Meladramas
moi
 

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"Firebird" by Erté


"Meladramas"
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© 2017 Pamela MacCarthy



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“A Painter's Kitchen-
Revised Edition:
Recipes from the Kitchen of Georgia O'Keeffe”
(Red Crane Cookbook Series)

Margaret Wood




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Meladramas
 
Monday, March 24, 2003  




Tomorrow bright and early is my interview [?] for a gallery/exhibition... I 'm lugging 3 of my newest canvases to show the gallery committee, then they'll contact me in 3 weeks to let me know the result.
They handle the vertical.
They handle the horizontal- two weeks worth of space, exposure and notoriety-
And they'll just let me know.

I 'll hang for the day, as they decide away, and then after 5, I'll lug my "children" back home.
How to kill time between then:
Theres a beautiful flower shop in Roppongi that has an "orchid" room, and a lady plays piano while the people walk around the mossy place. I love it in there... then there's "The Raj" a fab Indian restaurant to go fall apart in. The curtains, the tables are so nice in the back- you can spend an afternoon just munching garlic nan and sipping lassi...
A movie, theres an idea...
All these diversions- Oh- I can shop till I drop at the "meat rush"- takubin all non perishables home the following day, so I don't have to feel like I just bought groceries for a year by carrying them along with me...

I hope they give me the exhibition-

Everythings coming up- bright lights and daffodils
Everythings coming up sunshine and Santa Claus
Everythings coming up roses for you and for meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...
Maybe.
'Till next time... 'Mela


4:36 PM

Friday, March 21, 2003  




I became a mom 17 years ago today, on a Friday morning at 10:06 am. My son is a teenager, with all the symptoms.
Invasion of the body snatchers was supposed to be a science fiction, wasn't it?
I may check the closets [no basement] for pods...
I always heard expressions people say about "the teenaged years" and thought, "these people really do exaggerate"... NO MORE. What happens? What makes the most darling children turn into dark, brooding teenagers?

This is my congrads to me-
I celebrate the event, after all I did the "labor"-
and I remember the song I danced around to 5 days before he was born, on St. Patrick's day- "Come on Eileen". Me, out to here but still dancin'- they played that song again this St. Pat's, and it brought back that feeling of solidarity with myself.
Having a baby is a good way to get to know yourself.
It all came back to me hearing that song "Come on Eileen"...

And Happy Birthday to my son.

I remember the Chinese proverb: You learn more about your own parents when you finally become one...

I guess the karma from my hell raisin' girlish days is coming to git me!





'Till next time... [ Mamma ] 'Mela





3:13 PM

Saturday, March 15, 2003  




Early this morning, a high pitched voice called and told me my new bicycle was on the way...

My new "gidensha", as they call it here in Nippon, is here...

There's something spiritual about getting new "wheels"- it conjures up memories long since put aside...

I remember my first bike. My father bought me a Schwinn; aqua blue and brand new- I didn't yet know how to ride a "two wheeler"- my father remedied that one pretty quick: he said ,"sit down here" and soon after shoved me out into the main road alongside "Pops" bicycle shop- I pedaled as if I had been doing it all my life. My father was a Bronx/Army man, he sure didn't stand on ceremony. I was 8 at the time.

The next new bike came on Christmas a few years later. My father and mother were now divorced. He must have been up all night, that Christmas eve-
Christmas day when me and my three sisters came to visit him at his house, there were 4 new bikes, that he had painstakingly put together. I was 12 then.

And now here I am at last- with a beautiful new bike I just got delivered today, wrapped in bubble paper right on down to the foot pedals- they take no chances with bruising things...

I can only think of Roger Daultrey singing the great song from the "WHO" :

" I'm MOBILE MOBILE MOBILE MOOOBILE! "

In glorious lilac purple and silver with matching baskets.
I'll have to asessorize with a new umbrella and rain towel...

GWAMMA AT WAST!

'till next time- 'Mela



11:47 AM

Thursday, March 13, 2003  




I heard there was an earth quake here,
but I was too busy imagining one on the train to experience the true jolt of reality...
I must be psychic-

While I was on the train riding towards home, I was imagining what would the buildings look like if there was an earthquake, and later on I find that at that same time, one actually happened- so the thing to do now is to imagine [really hard] that I have won an obscene amount of money from a lottery ticket I bought and forgot about -till now...

Tomorrow is White Day.

No, not a day for marriage, or to go to confession, at long last- I for one, although brought up Catholic, could not MAKE myself tell them guys in robes my personal business, I had sass at age 7!
But to get back to WHITE DAY- in Japan, they love most things American- except the living, breathing, large sized replicas walking around in their towns and cities, otherwise they would have things other than clown suits and shoes for us, right? WELL- I'm talking Valentines day. What has been a well known season for sweeties to do the thing they love best- here in Japan has been deemed "Valentines Day" and "White Day"- respectively.
So, on the real stupid Cupid day, girls are supposed to give chocolate to any and all of the male species that they are personally acquainted with- from workmates, teachers, bosses, husbands, boyfriends, flavors of the week-

Chocolate companies really score on the possibilities- but what always drives me way past nuts, are the "dedicated lot" who stand in front of you in the checkout line of the "gourmet" section of the department store- you, with your solitary jar of pickles waiting while little miss make-it-myself- just gotta get 347 ingredients/items to spend a whole day making what they do at Godiva's much, much better...

