Kafka Blues Part Deux

Posted on July 19, 2012 by Memphis Earlene Gray

Field trip to Terezin  or stay in the dorm and write term paper for Czech Literature Class?  You decide.

“This is my golden opportunity to visit a concentration camp,” I say, with forced enthusiasm informed by a sense irony.

Memphis Earlene laughs in a  kindly way with just a hint of malice.

You can have the blues in Prague but they quickly turn into irony, informed by a history that includes the Thirty Years War, the extinction of the Jewish community, and 50  years of Soviet Occupation.

Scarlett reminds me there’s a third choice: shopping the Second Hand stores.

Only in Prague would a Second Hand store be called Revenge. That’s where she made me buy a retro cotton skirt with sequin trim.  Garish and girly, perfect for Scarlett, my fashion advisor, but I’d look silly in it.

“Au contraire,” says Scarlett, who knows five words of French and uses them whenever possible. “You can wear  it with irony.”

Irony, and a black t-shirt.

 

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Kafka Blues

Posted on July 15, 2012 by Memphis Earlene Gray

“Woke up this morning,discovered I ‘d been turned into a gigantic bug, which made it hard to get out of bed…..”  Franz Kafka Blues, in rough translation.

“Yu can’t have the blues in Prague,” Memphis Earlene says.  “Not even if you’re Jewish.”

She won’t elaborate.  That’s my job.

Consider Prague’s tragic history of being on the losing side of most wars…..but “tragic” doesn’t sound right.

Irish history is tragic.  Prague history is existentially absurd.  The fountain outside the Kafka Museum consists of what looks like two statues of cyborgs pissing into a shallow pool shaped like the Czech Republic.  Or is it the country formerly known as Czechoslvakia?   Our writing workshop classroom overlooks the old Prague Jewish cemetery.

“You should channel your inner Stephen King and write Jewish Pet Sematary,” Scarlett says.

“That’s a sick idea, ” I say.  It is also irresistable.   Irresistable as absinthe ice cream, another local delicacy.

Prague has  second hand  stores, fabulous Baroque architechture, and an  English language bookstore.   I could almost live here.  So could Scarlett.

We have two more weeks to convince Memphis Earlene.

 

 

 

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Airport Blues

Posted on June 6, 2012 by Memphis Earlene Gray

“You can have the blues in bus stations and train stations, but Airport  Blues are an Upper Class lament unless you’re handcuffed to a Federal Marshal,” says Memphis Earlene.

Lost tickets.  Lost boarding pass.  Left behind laptop when I went through security.  Left behind carry-on luggage .  Took taxi instead of subway to airport in rush hour.  Went to wrong airport.  Take off delayed due to thunderstorm in Chicago.  Based on past experiences, a 10% chance of being the lucky passenger selected for random total inspection. Missed connection due to fog in San Francisco.  Overnight in airport hotels at own expense due to weather conditions.

Three weeks till take off.  If only I could take the train to Prague.

 

 

 

 

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Shopping Blues Deux

Posted on May 26, 2012 by Memphis Earlene Gray
Some rescue shelter dogs and feral cats.   I rescue  fashion mistakes.
Right now I’m wearing  a previously owned Yohji Yamamoto woolen sundress I found at Second Chance, Bethesda for a fraction of the original cost.
It’s two shade of brown, like a Siamese cat.
You can wear a dress like this and blend in New York City but it stands out as “different” in Washington DC.   It’s too avant garde for the office and not telegenic.  And no one wears brown wool in the summer, which seems to start sooner and end later every year.
Memphis Earlene likes the new rescue .
” Now you won’t look all covered in cat-hair after Cosmo sits on your lap.”
Scarlett, my fashion advisor, thinks the dress is pretty ugly.
“Maybe it’s an ugly dress to you but I feel pretty in it,” I explain.
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Cocaine Blues.

Posted on May 18, 2012 by Memphis Earlene Gray

Memphis Earlene says she’s been part of my life since High School, when Ann Mintz left her Dave van Ronk at the Folklore Center album at my house.  The first time I heard Cocaine Blues I could feel it in my fingertips.  There are times when the right piece of music can save your soul.

I couldn’t sing, still can’t, but I could play guitar in a primitive way.  Cocaine Blues felt like something I could learn to play if I worked at it.

“It was me,” says Memphis Earlene. “My spirit was in your fingers.  You were in sore need.”

