COVER -> MY GLASS HOUSE
LONDON, 13 June , 2001 - Now Felicity Ussher hates me. It's just as well, I suppose. We should never over-rate our heroes. I bring this up because I am listening to one of my heroes now, David Bowie, in Felicity's flat. She is off to the coast for a conference. That, too, is just as well. I could not believe she followed my advice. That is what put me off, I think. That she honestly acted like I had made an Olympian pronouncement worth heeding and acting upon. No one should listen to me. If I were any good at living I wouldn't hide behind The Writer.
I have always insisted upon that. I have told each of my serious inamoratas that The Writer is worth remembering, but not the man. I am a poor excuse for a human being, but one helluva writer. Being The Writer is what I live for. In person, I tend to be a disappointment. I can't live up to my own hype.
I'm not even the lover I used to be, after all. I was once a great skirt-chaser, too, but -- as you long-term Loyal Readers know -- I've been a damned celibate for almost a decade now. My teeth are falling out. I have a grey beard. I am simply not the man I used to be. I look older than most of my aunts and uncles. Woe is me!
You are probably wondering why Felicity now hates me... Yes, I should have followed on that after bringing it up.Well, it's my thing about not liking the British. I announced last evening that I needed to get out of England before another week is out as I simply don't take to the English. She was personally offended, being a life-long Londoner and my hostess. That is how things happen; I mean social faux pas.
Put aside the fact that I am naturally a tactless jerk. That doesn't matter. Why the hell do you think I've been a recluse all these years?
I must admit that people read these ruminations and expect that I should be charming in person. Then they meet me and find out why I insist that they pay attention to The Writer...
Paladin
In case you're wondering, I still plan to go to Serbia. I received my Letter of Invitation (a requirement of the Serbia government in order to obtain a visa) from Dragan Vicanovich (Dragana's husband) in today's post.
The Letter is written entirely in Serbian, so I have no idea what it says. It could say "Rod Amis is an axe-murderer whom we must immediately arrest" for all I know.
Nonetheless, I am planning to jump on my horse, so to speak, and ride off to Belgrade. Everyone -- except Dragan, Dragana and Rastislav Durman -- continues to think I'm completely mad.
"Serbs? Why would anyone admit they wish to visit Serbs?"
I tried to explain this last evening. I have never been successful. I am going to Eastern Europe, Serbia, because I believe it's the last place on Earth that hasn't been tainted with The American Disease. I think it might still be possible to live a life there that is not entirely based on consumerism.
I could certainly be wrong about that. I've been wrong before.
But I do believe it's worth a look.
I can always settle in New Orleans. And then there is going back to California... Manhattan is too expensive.
Garreth (a.k.a. "Munchies") just kicked my ass all across the chess board TWICE! I have not played the game since losing serial times to my former serial housemate and former Best Man, a.k.a. Von Helsing/Van Helsing. [See "Vox Populi."]
I still consider myself a decent poker player.
THINGS I LOVE THIS WEEK
1. That Virtual Parallel Systems (a company you are destined to hear quite a buzz about soon, BUT NOT FROM ME) my potential future employer is getting me out of London as they got me out of Baltimore.
For some inexplicable reason they believe I'm a decent Web designer and technical writer.
2. Having met KEVIN CAREY at last..
3. Being a world-traveller again.
Thanks for coming back this week.
"Work like you don't need the money,
"Love like you've never been hurt,
"Dance like no one is watching..."
Rod
Our Editor does listen!