Rod Amis - Unbound

NEW ORLEANS - 13 November, 2003: I woke up this morning and put on wet tennis shoes. As I write this, I am listening to a top 40 radio station.

What is this new life about, Woman-I-Am-Seeking?

I'll explain the wet tennies first: I am pressure washing the house, the sidewalk in front of the house (because I work for a boss who pays attention to detail.) So my shoes were soaked yesterday and will be soaked for days to come. And now, finally we are beginning to experience a real autumn in New Orleans after months of pseudo-summer.

Rod never listens to radio, the rumor goes. But tonight I'm listening to the rap-tinged beats of what passes for popular music. That's because of a recent poll I did. (It's the poll that explains why "Buffy" is on our cover. I decided that I needed to get back in touch with Pop Culture. I hope I don't regret that decision.)

"Tell me, where's the after-party?"

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16 November, 2003: LYNN, AN IRISH BARTENDER I KNOW has a t-shirt that has the words "Man's Ruin" emblazoned on it. I have flirted with her over the past two years but she has no time for me. That's probably for the best.

I have found that ironic comment across her chest quite a pleasure, though I think it would be more suitable for my friend Sarah. (Yes, another bartender.)

[Subliminal Man: "There's something about you girl, that makes me sweat!"]

Dragana writes that she is waiting for the day that I finally find you, my love. Or that I at least have a bit of casual sex. She is confident that I shall eventually get off this iceberg that is my life and reinvigorate the companionable part of existence. But, like Herr Doktor Frankenstein's creation, I continue to float toward the North Pole.

I was thinking I should make a list of things you should know about me, my love, so that our relationship would be more successful than those storied ones, failed ones, I have had in the past.

1. I am hypercritical, both of others and myself. This is a tendency you should best moderate for me. Try to help me not to take things so literally and seriously. Remind me how much fun it is to laugh.
   
   
2. I appreciate beauty but underrate it. Keep fresh cut flowers around. Make me pause to watch a sunset or the formation of clouds in the sky. Remind me to breathe.
   
   
3. I have been deprived of the sense of human touch for a very long time now. Touch me often. Hug me. Stroke my cheek. Let me know what it's like to be loved by someone one last time.
   
   
4. I listen. That is probably my best trait as a person and as a journalist. It is also my out. Don't let me be as secretive with you, while pretending to be open, as I am with everyone else.
   
   
5. I waste opportunities. Because of my low self-esteem, I procrastinate on things that could enrich us both, Darling. An example is that of a man who I owe money right now. I could completely clear the debt by designing a Web site for him and make a bit of dosh besides. But I have failed to telephone him. Why?

   Because I'm a foolish idiot not wanting to hear his admonishments, which will surely come as he gives me the commission. He will be right to chastise me, of course, and I know I will silently cringe under each lashing word.
   
   

6. I am both loyal and vengeful. I never, ever forget a friend or an enemy. Though it might take me years to accomplish my recompense, I always repay my friends and seek retribution from my enemies. If you love me, you must help me moderate this trait, at least on the vengeful side. I need to learn not to hold onto grudges so tightly, my love.
   
   
7. While I am loyal, I am also fickle ‚ as most Aries are. I have been blessed by having a Virgo rising and Pisces moon, which moderates the tendencies of my Sun sign. But, like my spirit familiar the butterfly, it's too easy for me to flit from flower to flower.

   So while you can depend on my loyalty, you must also know from these Glass Houses that there have been too many women-of-the-moment in my mind and my fantasies.

   That is because, Sweet Thing, I believe that love ‚ as I've stated recently in this space ‚ is something that requires time. Give me your time.

---

Sometimes, it's true
You really do abuse me
You get me in a crowd
Of High Class people
And then you act real rude to me
But oh Baby, baby, baby
When you love me I cain't get enough!
And I want to spread the news
That if it feels this good getting used
Just keep on using me
Until you use me up ‚ Bill Withers

What am I looking for in a woman? A tigress. Someone who knows what fools men can be and how to handle them. Someone who can live with a writer and understand that he needs both frivolity and silences ‚ long silences. Someone who understands that I thrive both in sociability and periods of rigid isolation. That is you, my love, The Last Woman.

I ache with the desire to find you.

I hope that you have two hours to kill on a regular basis because I miss sex, too.

I should not be awake now, dear. It is 1:30 in the morning and I have to be at work at seven. But I needed to tell you these things. I shall most likely regret this need of confession tomorrow.

I am floundering until I find you.

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20 November, 2003: THE WORK I DO IS VERY NOISY. Power sanders and (most recently) the power washer I used at the two properties I am now working on ‚ my boss assigned me to help remodel a rental unit ‚ can cause complications with the neighbors.

Yesterday, one of his tenants in a double shotgun came over in the early morning to complain about the noise. I apologized. I said that I would not, personally, want to live on the other side of construction site either, but that she would be doing just that for the next month.