Mozart gives me a headache.  Opera puts me to sleep.   Only in recent years have I been able to appreciate classical music.    I don’t worship at the house of blues on a steady basis but I derive comfort from knowing they’re available when I need them.

You can grow old with the blues. They’ll keep you company.

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Homesick Blues

Posted on May 4, 2012 by Memphis Earlene Gray

I left New York because I wanted off street parking and NYC was no place to raise a golden retriever.  It’s been exile ever since.

I live in Washington DC. in a New York frame of  mind.

I have off street parking but I don’t like to drive.  I can’t have a golden retriever because they’re not allowed in the building.  I can’t vote except in local and Presidential elections. Washington DC has no Senators.We have a Congresswoman, but she’s not permitted to vote on the floor.

“You could always move,” says  Memphis Earlene.

I love my neighborhood. I  love my apartment, which has two walk-in closets,  gets plenty of light,  and is rent-controlled.  A New Yorker’s wet-dream of an apartment.  No New York girl gives up a rent-controlled apartment in a good neighborhood without a court order.

“Voting is overrated.  It only encourages them,” says Scarlett, my fashion consultant.

 

 

 

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Hoodie Blues

Posted on April 10, 2012 by Memphis Earlene Gray

I walk the mean streets of  Georgetown with Blues Avatar Memphis Earlene Gray, and Scarlett Ginsburg, who is a dybbuk.  She is  also my fashion advisor.  In a gesture of solidarity  I am wearing the black cashmere hoodie she found for me at Second Chance.She wants a pearl handled  Susan Komen foundation  Hope Edition  pink Walther P-22’s  and a pink cashmere hoodie .

” In Florida I could have shot any any man on the street who hassled me,” I say wistfully.

“Get real,” Memphis Earlene says. “How threatened did you feel in Key West?”

“I’m talking about home,” I say.

Memphis Earlene sees where I’m going with this.

” You don’t shoot some fool who don’t know how to behave in public just because he makes animal noises at you and grabs at your ass,” Memphis Earle says. ” It’s got to be more personal.”

Scarlett weighs in. “If I  was George Zimmerman’s fashion adviser I’d  say ditch the orange shirt.  He should wear plaid.”


Posted in Blues, Humor, Shopping, Trayvon Martin, women | 6 Comments

Birth Control Blues Part Deux

Posted on March 20, 2012 by Memphis Earlene Gray

Birth Control Blues Part Deux.

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Birth Control Blues Part Deux

Posted on March 19, 2012 by Memphis Earlene Gray

Mean reds, baby, on top of the blues

Mean reds, baby, on top of the blues

When you got the mean reds, you need the B-52’s.

“Every Sperm is Sacred just became the national anthem,” I say. “Rick Santorum isn’t kidding.  ”

Woke up this morning in a state of Feminist Rage.

“Don’t pay it no mind,”says Memphis Earlene.

Two negatives mean twice as negative in Blues English, unlike the Queen’s English where they’d cancel each other out.

Scarlett weighs in.  She’s a dybbuk, not a Blues woman.    She died of complications following a botched illegal abortion in 1956.  It was performed in a kitchen with yellow linoleum on the floor.  That’s the only detail she remembers clearly.

“Wasn’t it weird to see the B-52’s on TV? Like they suddenly got old overnight?” Scarlett says.

Dybbuks have no sense of time.  Scarlett will be 19 forever.

“The B-52’s are not old.” I remind her. “They are mature. ”

“You can’t be mature when you’re singing Love Shack,” she reminds me.

Scarlett thinks ‘mature’ is the ugliest word in the English language next to Santorum.

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Birth Control Blues

Posted on March 12, 2012 by Memphis Earlene Gray

Memphis Earlene and I are speechless with rage these days, hence the decision to invite Scarlett Ginsburg  to write for this blog.

Scarlett died of complications following a botched illegal abortion in 1956. She’s a dybbuk. Dybbuks are Jewish ghosts who haunt people, not houses.  The good side of being a dybbuk is you don’t age, so are spared the risk of botched face lifts.

She’s jealous of me because I went to college in the era of Birth Control pills, back when they were cheap enough for a college girl on a small allowance.

I could afford to make mistakes without paying for them with my life.

If birth control had been readily available in  Virginia, Scarlett would be an aging superstar with a huge gay following, at least in the South.   Her idol was Tallulah Bankhead.

“What’s this was?” says Scarlett.  “I hate it when you talk about me like I’m not even there.”

Expect to hear more from Scarlett.

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