Wednesday, 16 December 2009

FAQs (fr. the Dep't of Nearly There)

editor's note: 26, january 2010 (!?!) @15,01: i plan to be changing things in here (not in any major sense) cause i've got stuff that needs clarification as well as some necessary — in the interests of total truth-telling — additions and so, this post'll be edited ASAP (read: ASA time and my memory permit). then again, i've been saying that shit for months now but in truth, i've forgotten. shit, in truly truth, i remember but at totally inopportune times, like when i'm having a shit or when i'm just about to drop off to sleep. naturally, when inspiration strikes (hah! i flatter myself but if i don't, who will?), i could always rush outta the loo or get the hell up off the sofa and sit my ass down here but i always choose to do my business first, whether it be evacuation or sleeping.

teh funny: i actually keep a notebook and pen in the bathroom (as well as one on the coffeetable) to write down shit i wanna remember but after whatever's duly noted — and y'all know what's coming — *whispers* i forget to look at the list(s). anyhoo, if things go as planned and they never do but there's always a first time, this liddle editor's note or whatever'll be gone when i'm done, so here's hoping it's (relatively) soon. *clink!*

i began these FAQs back in august and afterwards, whenever i'd edit in things i'd forgotten or upon which i wanted to expand, i'd change the date but i ain't gonna do that anymore i diddit today cause i'm gearing up to put an addendum down below, prolly under No.2.

helpful hint: this'll be the only post here and i can't leave it alone especially when i'm cleaning the flat or working, so it'll prolly keep on morphing in various ways. um. my bad. *shrugs*

on the other hand, i've been told 'A good editor is never done...'

and in all seriousity, i'm up there with the best, mostly thanks to a lifetime fraught with detail-oriented horror experience till i learnt to make the Asperger's work for me. anyway, onto my new and improved Tawdry FAQs, all culled from mostly anonymous mails and stuff people ask in TRW. shit! almost forgot:

this is the answer to the most FAQ of me so it should totally be first but i can't be arsed to change the rest of the numbering below: Rimone is my real name goddammit and i used to love it before that band came along.

Q.1) 'Why is your blog site called what it is?' and/or 'Why is it "tawdry"...?'

A) big duh! without getting into why i can't stand the word blog the answer's over to your right in the penultimate third-to-last sentence under the heading 'about the godless'. on 7. june 2007 i got mail from a dude called Donatien Bestrualta, a friend of Chas (known as Captain Paranoid onstage) who fronts one of the best live acts i've ever seen — Captain Paranoid and the Delusions — a dance-till-you-rock-your-ass-off-and-drop band based in Cardiff (Wales). the subjectline of DB's wondrous mail?

'the talented little rimone' ——> *preens ass off*

'Your blog is superb. I don't usually bother reading tawdry autobiographies written by nobodies but your site makes me chuckle so in your case I happily make an exception'.

he was tawkin about reading my real dead for over two years after it got hacked site, but still. hmmpf... the ADD just led me to 'reading' in general and i've gotta say — y'know: for the record — i have no respect for people who won't read or worser than that, who can but won't, especially when they ask me stupid questions they could research emselves cause i think they're morons not worth my precious time and even when i try to be nice, give em hints so big they can drive Mack trucks through em — like 'Google is your friend' — they still don't wanna geddit. *snigger*

warning: if you ever come over to mine and dare go 'Did you really read all of those books?' *self-satisfied smirk* whether you know it or not, you're halfway out the door (and i'm telling y'all this cause i'm such a nice guy).

Q.2) 'Why do you spell so many words wrong?' the nasty ones add 'If you're supposed to be a proofreader...'

A) cause i try to spell em exactly the way i speak in meatspace. y'know... with a Brooklyn accent. like, i don't say 'something'; i go 'sump'n'.

Q.3) 'It's hard to believe you bare so much of your soul here and many times I think that you're so full of shityou're lying'.

A) hell-llo-ohhhhh? i dunno how many times i've written (here, there and everywhere) 'this is my journal' and i really don't care who reads it. naturally, i don't put everything down cause i might be crazy but i sure as shit ain't stupid, just the things i think i might forget and will wanna remember in future, especially if i have the misfortune to live long enough to the point at which my memory takes a permanent hike (worserer than it is now).

if anything's not clear or it seems i'm being deliberately cryptic or hinty and too muchly so, i don't give a shit cause this writty is mine — Punkt, Ende. i've kept all kindsa notebooks, journals and diaries since a liddle after i learnt how to read and doing it online is my continuation of this habit of a lifetime.

in truth, i don't write these journals or diaries or whatever cause i wanna — i do it cause, it's like, i have to — for whatever reason i've not yet discovered, i'm somehow compelled to record even the most trivial crap that's happened to me. and though i've tried to analyse it to death: up, down, sideways, slideways and even (whilst tripping) seemingly from Neptune, i haven't yet come up with any good reason, one that'll satisfy and answer my endless 'WHY?' with a 'because' that makes sense.

this all began a liddle after i found myself recording all this boring intimate minutiae in a gift from Daddy's sister, my Aunt Bess (the only family member who actually had the curiosity to travel round the world, way back when in the 30s, 40s and 50s). anyway, her present turned out to be the worst thing she possibly coulda given a kid like me: my first diary. it was violet and had a liddle lock and key which i hung from my neck on a silver chain and then almost immediately losted. the thing of it is, i'm totally not kidding when i fuck around and say things like:

the non-fiction's totally another story but the day-to-day detailing's where the obsessive compulsion comes in and doesn't know when to quit. anyway, back on-topic, if you think i'm lying, here's a clue: DON'T BOTHER TO READ ME. *smirk* and don't let the door hit you on the ass on your way out.

