Not the same

Many years ago I told my mother I was seeing a woman. “Oh yes,” she said “I have feelings for women too.”

“Ma,” sez I, “I don’t have feelings for J. I fuck her.”

And yeah it’s still true. I don’t have feelings for men or women. I fuck them.


Stories vary

I contacted a childhood acquaintance. She remembered me.

She told me a story about my mother that was clearly important to her and her sibs. I didn’t remember it, but ran it by Mom.

She didn’t remember it either.

So yeah, what else do people remember? What important stuff did I do that entirely dropped out of my history?


Cab stops. I’m still fumbling to pay. A couple surges up to the door. She bleached blond, he pencil beard. He opens the door, “Yo! I’m still in here!” “Oh, sorry.”

Eventually I emerge.

The woman: “He was trying to help you out the door.”

“No, he wasn’t, but nice try.”

The woman: “Are you Jewish?”

Me: “What the fuck has that to do with anything?”

The woman: “I knew it. Fucking Jewish bitch.”


For many years I attributed my lack of a sweet tooth to my health conscious parents who didn’t feed us many sweets.

Recently I’ve realized that this is nonsense.

My brother loves sweets.

No, I mean it. He loves sweets.

But I don’t.

I realized that I have quite limited food loves. Oh yeah, I’ll try anything. I’ll eat anything a friend serves me.


– No saccharine

– No cruciform veg

– No twizzlers

– No black cherry anything

– No chocolate with nuts

– No ham (even when I ate pork)

– No artificial strawberry

Geeze, listing what I like would be easier!

Martha Miriam Eliezer

The Times published an op-ed piece on artists who are bad people (actually bad men).

Lots of comments about you can, you should separate the art from the artist. (Easy once they’re dead.)

That’s the context.

I started thinking about Woolfe’s imagined Judith Shakespeare, and how maybe she’d have been an even greater playwright – if only.

And then it hit me. Miriam and Martha have the same endless demands on them. Not Eliezar – not a lick of housework.


Recently I’ve realized something obvious. Lots of people live in their bodies. I don’t. I am this body.

No wonder I’m confused when people talk of how their desire developed online, because their minds matched.

Of course I’m befuddled by folks who are shocked when lovers fall out of lust.

If my lover transitioned, I might lust after the changed body. If I did it would be a new lust for a new person.

I might not though. I have loved the taste and smell and feel and sight and sound and weight and presence of the bodies. I haven’t loved the essence dwelling in the body. 

This body loves that one.

Customer service

My iPhone screen shattered this morning. The event was odd. 

I had set it on the counter face down. Its bumper like case should have kept the screen from any irregularities in the counter’s surface.

A few minutes later I picked it up. The screen shattered.

I made an appointment at the Apple store to have the screen replaced. Then I called tech support. I had replaced the screen a few weeks ago and really didn’t want to spend another $129 (plus tax).

The tech told me that all full price repairs and are guaranteed for 90 days. That’s a relief! Thank you! She made my day. (Temporarily.)

I toddled off to my appointment. The tech told me that as it was an accident, the warranty didn’t cover the replacement. But, said he, my phone had been issued a (possibly) defective battery, and Apple would replace it. For free.

Heavy sigh. Went home. Sulked.

I came back to the store. The tech brought me my phone. The bill was $208 (plus tax).

Huh, no, that’s wrong said the tech. Let me check this.

She came back a few minutes later, wearing a very sour look. It’s your lucky day, no charge.

I think that the original tech must’ve written up the service request incorrectly. I wonder though what that error was. Was I wrongly charged for the screen? From what the phone tech said, that is certainly possible. Or was it easier to charge nothing than reverse the erroneous charge for the battery.

I’ll never know. If the final tech had been cheerful, I wouldn’t even wonder.