One month later, the men are to reciprocate- dispensing heaping helpings of their hospitality...

I think I liked it better when I bought my mother a large box of assorted chocolates in a satiny box, but ate them all while waiting for her to pick me and my sisters up after church.

Youse all aren't wearing long robes, are ya?

'Till next time... 'Mela


5:17 PM

Friday, March 07, 2003  




"Ohhhhhh Mama can this really be the end ,
to be stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis blues again..."


They don't write songs like that one anymore...

I sound like a commercial for K-Tel Records,
except they were talking about Hoagy Carmichael, then.

Maybe in another 20 years someone will be saying the same thing about some song they heard in 2003.
I can't fathom it, really.

Hard to get sentimental or even feign interest over "Closing Time" - and/or whatever the hell the name of the song where the guy says "I'm six feet under, bla bla bla"- or the girly-girl who sings "Little bit o this, little bit o that"...

Are you kidding me or what?

I guess they're trying to express the same sort of angst as Bob Dylan
did on the opening tune,
but gee, golly, damn- something has seriously disconnected in the imagination and creative part of the brain responsible for writing songs that you feel in the gut.

This knockover fluff I'm hearing lately is just rehashed, reheated, recycled, and redundant.

Dozy git.
I really like that word, it has chemistry.

I like Echo and the Bunnymen.

I used to wear my hair the same way as Ian did
when he sang The Yo-Yo Man:

"Froze to the bone in my igloo home,
counting the days till the ice turn green
You know when heaven and hell collide
there are no in betweens..."


Gloomy shit. I loved it, still do...
Especially on this rainy March day-

And I don't drink alcohol, any more.

Amazing the amount of control it takes when you don't drink, to keep your sanity.
The jokes are all rehearsed, the rim shots are dead on, but you aren't in a stream of consciousness when delivering the punch lines- so if they work, great, if they don't-
Angst...

Like the sound of the pipe organ at Yankee Stadium, when everybody's waiting for something to happen aside from someone spitting on his shoe for the umpteenth time-

Uuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrr goes the organ- as if to say: "Will this guy get a hit"? "Will he steal the base"? or What?

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrr goes the organ.


Godfrey Daniels there's pineapple juice in my pineapple juice!

And the band played on...

"Oh Buttermilk skies..."




'Till next time, 'Mela




3:03 PM

Tuesday, March 04, 2003  




March is coming in like a lion, alright...

Happy Fat Tuesday, one and all... and to one special niece of mine, Ms. Jennifer, Happy, Happy 18th Birthday to you, sweetheart!

Things are looking up for this calendar girl, although the economy here in Nippon is none too great, there are opportunities for the persistent pavement pounder, or, in this age, keyboard pounder. It used to be [for this ex New Yorker] a subway to the bus to a taxi up the block while fixing your lipstick and tucking your bagel-breakfast in your bag before getting settled for your five minute interview-
now its all an email away...

Not one to talk about breaks before they tap on the door, I'll just say that I'll be vacuuming the dust the hell off my welcome mat forthwith.

I think its time I turned this roll of film in my pocket the hell in and had its funky ass exposed for the thing that it is: a lovely collection of photos of the "Japan Grand Prix International Orchid Festival". One of a string of events that helps us all get through the winters here. The tedium of the cold, sunny, dry days is too much sometimes- I know all you people in the 'States who are now diggin' your asses outta 6 foot snowbanks will really feel for my poor soul on this one, but gee, if its gotta be winter, why not have the weather in hybernation mode to go along? Being raised upstate NY all this light bothers my eyes past 3:30 in the afternoon...
But the orchids- ohhhh the orchids...
This is my third consecutive visit to the festival, so now being the seasoned connaisseur, I don't point and snap at everything that crosses my lenses path. I was able to put that 'ole L-7 viewfinder in my mind to good work in choosing the more suitable subjects for my future canvas, [ j'espere, j'espere] namely the smaller, more numerous flowers, and their surrounding greenery. And I did it with only one roll of 24 exposures. Last year I was "crazy for Cattleyas", but this year I went for the more subdued, dude. And what variations on this theme there were! Fuzzy, raggedy, scraggly, in breathtaking colors, and with scents equally as intoxicating...

They get a good turnout at this annual event - located in the Tokyo Dome, home to the Yomiuri Giants baseball team, and ex-Giant Hideki Matsui, who is Yankee property these days... got 'ZILLA?
Try to visualize a sports arena filled to the rafters with orchids, orchids and more orchids- expensive rigs flashing away, and even the mobile phone cameras- "Look Ma, I'm at the Orchid Festival"!
A great way to relieve the winter doldrums.



'Till next time... 'Mela

9:42 AM

 
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