Q.4) 'What does "thwoop" mean?'

A) 'Obviously, you're not a golfer'. in all truth, i love my Filmic Tourette's even though it bothers the shit outta everyone else cause it's one thing when i'm sitting here and i make some wack connection and it spills from my head to my fingers to the 'board and hits the screen, but when i get all shouty in meatspace 'I will show you the life of the mind!', it's a whole 'nother story.

OK, back to 'thwoop'. obviously you've never heard the Alabama 3's second album, La Peste, cause there's a tune called 'Cocaine Killed My Community' which has a sort of pipe-sucking sound looped over and over in the background. the first time i heard it, in late 2000, i immediately thought 'onomatopoeia!' cause it sounded exactly like an inhalation to me. still does, actually.

here, try it yourself: say 'thwoop' whilst drawing in your breath, as if you were taking a hit and tawkin. fun-fact: i use it both as a noun, like 'scored some excellent thwoop' as well as a verb, as in 'i'm gonna thwoop in a minute...'

Q.5) 'How old are you, anyway?'

A.1) you're American, right? British people never ask such rude, stupid things.

A.2) WHY? — does it make any difference? if anyone can gimme a good reason why this information's so crucial, mail, ring, txt me or whatever and i'll be pleased to say but IMO, it's nobody's biz but my own (and my friendses').

Q.6) variations of 'You really think you're hot shit, don't you?'

A) see first unsolicited testimonial under the Vaucher over on Tawdry. shit, read em all; they're in four sections going down the R-hand column. short answer's YES. i mean, if i weren't such hot shit, do you think i'd have been interviewed? and not once, but twice. as well, if i weren't hot shit or whatever, do y'all think Larry Love would've asked me to be on Alabama 3's sixth studio album, M.O.R?

BTW, you can hear my bit without buying the album by checking me out here; i come in raving against the KKK at just about 3:17 and then sing in two voices after...

...all the way to the end: my liddle grrl's voice singing the above offkey, but still and my coked-up hoarse voice — 'Easy to be free...' offkey and my real name's in the liner notes on the album and all, so yeah, i think i'm totally hot shit. gotta problem with that? let's take it outside, mmmkay?

Q.7) 'Why did you choose Slum Goddess as your screen-name?'

A) long story partly having to do with The Fugs who practised nearby and wrote a song called same (honoring an older Beatnik chick) just about the time i started to sneak down to Greenwich Village again. this was a few years after the Courts forbade me that area until i turned eighteen thanks to my first sojourn there: a kiddy indiscretion which ended up when i finally ran away from my parents' hellhouse and went missing for a year, all thanks to the kindness of strangers.

hmmm... that fabaroo year was almost enough to make me believe in god again but as it turned out, it wasn't to be, so hoorah for the vestiges of my own personal sanity. back to the forbidden zone, after being spotted and caught in California by a particularly vigilant cop, then dragged back to Brooklyn literally kicking and screaming in the back of a policecar for most of the three thousand-odd miles, the Court Order thusly went sump'n like this: *cough*

'...The land between the imaginary line we shall call for these purposes "the Northern Border" beginning at the East River or Avenue D on East 14th Street at the Con Edison Grounds, running West across the Island starting on East 14th Street, crossing Fifth Avenue all the way to the end of West 14th Street at 12th Avenue or the Hudson River — and the imaginary line called for these purposes "the Southern Border" beginning at the end of the Manhattan Bridge; all across town from Canal Street East to Canal Street West and ending at the Hudson River...'

so both the East and West Village, what's now Tribeca, half of Chinatown, Little Italy and what's now called SoHo were totally out of bounds. naturally, the thought of venturing within those imaginary lines was irresistably intoxicating so i again began to sneak down there at fourteen or fifteen (yet another boring story).

what was the question again? right, Why do i call myself Slum Goddess? there's the Fugs' Slum Goddess cause they were nearby and we got to hear em rehearse and shit but more than that cause being born and bred in NYC, i consider it all a slum — yup, the whole shebang — all five boroughs. the 'Goddess' bit is a total goof cause i'm the furthest thing from that... y'know, it's irony. wait, did you say you're American? if so, forget the 'irony' bit; don't even think about it anymore and maybe your head'll quit spinning.

fun-fact: to my endless dismay and almost constant surprise shock and/or horror, my entire life's been filled with what's known as Irony Of Fate or Cosmic Irony or that which i tend to call 'Irony in Retrospect'. just sayin'.

