Man-Size (man_size) wrote,


The plan was to spend most of Friday rallying a bunch of THING 2 artwork so that I could go away for a 3-day weekend in the Catskills, visit my mother w/SBX, and have the first 8-pages and two covers into my editors office at Marvel by Tuesday morning. My assistant Mike Fiffe showed up @12PM and got started on erasing pages and filling in blacks. He had five pages to lock and load. I put on a DVD of ACROSS 110th STREET, starring Yaphet Kotto and Anthony Quinn, and we got hep to their jive while inking. Most blaxploitation flicks make me laugh with their over the top racism and awful production values, but this one took itself seriously. Sure, the pimps were in rare, cartoon form but the message was dark, and deep. The usual white vs black tension was heavy [seems those Mafioso’s have some thick beef with them Africans], but this melodrama carried some blue monologues and balls to the wall performances. A good movie always has you cheering for both sides. Wondering, who truly is the bad guy and what is right. It's all about context. This movie had it in spades. Plus, it had those really expressive bright red blood squibs that Sam Peckinpah employed in his shoot 'em ups. And the very last frame is chilling. Man, the early 70s is my favorite era for film and music. ACROSS 110th STREET would make an interesting double bill with Ice Cube's BARBERSHOP movie.

Fiffe and I finished by 6PM and SBX was doing her monthly Food Co-Op tour, so I killed some time before hooking up with SBX, and helped her grab some holiday groceries for the weekend. She's always really good about hooking up my mom and Inverna with organic goodies and desserts. These imported snacks always bring a big smile to the Catskill mountains.

We carried the booty over to Blue Ribbon and got cocktails before sitting down for a scrumptious meal. SBX and I have been having intermittent tensions about anything and everything these days, and so an hour won't go by without some kind of difference rearing it's ugly head. Writing this journal entry, almost a week late, I can't remember the finite details to our testy turmoils, but suffice to say, it's either about something as simple as I want to go up and she wants to go down, or paramount like, me wanting to nest together forever and carve our initials into every tree and cement slab with big hearts and pointy arrows. Somehow, we can't arrive on the same page at the same time. One of us is either lagging behind or sprinting ahead. The pace is scattered and we don't know how to argue with each other very well. The key to any good relationship is to know how to fight and when. I suck at it. We hit the hay tense and unresolved. SBX was out and I twiddled my thumbs and watched bad TV until late into the night, before crawling back into bed next to SBX's butt.

Groggy, I was treated to a sexy Saturday morning wake up trick. SBX anointed my mouth with a smear of wet loin lipstick. You'd be surprised at the rise that got out of me. After that, we took showers and I split for Carroll Street on my bike through the bitter cold. I packed a bag and grabbed some Italian sandwiches from Amici's [try out the sundried tomato, roasted red pepper, fresh basil, black pepper, and mozzarella on a seeded heroe in olive oil, and you've scored a Hell of a winner]. SBX picked me up in a hot red rental car and we drove up to Margaretteville while listening to THE POLICE, some reggae, MOBY, and RUBEN GONZALEZ.

We arrived at the Catskill Erp Center @5PM for an Art Opening and Reading. The place where Inverna Lockpez, my mom's best-pal, curates. I met David, a crime writer who has a regular column for the NY Daily News. My Mom came by and we drove back to Canada Hollow to drop off our luggage. It was decided that we go to the evening's Community X-mas Project where items and deals were to be auctioned off at high price tags for "the children" of Margaretteville. On the drive over SBX and I noticed a couple of reflectors waving inconsistently in the black night by the side of a dark driveway and realized it was a woman in trouble. Turns out, two women and a baby had engine trouble and had pulled over to the side of someone's property only to discover that the landowners weren't home and they couldn't restart their vehicle. Unfortunately, a few pushes and shoves and electric cables later, couldn't get their car started. So, we packed them into our car and drove them to their home, chalking up a few karma points with the cosmos.

We arrived at the Belleayre Mountain Ski Center where the benefit auction was taking place and bought tickets, got our auction paddle, secured a corner table in the back, and scored a few plates of Buffalo chicken wings, Swedish meatballs, mini-pizzas, and raw vegetables with Ranch dressing dip, before previewing the items up for grabs. Wendy Nief was belting out a few Jazz tunes on stage while everybody gabbed and settled. Mom volunteered to help move the auction along and SBX and I even presented some items while the auctioneers haggled prices. SBX and I joked that she would be perfect to try and hawk a set of Work Gloves and a Lube Job, and my mother had the same notion. SBX's sexy swagger and blonde hair didn't move the crowd the way we expected due to fact that more than half the clientele were homosexual, and the other half old, fat men who hadn't seen their penis in decades. I did a little better holding up the Chippendale table, what with a few dozen pair of gay eyes burning a hole in my zipper.

The auction took a much needed break for anybody who had been drinking and a half-step left in them to get up on the ski lodge floor and dance. Neif covered Aretha Franklin's showstopper "Respect" as SBX, my mother, and I tore up the rubber. Mom pulled out old dance breaks from the 60s as she swam under water, jogged, and did the Batman. We got hot in our winter boots and SBX wound up taking off her shirt and shimmying in her underwear top. The local photographer wasted a lot of film in search of the perfect snapshot to covet. SBX joined me close for Neif's version of Patsy Cline's "Crazy" and the 7th inning stretch was over. The second half of the auction dragged, and after a few melees and dick-waving between drunk lawyers and real estate agents outbidding and cock-blocking each other for the Ugly Lamp and other silly items, SBX walked away with a funky tea pot [a donation from my mother's antique shoppe: KICKING STONES], a few bottles of red wine, and a beautiful painting of the Catskills. We drove back, tickled by the event and all the hilarious hoi polloi. SBX crashed, I read LOVE & ROCKETS 6 and clicked the bulb.

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