was this plague, you see. I have no doubt that every one of you reading this has your own hefty story from that time. Mine was one where, very simply, the quiet just got too quiet. Started to do things to the little gray bits in the headskull. I am glad that you were all there for that — to be honest, it made it all bearable. Still felt like I had friends, other than the cows, Loretta the Uke, and the near-blind old man next door, Jose, who would happily break strict quarantine rules to sit with me on the bench and ramble in a dialect of Castilian I could never quite figure out. I’m pretty sure he was always high on mushrooms. They grew wild there. Lovely place.

Oh, yeah. Transatlantic. (A word that loses its meaning if you say it more than three times.) I’m in Mexico now. Still sticking with my Latinophilia, but in a place that feels just a hair more… vibrant, and, eclectic and ‘my-speed.’ Certainly not setting up shop in the teeming metropolis of the Day Eff-ay, nor have I dared set foot into the Perpetual Coachella that is Tulum. No, instead, I’ve found an old favored town from years ago. The rent is cheap, the people are friendly, the food is amazing, life is simply quiet. My aunt’s place in Spain was a 500-year-old mini castle of sorts; this one is just four walls and a roof in a property owned by a family that is trying desperately to hide their old-money ways. But simplicity… ah, that’s kinda what I’m looking for right now. I got all painty on the walls recently. Bathroom has a toilet (with a squishy foam toilet seat I NEED to replace because Ewwwuugggghgh), and a suicide shower head (look it up). Ran into a wood guy who is making some great extra furniture. I’ve got a hotplate, a tiny fridge, a cooler that is just stuffed with ice, air conditioning in the day and quiet, cool breeze in the evenings, and the company of my twin MacBooks, “Don Quixote” and “Sancho Panza.” It ain’t much, but what more do I need? Now that the tourism is receding a bit, I’m gonna check out some pyramids and cenotes soon, methinks.

And then, not to get bleak about anything. (I’ll keep this part quick, and try to follow it up with a joke.) State of the world has got me down, but I know I’m not alone there. Heart goes out to the fine people of Ukraine. But personally, it’s just that the last few years have been odd enough. But in the last month or so, things have just come to a head, I guess. Death. Merp.

Not to be a naaaame droppper… But a person who I’m pretty sure… 50-90% of you have heard of? Died recently. Interestingly enough, this person was an old friend of the family, and was wonderful, and it was kinda sudden, for me, anyway. I hadn’t talked to them in years. That regret, you know? “Should’a just picked up the phone,” yada-yada. The kinda person who never fails to make you smile. Don’t we get bogged down with our own stuff, don’t wanna make it anyone else’s, but don’t that just get selfish, men aren’t islands, we’re all involved, death diminishes, the bell tolls for thee, and… yada yada again.

I did have a nice thought, though. It sounds like something someone else who is also much wiser than me, would have said (so there’s a non-zero chance of plagiarism here). But in thinking about that person, I came down to this notion of “Silver Linings Today; Shoulders of Giants Tomorrow.” I’d like to think that we pass on our memes, in (oftentimes) a much more impactful way than genetic material is passed on. From the same poem by Donne, “as well as any manner of thy friends or of thine own were.”

Cigarette Units / Day: I roll them by hand these days (Astrid FORCED me to learn, but it’s cheaper, and increases the cool factor by 48%. She says hi, by the way, and that she’ll see y’all soon, and :-*) — 419.33

Alcohol Units / Day: 9,294 roentgens (enough to kill a donkey, but I’m Irish AND German.)

M&Ms / Day: One half jar. Jar sized undisclosed.

Hobbies: Should be getting, of all things, a 2007 iMac soon. Which is bonkers. But we all need a project, and that bugger is supposed to have some sexy guts that are fun to poke around with.

Music: Dave Brubeck does Cole Porter; Kronos Quartet does Philip Glass; Chopin Op. 9, No. 2; Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony No 8; Yakedy Sax by Boots Randolph; The Level One soundtrack to the NES game, “Circus Charlie,” (an old march called “American Patrol,” but the MIDI makes it lodge in the brain). Oh! And Herb Alpert and the TJB Greatest Hits, Vol. 2. (You know he’s the “A” in A&M Records? Savvy fella!)

Current Dark Streak: Speaking of Yakedy Sax. Find any travesty that has occurred in history for which there is a video record. It must be old enough for “Tragedy + Time = Comedy” to apply. Speed it up to 2x speed. Play Yakedy Sax. Try not to laugh. I recommend the Hindenburg footage. And you know what? Literally any dramatic scene in any movie ever. 2x speed + Boots Motherfucking Randolph = Hysteria.

Current State of Mental Health: 22,003 roentgens.

Current State of Dental Health: I need a cleaning, bro! Lost a couple’a fillings, too! But I think my dentin is still OK, so one does what one can.

Newest Discovery: Cup Noodles… But, add peanut butter, soy sauce, and some lime juice. Thank me later.

Current state of #NatAndOlga: Not gonna lie, the fit is a little tighter in the old over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders than previously. I have definitely put on a few pounds, and when, like, ~15% of your whole body weight is boobs, it’s just hard to tell if it’s a band thing, or a cup thing, or just the fickle mistress of gravity, or… them getting all riled up again? Or los todos? I’m not getting wound up about it yet. More tests are needed. It’s just hard to tell. Boobs change over time. I’ll pull out the science at some point. But they’re doing good, and they say howdy. Have an artist actually working on a little piece that I hope gets done soon… I think y’all’ll get a kick out of it. More on that later.

Love for my Patrons?: As deep as the sea, and as high as the James Webb, my lovelies! Stay tuend!

(Shucks! You'd at least think I'd've caught that last typo!!!)