Q.8) variations of 'What's wrong with you?'

some ask politely, some are downright mean. this is me caring: *yawn*

A: leaving out the long list of DSM-IV stuff, in very brief, huge NYC ego mixed with terribly low self-esteem, as i told D Wayne Jake over at his one night whilst visiting him with Chris. the look on his face! *preening at the memory*

no, wait. that was ages ago. he looked more like this (photo by Karen Williams):

in truth, when he asked, i was verily gobsmacked as i instantly told him that shit; it immediately popped out, all glib and everything and it sounded like i'd given it some thought cause it's totally spot-on. truth is, i hadn't thought of anything in those terms before, just focussed on the liddle details — the DSM-IV stuff — not seeing the forest for the trees.

off the top of my head there's the Adult ADD (as well as ADHD), the Tourette's Syndrome (in three personal flavors: Filmic, Simpsons and Alabama 3), the SAD, Reverse-SAD, ASBO tendencies, (chronic) Depression, Echolalia, Asperger's Syndrome, OCD and Aprosexia as well as its two close cousins: Hyperprosexia and Paraprosexia, but wait — before your dirty minds rev up into overdrive, here's a helpful hint chockful of the kinda knowledge y'all prolly dunno:

the aforementioned three (those with the 'sex' bit) have nothing to do with sex per se: Aprosexia is 'an abnormal inability to pay attention, characterized by my shite attitude of 'Why bother?' a near-complete indifference to everything'; Hyperprosexia is 'the abnormal state in which a person concentrates on one thing to the exclusion of everything else' whilst Paraprosexia is 'the inability to pay attention to any one thing (a state of constant distraction)...'

what was i- oh, how cute — look! there's a kit- i mean, there's 'a doggy with a fluffy tail!' *in a Homer voice* yup, i make light of these things as i try to LOL at almost everything, especially myself cause AFAIC, nothing's sacred and any LOL at whatever fucked element of my so-called personality is cause for celebration as whatever-it-is momentarily takes my mind off the bleak dreary present and the even darker, more hopeless feelings i harbour about the my future.

anyhoo, back to the seriousity, keeping company with aforenamed crew above, there're my two three constant companions: the lifelong Anhedonia, my best friend Denial (my fave Ego Defence Mechanism) and that which psychiatrists term Suicidal Ideation, but enough about that — on to the next hilarity:

Q.9) 'Did you really leave the States and move to England to be nearer to the Alabama 3?'

A) holy hell, not only is this teh funny, it's totally my fault cause over the years, i've seddit on various forums and other sites all over the Internets so many times, not for a moment thinking people would actually believe me, but to my amazement they did do. what's more, when i meet dudes in meatspace, those to whom i've talked for years on the 'Net, to this very day some of em still ask me that same old shit.

the short answer's 'no — are you mad?' long answer's 'i came here cause TPFKAPM got a gig in Bonn and invited me to tag along, wanting to make my lifelong dream come true: to live in — not visit — Europe, especially the UK and specifically England.

fun-fact: we first met the band in NYC the night before the november 2K elections, then flew cross-country to meet up with em in San Francisco the very next week and those two gigs and long talks with em after helped push my dream further into reality cause it was just about the time when the American dot-com boom turned dot-com bomb and my exPM's stream of freelance gigs began drying up fastly.

Q.10) 'What do the initials "TPFKAPM" mean?'

A: *sigh* you obviously never read my real site before it got hacked 'and that's cool' — i'll give you an unhelpful hint: it was his idea which, when y'all figure it out, should give yiz a taste of his sensa yooma cause it's based on the huge age gap between us.

edit on 2. august @18,33: if anyone cares to read any of the Tawdry archives, know that blogger changed their link format: URLs used to end with post titles — now they end in strings of meaningless numbers so some of my older posts to which i've linked in past, well... the inner links are no longer viable. just sayin'.

fun-fact a): i've got a lotta other moronic questions people mail (mostly anonymously), but above are the major ones sent me since last may. i'd dig around and note the number of times each one was asked but like, why bother? as well, i've paraphrased and corrected mis-spellings and such (just as i've kept all the mails for proof of veracity).

fun-fact b) since i've been like three, i've had this obsession about all things Dea- well, every picture tells a story or sump'n.

the pose was my own idea and after Mick, the photographer, got over the shock of my request asked if i were sure, he took two other fabaroo photos of me like, dead or whatever, the next second of which i've been using as the wallpaper on my iPod Touch which helps me know my ass from my elbow along with things like which way to go and when:

fun-fact c): when i was liddle, i read about The Collyer Brothers and ever since then, i've been totally intrigued by those who choose to live a reclusive kinda life. some chick once said i had Agoraphobia but i'm not a-skeered of meatspace at all apart from when i must get wherever in TRW alone and i've never been there before; i just dig the comfort of my own private nest way betterer than any other place i've ever been. as well, couple that with my affinity to Quentin Crisp who, in The Naked Civil Servant, wrote 'The outer world is a club I do not wish to join' — and bingo: y'all've got the true me of me.

fun-fact d): see that pewter ashtray all the way up top? i'm a sucker for decent co$t£y British souvenirs and that's a FAQ, Jack (or whatever you said your name was).

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