The issue was resolved by restricting the hours in which our crew can use power tools.

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22 November, 2003: VICTORIA AND ROD, TOGETHER AGAIN! This has been a sterling week for me. Even an old pessimist like myself has to admit that things sometimes go right.

Firstly, all the attention I have paid to Victoria, my computer, has paid off. I think taking her out for dinner and drinks, stroking her often, and not going out with other women for a week let her know that she is still my first mistress. She came back to me and gave me OS X again. All is forgiven.

But that's not all!

I received a new commission to design a Web site for a company back East (USA) that shall allow me to dig my way out of debt substantially.

I also received an e-mail from G21 alumnus PIYUSH KUMAR, of India, that he and alumnae DRAGANA VICANOVIC, of Serbia, my little sister, will potentially collaborate on a series of children's books for an e-publisher in California who is a personal friend and patron. Man! things like that make this old curmudgeon pleased as punch. Another demonstration that this magazine remains a force for good and connecting people around the planet.

AND I received a hand-written letter in my snail mail box from my platonic lover. We have decided to reinvigorate that relic of the human past known as letter-writing. It was my idea, inveterate letter-writer I used to be. (Yeah, yeah! I realize that most people envision me as this digital wraith; a born wordsmith still appreciates certain archaic forms of the art, though.)

A man walked up to me in the Frenchmen Deli and told me it was good to see me. Nonplussed, I smiled and said it was good to see him too and then asked where I knew him from.

"You've never met me," he said, "but I've lived in the French Quarter for twenty years and read about your trial and tribulations here in New Orleans. Also read the letters from your friends across the country and felt for you, man. I'm glad you beat those bastards! I'm glad to see you out and up."

I thanked him for his concern. I guess that I'll always be a part of French Quarter lore now. I guess I'll always meet kind strangers as long as I live in New Orleans. That seems fitting for a man who has always admitted he lives like Blanche DuBois...

MAGAZINE CHATTER: Throughout my tenure as Editor of The World's Magazine I've always highly encouraged the writers here to bring you newsmaker interviews. If you look at the list of people we've brought you over the years, you'll see that we've gotten everyone from musicians to cosmonauts to porn stars and heads of state to come to these pages. I'm very proud of that achievement. So I'm especially chuffed that we can bring you the Prime Minister of India, Atal Behari Vajpayee, this week thanks to our News Partnership with DHAMAKA NEWS NETWORK of India. I hope you'll find this "get" informative and come back for more during these Holy Days, as we've got a number of other great ones in queue.

ON A HUMOROUS NOTE, I've always found it amusing, my dearest, that since the inception of this magazine, I've always averaged about twelve regular writers. Rod and his twelve "apostles" bringing you "epistles" from around the globe. Forgive me bordering on sacrilege there, but it is an amusing coincidence.

(It could be, of course, that twelve is the maximum number of cats that this old man can herd at one time. )

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THE RAGING HORMONES ARE STILL IN FULL FORCE. I have to be very careful, I believe, because I am more than willing to get into an entanglement with any woman who makes the offer. This is not a good thing but I am beyond the capacity to help myself. Sex is on my mind all the time.

Do I really need Mick Jagger to say this for me?

She could be Australian
She could be Buvarian
She could be the Alien
SEND HER TO ME! -- The Rolling Stones

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I TALKED TO MY BROTHER, NELSON, last night. It made me so angry that Superman took over again and started spending my money. I was out with my former roomies Shawn and Ian at the time. They now are among the few people on earth who have seen Rod really angry. I was still there with Superman, though, so I was able to restrain his worst excesses.

Against my own best judgment, it seems that I shall have to get involved in my family's affairs. I dread it.

Sailing down behind the sun
Waiting for the Prince to come
Praying for the healing rain
To restore my soul again
Just a poor ride from up above
How did I get here? What have I done?
How will I know him
When I look into my father's eyes? -- Eric Clapton

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LYNDA (LEENDA) I'LL ALWAYS WANT YOU BACK. You know that. But I must move on. You know that your name is a word for beauty, yes?

AND you know this is the diary of the world's last romantic, no?

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VICKIE IS ME REMINDING NOW, future love, that I am more spiritual than I often pretend to be. She is playing sweet music as I type to you at the crack of dawn on this beatific Saturday morning in the Crescent City. The finches who live with me in this apartment are twittering and singing, the sun as just topped the rooves and trees of our city and our weather is still like an Indian Summer in most places. It's November and we still need to run our air conditioners most days, semi-tropical city that we are.

The birds are singing. "Smile, smile, smile!" Vickie, my computer, whispers to me.

She reminds me that part of the reason that I have been so remiss in publishing the magazine weekly, besides the work, is that I have regained that "magnetic personality" of my youth that Jennifer, my bartender friend, and Terry (Von Helsing) Terrian used to refer to as my being the sun around which other planets orbit.

My little apartment is like Grand Central Station these days. The only time I have alone is now at work. People are always dropping over.

