FACE TO FACE

You're probably wondering why some of my recent blog posts have been reruns (such as Tango and The Two That Got Away). I've done that specifically for my new readers.

Many (many) of my long-time readers have mysteriously vanished. I probably bored them to death (but I think the real reason is that the Russians had something to do with it). 😁😀
Anyway, if I didn't have new visitors to my blog, I'd most likely be going solo. In a nosedive. I figured some of my older posts would be interesting. Or at least semi-interesting.

Face to face?
Last night, just at twilight, I went out on the back porch and came face to face with a white-tail deer. He (she?) was beautiful. I really wanted to take a photo but it was getting dark, and I knew that if I used a camera flash it would scare him (her?). So we just gazed at each other for awhile and then the deer wandered off into the forest. 

When I first moved here (over five years ago) there were lots of deer roaming around, and wild turkeys, and other intriguing creatures of nature.
Unfortunately, because of an (extremely) annoying increase of hunters and loggers, the animals tend to remain hidden in the woods. 

Hunting is in direct contrast to my pacifistic nature. I would rather die myself than kill any of the incredible creatures of the forest.

When I was fourteen years old - for reasons that are still inexplicable to me - I shot and killed a beautiful blackbird. Afterwards, I felt so guilt-ridden that I cried - and vowed I'd never kill another bird or animal as long as I lived. So far, I've kept that promise. 

So, what happened to the Big Snow (capitalized for emphasis) that was suppose to arrive today? It fizzled out, leaving us with sporadic showers of freezing rain. And mud. But sunshine keeps peaking through the clouds.
March will arrive soon.
And spring.
And Easter bunnies.

I keep getting these horrifying aura (ocular) migraines. Where my vision is completely obscured with flashing lights, zigzag lines, and blind spots. My mother used to get them frequently.
Why do I get them? I dunno.
I attribute it to stress. Changes in the weather. Too much time gazing at the computer screen. I got one last night while I was working at the computer.

I'm always stressed. I fear fear, and the fear of fear overwhelms me.

Ponder that for awhile. It's profound.

So....last night - after the white-tail deer wandered away, I went out on the front porch and took some photos of the twilight landscape. 

      

 That white speck above the trees is the moon

 All of these photos look very similar, but - trust me - they're all different ones.

I hate to write boring, worthless blog posts but seem to be doing it more frequently.

Ever since I fixed my furnace, my heating bill has quadrupled. Ouch!!!

Well, at least I'm warm.

I haven't had a television since I moved to TN, but I get live-stream for most channels on the computer. I recently started getting TCM (Turner Classic Movies) again - which I missed immensely.

Yesterday I watched Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and East of Eden.

I'm in heaven. 

THE TWO THAT GOT AWAY

MAE WEST

  

 



MARIA RASPUTIN

I've met a lot of famous people when I lived in California and I've written about some of my encounters on previous blog posts - - John Wayne, Sonny and Cher, Groucho Marx, Ronald Reagan, Ann Miller, Liza Minnelli, Joan Rivers, Shelley Winters, Raquel Welch......and that's only a few. 
I haven't even mentioned the porn stars (no, I'm not kidding).

The great thing about Hollywood (at least when I lived there) was that it was fairly easy to cross paths with famous people. And I knew many extremely colorful characters who knew famous people. The connections were everywhere. At the time, it was exciting and I loved it. 

Despite all the celebrities I met, I still think the most about the two that got away. Two people whom I desperately wanted to meet but never did. Incredibly, they were both listed in the L.A. phone book:
Actress Mae West and Maria Rasputin - daughter of Grigory Rasputin, the infamous Russian monk who knew Tsar Nicholas II.

 I still have the old L.A. phone book

Maria Rasputin was a colorful character in her own right - a former governess, cabaret dancer, and long-time circus lion tamer.
She soothed the wild beasts with her mesmeric eyes.

She was indeed listed in the phone book (trust me, there aren't many Rasputins in the white pages....). She lived in obscurity in a modest place on Larissa near the Hollywood Freeway. 
I staked out her residence numerous times hoping to get a glimpse of her, but I never did. She was already in her late 70s then and died a short time later.

