THE GREAT RED SPOT - PART 1

i was recently at a party, and as is so often the case when us old farts gather together these days, the conversation drifted towards health issues & current maladies. a theme emerged in the conversations - issues commonlyusedtobly known as 'woman's problems'.

from the dining room table, a woman pal observed another woman pal's odd dance taking place in the kitchen: piling her hair on top off her head/shifting her weight from foot to foot. "hot flashes," i was told..."she needs to take off her shoes."

???

it is strange to see woman i've known for decades - hardknock rock 'n' rollers whom i forever will image as 19-year-old Strat-wielding unstoppable Amazons/tough West Side o' Clevo art gurls/'nice' ex-wife morphing into an unreconizable shrew - going thru menopause. i mean, we know we all are old...but this is grandma shit.

i am also reminded that at least 90% of my wakingruminating life is taken up with interactions with women - divorce lawyer/accountant/GFs/ex-wife/psycho Mom/secretaries & functionaries/doctors/etc = all distaff. now, factor in the new reality of estrogen-progesterone inbalances into the ongoing, daily tryingtofigurethesewomenout, and confusion/infuriation/frustration reigns. very un-PC/un-feminist to bring this up, but...

(aside: Eve Silberbach was the star of sixth grade - cute, smart, talented. one day at a mutual friend's b-day party, she took out a baritone uke and played a few P P & M folk songs. the adults oohed-ahhed...but i - all stoneswhokinksbeatles - thought it was the lamest thing i'd ever heard...and promptly got myself a guitar and a drum set and learned how to play.

woman + encounter = life changing experience.

the first of many...

we were all slamming hard into puberty - girls first, of course - and this made for much sniggering amongst the boys. example: whenever Eve would have her period, she'd sprout this huge red zit on her forehead - christened 'The Great Red Spot' - and much mirth ensued.

...'til once i was visiting a friend who lived on Eve's street. her dad was mowing the lawn, and since it was high summer, he was in a short-sleeved shirt.

on his right arm were some crudely-tattooed blue numbers.

Nazi concentration camp numbers.

after that, it no longer seemed so funny to make fun of someone's 'marks'.)

point: i am entirely a product of my relations with women. i do have my own reasonably solid, male identity (hard won and unique since i did not want to be like my sonofabitch father or any other cretinous jockmen presentedexhalted as suitable role models), but i must completely acknowledge how my sense of self/what i do/who i am was-has been & is being shaped by the influence and interaction with les femmes...only now i have to also factor in this new & powerful & chemically-induced variable into the life equation:

woman + encounter + menopause = ?

(to be continued)



NP: "Tell That Girl To Shut Up"/Holly & The Italians

PEEVE DE JOUR: workworkwork.

ROSATI'S FLAVOR-OF-THE-DAY:

(Aug. 6th)

Higbees
Chocolate Malted™

OR

Chocolate Chocolate Chip

cb...where are you?











BONN PLACE/WEEHAWKEN, NJ