If I have reclaimed that part of "the old Rod", Victoria argues to me quietly, then I should also be able to reclaim the ability to give and receive love. That is why I now have the faith to write to you, future love. It is time again.

---

I WAS FORMERLY A NIGHT PERSON, my love, but I have transformed myself once again. Like my spirit familiar, the butterfly, I go through many changes along this path. It seems that this latest phase entails my following the cycles of the sun rather than the moon. I can no longer sleep beyond six a.m. (0600) or stay awake much beyond nine p.m.(2100).

So my coffee habit has returned. (Sometimes, it's Irish Coffee, of course. ) That's fitting for a man who has worked six days a week for months now.

I'll never forget the time I was forced to be in jail, my love. I'll carry that with me for the rest of my life and resent having chosen to live in America's South. Most of my White friends, even here in New Orleans, will never understand how that experience validates all the things I've always felt were criminally wrong about this country.

That's why I have to become politically active again. And soon.

The magazine publisher sent me a memo this week. He insisted that I get back on the case or redub this magazine a semi-monthly. I am taking his advisement under consideration as I decide about this next phase in Life of Rod.

It just may be that I had better designate a successor very soon and fade into the background to finish the screenplay and write the "Glass House" book. I'm getting long in the tooth to keep up being Captain Picard much longer...

---

ONE LAST THING, my future Darling: While I have a great capacity to take care of others and actually thrive on it, I am an utter failure at caring for myself. Look back to the opening song-quote of the last GH. I trust that you will be willing to take care of me, insha'Allah. That would be a comfort.

As Yona used to say, I act as if comfort is my enemy. Go figure.

Woke up this morning
The World turned upside down
Things ain't been the same
Since the Blues walked into town
But you're one in a a million
Since you got that shot gun shy
Born under in a bad sign
With the Blue Moon in your eyes - Alabama Three

---

I made a bunch of Booty Calls tonight. Two women answered. One was overwhelmed by a relationship that had already failed and didn't consider the possibility that there could be something better. That was probably because she couldn't imagine a Black man has anything to offer. The second woman actually talked about life and reality, but I have fallen for her before and learned that I am not her type because I am too old, tactless and direct.

Shawn asked me about Ji and I said: "She no longer is interested in me since I'm not a bartender."

"Fuck that!" he said.

But Shawn and I don't have a problem with just being working stiffs. I've learned that, for some people, being blue collar is anathema. So much the worse for them.

---

AH! THERE IS THE SUN SHINING THROUGH MY WINDOW. Time to publish a magazine.

Things I Want This Week

1. To Begin the long-awaited upgrade of my Web design skills. Cascading Style Sheets (CSS) have come of age and I should apply them to my quiver.

2. A new lover.

3. Pocket money.

---

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

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ROD AMIS has published this magazine since 1990. It first appeared as a hardcopy 'Zine. In March, 1996, he launched it here on the Web. Rod was a Contributing Editor at Suite101.com, where he wrote the " 'Net Publishing" feature. His work has been featured in the San Francisco Bay Guardian Online, NRV8, and at WebLab's Reality Check site. Rod was also a contributing writer on technology for Faulkner Information Services. He wrote on Web issues for MethodFive.com's Hyper newsletter.

Rod was a columnist for the Andover News Network, where he wrote over two hundred articles on web design and development issues. He was also principal writer and Editor for IT Manager's Journal, where he reviewed technology issues weekly, producing 383 editorials. He became the Managing Editor for Electronic Mail/Newsletter Publications at Andover.net at the end of February, 2000, and left in September of the same year. He was a contributing writer for ACCESS magazine, which appeared both on- and offline for 10 million readers in 100 newspapers like the San Francisco Chronicle, New York Post, Boston Herald, Austin American-Statesman, Denver Post and Orlando Sentinel, among others. Rod was the US reporter for Silicon.com, a division of Network Multimedia Television in London, UK, reaching 3.5 million European readers, until May, 2001.

Last year he worked as Assistant to the General Manager of a Big Easy company that does restaurants and nightclubs. (Think: The Boy.) Oh yeah, Rod's had Day Jobs working construction. Mostly renovations of old New Orleans structures, houses and a bar. Sometimes he designs Web sites for other people so that he can get his creative juices flowing the way he can't at a staid publication like this one. And he's been the instructor in Editing for Internet Publications at the Novi Sad School of Journalism in Yugoslavia. Our Resident Philosopher is back to working construction again for a boss he likes. It's tough on an old man, but bills need to get paid. In his spare time, he chases women in the manner that a fly pursues a spider.

Rod lives in New Orleans, Louisiana. This town is eroding his normal sense of driven purpose. He wants to live somewhere civilized when he grows up. Wish him Luck.

Rod is "noodling" with idea of a Glass House book. (Are you listening, Timothy?)

He continues to be committed to integrity, chastity and a dose of humility.

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