Since she was listed in the phone book, I regret not calling her. I was a heckuva lot more brash in my youth than I am now. But - - let's be rational here - - I didn't know what to say.
What's a good opening line when you want to talk to Rasputin's daughter?
"Hey, I was a big fan of your father".....??
  

Maria Rasputin

Mae West. Film star legend. Hollywood icon. I was an immensely huge Mae West fan back then and really wanted to meet her, but she was already in her 80s and led a reclusive life.

Ironically, one of my close friends and fellow musician Anton had met her (I wrote about Anton in a previous blog post - his sister Clara wanted to marry me).

Anton's encounter with Mae West happened long ago when he was about twelve years old. His mother was doing some sort of Hollywood charity work and Mae West was involved. They were both invited to West's apartment. Anton, at that time, had never heard of  Mae West and wasn't particularly interested. He remembered that the apartment living room was decorated entirely in white and he said Mae West was very alluring.

Ravenswood Apartments on Rossmore
Long-time residence of Mae West

Mae West had lived in the same Hollywood apartment building for over forty-five years - - in fact, she had a lifetime lease. It was called Ravenswood and is located on north Rossmore, only a few blocks from Paramount Studios on Melrose (where she worked during her heyday). Incidentally, West's apartment number was 611.

I initially thought that Mae West owned Ravenswood, but she didn't. Ravenswood was built by Paramount Studios in 1930 and had once housed such famous residents as Clark Gable and Ava Gardner.

One day I was driving and my car broke down directly in front of Ravenswood. It hadn't dawned on me where I was until I looked up and saw the big Ravenswood sign on the roof.

Holy crap! Mae West lives here! I was astonished and delighted that fate had unceremoniously dumped me right in front of her abode.

There's no satisfactory resolution to this story because I never did meet Mae West. I did my best to get a glimpse of her but to no avail.

In retrospect this sounds crazy, but on several later occasions (usually at night) I would sit on a wall across the street and gaze at Mae West's windows.

West had been listed in the L.A. phone book for many years. When she was younger she actually answered the phone and talked to her fans (imagine any star doing that nowadays!).

Despite my reluctance to call Maria Rasputin, I did call Mae West's number several times. I talked to her long-time companion Paul Novak, who was a former body builder and had been one of several muscle-bound pretty boys featured in West's Las Vegas show.

Novak was thirty years younger than West. It was rumored that they had been lovers, but I have my doubts (for reasons that I won't disclose here). Paul was kind and easy to talk to. He told me that Mae was very deaf and no longer spoke on the phone (I already assumed that, because I'd heard of all the trouble she had with her hearing while she was making the movie Myra Breckinridge).

Like a sappy jackass, I wrote a humorous poem and fan letter and sent it to West. Paul said that he'd make sure she got it. She did. Within a few days I received a letter and signed photo from Mae. I still have it.  

Mae West, in later years, with Paul Novak (Paul is on the left)

LIVING DANGEROUSLY?

What if you lived entirely alone in a rural area, on the edge of a forest, with no nearby neighbors, where the nights are darker and more foreboding than the devil's soul?

What if the flimsy house you live in has doors and windows that are very easy to break into? What if the most recent cell phones you purchased were completely worthless, since they can't pick up signals in such a remote area?

Would you be afraid late at night - with nothing to keep you company but two lazy cats.......and the hooting owls and howling coyotes nearby outdoors?

You can only imagine what this place is like during a power outage.

When I moved here five years ago, I was admittedly scared shitless for the first two weeks. My extremely vivid imagination went wild.

Soon, however, I got used to the isolation and solitude - and grew to love it. And came to embrace the imagined dangers.
Ghosts in the woods. Rural monsters afoot. Maniacal serial killers wandering the restless countryside. 

When I first came here, for the first few years, I had no curtains or blinds on any of the windows. I let the intoxicating moonlight stream in.

Lately...finally.... I put blinds on all the windows. But I pull the blinds completely up on my bedroom window, so I can look out at the night while laying in bed.
The window in my bedroom isn't on "ground-level". It's way up high - so there's no chance that Bigfoot could ever look in......
......unless he's twelve feet tall....

