Beyond Mega Tired Tonight, but you knew that. Also, I've run out of examples/comparisons/superlatives to describe how tired I am on Sunday nights, so if you can come up with any good ones I would appreciate it. Keep in mind, though, that the reason I've run out is because I went as far as I could go with the metaphor. Once I used the Event Horizon/Black Hole example, I figured I couldn't surpass it. I mean, right? If I was actually falling into The Black Hole Of Tiredness, I could never escape that, correct? And having fallen in, I would begin to be compressed and crushed by the weight of my own tiredness collapsing upon itself. My tiredness would become ultra-dense....
No dense jokes, please. But yeah, I just gave up after that. Didn't see how I could top The Black Hole Of Tiredness. So from now on, on Sundays, just count me in as Mega Tired (or some variation thereof), unless you can think of a new Gigantic Sized Beyond Comprehension Tiredness Comparison That Will Top The Black Hole.
At any rate.......I forgot to mention Les Sewing Sisters last night. Les Sewing Sisters were the opening act for Sparks. Wait a minute - did I mention 'em? I can't remember. Gotta start reading back my blogs. But I don't think I did mention them. I was rambling on about Sparks' agelessness and didn't really review the show. I'll give a better review after Tuesday night's show, but as for Les Sewing Sisters, they are two Japanese women who........play sewing machines onstage.
Yep. It's like a Hurra Torpedo kind of trip if you remember them. Gram Rabbit opened for Hurra Torpedo back in 2006 at The Roxy. I am sure I wrote a Myspace blog about it. That band played refrigerators, stoves and washing machines onstage, so they are still The Weirdest Band I Have Seen.
But Les Sewing Sisters are up there now as well. Every song is about sewing. They wear metallic sci-fi dresses with their hair pulled up under a net with a pin cushion on top. They have Big Round Sunglasses. They are deadpan and don't break character. It's like performance art, and fun to see at least once. And, they only played for 25 minutes, so they didn't overstay their welcome or sew themselves into a corner. Try to see them at least once in your life, if you can.
Well, Elizabeth, I saw your post, via your friend Emily E. about her #MeToo experience. I did not know what #MeToo was at first glance but as I read the post I got the picture very quickly. Then I saw some more #MeToo posts on FB within a few minutes......
There are a few things I want to say. The first thing is that, I don't know if you mean - via Emily E's post - that you have had an experience of this kind. I know her post was specifically about Hollywood and the film industry, but such predators are everywhere. If you have had a #MeToo experience, you should talk about it with someone, if only to get it out of your system. If you have not had an experience like this, then I am glad, but I know - as we all do - that it happens to a lot of women, not just in Hollywood but everywhere and in all kinds of work and life situations.
But speaking of Hollywood, I could go on quite a tirade, one that could last several blogs at least.
I won't do it tonight, though I might in the future.
You see, I hate these people with a black passion. And that is because I have my own #MeToo experience, with a psychopath who lived next door to me in 1989 named Jared Rappaport. I won't go into it tonight, though you or any longtime readers of my blogs over the years may know the event I am talking about. I was kidnapped by this man, who was a professor at CSUN. This happened in September 1989, as part of a series of events that were extraordinary in the extreme. You readers know this. I know it's gross and unseemly for a man to include himself in a #MeToo confession, but in my case you can rest assured that no physical contact was made. Mr. Rappaport was an extreme sexual deviant, however, and he wanted to shove that in my face, so to speak. He also tortured me, during a night that has never been spoken of nor acknowledged by anyone but me, though many know about it.
I was pretty sure I was gonna die in his house that night. I know the meaning of Terror.
That is all I will say tonight about my own #MeToo experience, though in my case, it was not some gay guy trying to pick up on me or pressure me, but an insane kidnapper and sexual deviant, so my case is somewhat removed from that of the majority of women who are reporting #MeToo.
Or are our cases really all that different?
Perhaps not. Women are generally less physically strong, and in the presence of a large heavy set man like Weinstein must feel, if not terrified, then at least frightened and degraded.
It's all the same thing, to different degrees.
But what I wanted you to know - and everyone who reads this blog to know - is how much I hate these people. And you should know that "to hate" is an extraordinary thing for me, because I generally like people. I'm not political, don't get caught up in Us vs.Them cultural stuff. But all I have to do is think of Mr. Rappaport, and remember my terror - extreme terror......
And I am right back there. I am back in his house, and the feeling is visceral. So what I want all women to know is that I know what the visceral feeling feels like. That's the part that never goes away, the part that - even if you generally don't think about it, still brings back the original terror when you do think about it.
I will close for tonight by saying that these people are fucking scum. Sorry about the F Word, but hey.
Here in Los Angeles, in the movie business and in the music business (can't leave them out), there are networks that are ultra-secret, and akin to devil-worship groups. That's how evil these people are.
They have their networks, and they have their money, and they have their power. And they don't talk about any of the stuff they do.
They keep everything a secret. I should know, because my life has been impacted enormously by the keeping of secrets on the part of others, people who I thought were my friends or similarly on my side in life.
I have a name for these people, a name I coined back in 2005 when I was getting ready to write my book. I call these people "The Porno People", the folks who live up in the Hollywood Hills, with their little short ponytails and an earring. I know who they are and can see them coming a mile away. They have their coke connections and their money, and they have their industry positions.
My life was permanently affected by these people, by way of someone who was close to me.
I will stop now, but I hate The Porno People with a Black Passion.
In my book, I have a fantasy sequence in which I envision an F-22 flying along the ridgeline of the Santa Monica mountains, laying the homes of the Porno People to waste.
Sorry for the tirade, but these people are absolute scum, and they are crazy, like Jared Rappaport, and they keep everything secret.......
They are The Secret Keepers, and they are Demons, and somebody has got to root them all out.
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