I've occasionally slept with the doors unlocked - but lately I'm much more careful.

Am I deliberately courting danger? Do I have a death wish?

Truth to tell, I have always courted danger. In my sordid past, I've done more horrifyingly dangerous things than I'd ever care to tell. 

Yet I'm neither tough, bold, nor courageous. I simply don't scare very easily.
Whenever I hear a creepy sound outside in the middle of the night, I always go out to investigate it.

Incidentally, I have a gun and know how to use it. Firearm opponents be damned.

And what do I do for entertainment in the after-midnight hours here in the wilderness?
I like to read ghost stories and true-crime stories.
I love to watch scary videos on YouTube about unsolved murders and unexplained mysteries.

Am I totally crazy?
Naw, not totally. I now always make sure the doors are locked...and the gun is loaded.
And every once in awhile - just for a change of pace - I'll watch a benign movie with a Disney theme.

Here are some photos that I took within the past few weeks.

The full moon setting behind the nearby mountain, just before dawn.

         The early morning sun appearing in the misty forest

Note: I removed my previous "question and answer" post, simply because I didn't like it.

TANGO

Forget your troubles. Clear the room.
And put on your dancing shoes.

LET'S TANGO!!


I can't remember when I made this video, but I pulled it out of my secret files and dusted it off (it's also available on YouTube).

Por una Cabeza, without a doubt, is my absolute favorite Argentine tango. It is heartfelt, intriguingly sensual, with a tinge of old-fashioned sentimentality.

Whenever I hear it, I'm transported to a distant place where I'd rather be: 

a sultry, smoke-filled, lamp-lit Latin cafe, where the late-evening hours are perfumed with beautiful women and smouldering with handsome men.
Where I am languidly smoking a cigarillo and leisurely sipping a glass of Malbec.....and savoring the possibilities of a mesmerizing night.

Forgive me - my romanticism is kicking in. 

When I was a little younger and considerably more agile, and when I was living in the delectable State of Illusion known as Hollywood - somebody (names need not be mentioned) taught me to tango.


I was never a dancer - by any stretch of the imagination - but a few glasses of sangria and a balmy summer night can inspire me to try just about anything. Old records on an antique Victrola. Candlelight. A smooth partner.
I learned the steps, the moves.
I tangoed. 


Por una Cabeza is a Spanish horse-racing term meaning "by a head".
It was written by the French-Argentine singer/composer Carlos Gardel (1890-1935), who tragically died in a plane crash at the age of 44.

  This tango has been used in numerous films over the years, including Schindler's List and (I think) Scent of a Woman.


Will you join me in a tango?


This video will be more enjoyable if viewed full-screen.
Note that in the second - more passionate - theme of the tango, I incorporate a lady in a red dress.


I finally added the Followers thing to my sidebar!

HAVE YOU EVER?

These questions were taken from a recent post on Sunday Stealing

  Have you ever
1. Broken a bone?
I broke a bone in my left wrist while playing football in high school when I was fifteen. I hated football but we were forced to play in P.E. class. 
I was a pathetically skinny, myopic nerd - who didn't know a touchdown from a hoedown. Some gigantic, enormously fat bubba tackled me - - slamming me to the ground directly on  my left arm.
My wrist swelled up like a basketball and I couldn't use my arm for the rest of the year.
To this day, I cannot bend my left wrist, but fortunately it never effected my ability to play the piano.

2. Broken a window?
Once, in my early twenties, when I was extremely drunk, I threw a rock through a plate glass window. Let's not go into the details....
 
3. Been on TV?
Long ago in Los Angeles I performed with a chamber ensemble at the annual Christmas Eve Concert, which was held at the Music Center. It was broadcast on the local PBS station.
 
4. Had a friend who shared the same birthday as you?
A blogger friend, Susan, shares my birthday, which is December 13.
 
5. Locked your keys in the car?
When I lived in Texas I had a pickup truck with a defective door that would automatically lock every time it closed.
One day I was at Walmart, loading things into the back of the truck. I had the engine running and the door on the driver's side was open. A huge gust of wind slammed the door shut. The keys were in the ignition.
I was forced to leave the truck there in the parking lot, with the motor running, while I walked home to get another set of keys.
 
6. Accidentally sent a text or email to the wrong person?
A few years ago I was corresponding with an art dealer who was interested in buying some of my antique paintings. I accidentally sent an email intended for him to another rival art dealer. I had carelessly gotten their email addresses mixed up. It was extremely embarrassing.
 
7. Sat in the back of a police car?
Nope, but I sat in the front of a police car. The cop drove me home one night when my car broke down (happened long ago in California).
 
8. Fallen asleep at work?
Not that I can remember. But I've daydreamed a lot at work... 
 
9. Made a snow angel?  
No. But I've occasionally made yellow snow.
Think about that for awhile. It will eventually get funny.
 
10. Ridden in an ambulance?
In California, I think in 1981, my Mom and I were involved in a horrific auto accident. We were hit by an intoxicated illegal alien who ran a red light.
Our car was demolished. I was thrown semi-conscious from the vehicle and landed in the street. My mother's injuries resulted in her having health problems the rest of her life.
Yes, we both had a trip to the hospital in an ambulance.

11. Worst household chore
Where do I begin? The dirt, mud, dust, and bugs here in rural Tennessee turn simple household chores into tedious undertakings (no pun intended, of course).
 
12 .Worst colour
Worst color for what? I wouldn't wear anything pink to the local Walmart.
I don't like clashing colors. I'm not fond of olive green. 
 
13. Worst pizza topping
Long ago when I was a child in New Jersey, there weren't any pizza toppings. Pizza was always plain cheese - and it was DELICIOUS. Nowadays, toppings are used as diversions on inferior pizzas.
One of the worst pizza toppings is pineapple.
 
14. Worst weather
I never realized how many absolutely shitty places there are to live, until I moved from Southern California.
The Missouri Ozarks have endless storms.
West Texas has endless wind, dust storms, and drought.
Tennessee has endless rain. And mud (remember my previous "mud" blog posts?)
I hate tornadoes...and sub-freezing winter temperatures. 
 
15. Worst self-care job (e.g. dressing, washing, shaving, teeth, toe nails)
Did you ever notice that the older you get, the harder it is to cut your toenails?

By far, hands down, I HATE having to shave. My beard has always been tough and nothing properly cuts it. I've never had a smooth shave in my life.
As much as I dislike beards, I'm almost ready to grow one, because I'm so tired of shaving.
Thank God I don't have to shave my legs......
 
16. Worst game
What kind of game are we talking about? The dating game? The game of life?
I've always disliked  American football.
 
17. Worst school subject
Algebra, without a doubt. I never figured it out.
  
18. Worst animal
How about a neighbor's dog that never shuts up? 
Or the squirrels and 'possums here in Tennessee that are literally ripping my house apart? 
Actually, I can't think of any animal that I would call "the worst".
 
19. Worst season
I love the transitional seasons: autumn and spring. I'm not exactly in love with summer.
 
20. Worst TV show 
Then or now?
How about those old shows - My Mother the Car, Mr. Ed, and The Flying Nun?

Nowadays, there are too many crappy TV shows to name.

ALL ABOUT BLOGGING

 
Did you ever try to change the format of your blog? I did (several times recently) but screwed everything up so badly that I quickly reverted to my old tried and true format.
Which looks cluttered and stuffy. And rather tired.

I hate having ads on blogs - yet I (reluctantly) plug my books and Zazzle stores. Where the heck else can I pimp them? 

I dislike the title of my blog, but I chose Lone Wolf Concerto only because it was similar to my old Texas blog Lone Star Concerto.
Heck, I live alone. In the woods. I'm not exactly a wolf. But concerto reflects my musical and poetic soul.

I don't have the popular "Followers" thingie on my blog, mainly because I think it's tacky. And misleading.
If you have 2,000 followers, people assume that your blog is great.
If you have 6 followers, they think it's crappy.
Truthfully, most followers never bother to read the blogs that they follow.

And the cult-like concept of followers is slightly disconcerting.
Rasputin had followers.
Charles Manson had followers. So did Jim Jones.....

I intensely dislike Comment Moderation, yet I have it on my blog. There's nothing worse than writing a comment on a blog and getting the rude message: Your comment will be published after approval (or something like that).
It makes me sound like judge and jury.

I have comment moderation to filter out the loonies, the haters, and spam.

Jon, it seems completely inconceivable that anyone could hate you.

Well, Kemosabe, let's just say that my intense charm doesn't captivate everyone.  

I always envy those bloggers who have no comment moderation at all. They write a post, and immediately (within 30 seconds) get 50 adoring comments, telling them how wonderful their post is.
That's never happened to me. Never.

And while I'm on a roll -
I always envy those bloggers who post a photo of themselves and immediately (within 20 seconds) get 50 adoring comments, saying how fantastic they look.

That's never happened to me. Never.
In twenty years of blogging (or so it seems) I've only gotten two (that I can remember) compliments on my photos. Both were from men....
......who obviously have good taste

Usually I'll get a semi-snide remark, like I've never really been attracted to blondes.

Relax, sweetheart. There's no chance that we're ever going to copulate. It's just a photo. 

When I had my Texas blog Lone Star Concerto, one of my readers told me she hated my profile photo. This was coming from a woman who looked like Marie Dressler's ugly sister. 

I'll pause here and give you time to Google Marie Dressler.  

In a rage over one of my political posts, some misguided moron called me a Nazi and accused me of looking like Donald Trump!

Hey, comrade - I'd rather look like Trump than Bernie Sanders.

But this is all beside the point. Assuming there ever was a point.... 

I absolutely can not tolerate people who are super-sensitive. Over the years I've lost an extraordinary amount of readers who disagreed with my opinions. Especially my political opinions. If you can't handle opinions that differ from your own, you shouldn't be reading blogs. 

I now (very reluctantly) keep my most controversial opinions to myself. But I'm always tempted to unleash them.....

I dislike the cluttered sidebar on my blog - - but the things that I put on it sometimes subtlety give hints as to my predilections. 
...quotes by Marcel Proust or Oscar Wilde....the Metropolitan Opera....
an American eagle with a flag (I'm sure that scares the crap out of some people)
"Proudly politically incorrect".

In reality, I don't adhere to any affiliations. I'm merely a free-thinker. And a realist.


You know what really bugs me about blogs? Microscopic fonts. There's nothing more annoying than trying to read a good post when you have to use reading glasses and a microscope. 
It's not that difficult to enlarge your damn font. It doesn't require a college degree.

My blog font is unnervingly large, because I want people to actually see what I write.
Sometimes.  
 
I often (very often) regret what I write. It sounds great while I'm writing it, but bombs Big Time when I reread it. My blog is nothing more than me thinking out loud. I'm not here to educate you or impress you. I don't purposely try to entertain you.

I'm just me being me. What you read is exactly who I am. Sometimes I'm funny. Sometimes I'm depressing. 

I try to be as honest as possible.
Lately I've been boring. 
I used to (jokingly) say that I'm the most fascinating person I know. Well, perhaps I wasn't joking. 
Perhaps....

You know what irritates the hell out of me? Excessively long blog posts.
Anybody who writes them should get a good swift kick in the ass.

Am I smiling here? Yes.

VALENTINE'S DAY

It's Valentine's Day!
I'm still recovering from all the crap I went through this week, so I'll (try to) keep this short.

Cupid came to pay a visit this morning but I didn't answer the door.

I'm spending the day blissfully alone with the cats - - who are overflowing with love now that they have food again. 

 Kitzee

(also known as Scratch)

 Bosco

I was stunned and dazzled when I woke up today and actually saw sunshine! I had nearly forgotten what it was.

It's colder than a penguin's kiss ( 19 degrees Fahrenheit) but it's a beautiful day and I'm unnervingly content.

Do I have any Valentine plans?

I'm going to have pizza for dinner and I'm making homemade potato soup for later this evening (it's going to be bitterly cold tonight).

And I'm going to watch a performance of Giselle - - one of my all-time favorite classical ballets (a romantic but tragic love story).

Several fantastic versions can be found on YouTube. 

I hope your Valentine's Day is pleasant and bright - - filled with all good things.