Mr Mascellani's Musings

An A-Z (Sort Of) Of The Things That Influenced Me In My Teen Years.

And to David Mascellani: What were you doing in your teen years, David?

Lunachick



Arabic Poetry

Blues Music

Comics

Depression

Devo

Environment

Feminism

Go Go Girls

Insomnia

Jazz

Kiss

Lousy Clerical Jobs

Miller Henry

Nietzsche Friedrich

Punk, Mod, and Ska

Rat Pack

Shyness

Trash

Under Milk Wood

Wogs

Z Grade Horror Films

Another Journal

Thanks to my friend,Iris, I have this Blog journal where I mainly jot down my thoughts.

And thanks to my friend,Petra, I now have a Live Journal,which I am going to use to gather my poetry and prose writings in the one

place. Everything I post there will be subject to continual revison.
David's Live Journal

I hope that both journals at one time or another-or even just once will do- make you laugh, cry, think.

Bad Poetry, Beautiful Girl

You wrote bad poetry, beautiful girl, but I could never bring myself to tell you. Not after all the secrets you shared with me, not after that e-mail you sent me, the one in which you told me about the time your older brother raped you in your room when you were 12 and how when you screamed out for help, your father and your uncle came, and they raped you too.


You wrote bad poetry, beautiful girl, but it was never bleak, or sad, or blue. Your poems were always up-beat. You wrote of things such as the summer rain, flowers and the sun. Few knew of the true horrors of your life:The continued molestation, the beatings by your husband.


You wrote bad poetry, beautiful girl, and I don't know why you chose me as a confidant, or as a friend, but I'm glad that you did. I enjoy the summer rain, flowers, and the sun much more, much better for having known you. I wish I could have met you in the flesh, in person, face to face.

You wrote bad poetry, beautiful girl, but then, so do I , and what does it matter? I miss you.

A Bachelor's Guide To Holding An Infant

Get out your tissues and hankies, gentle reader, it's baby bunnies and ducklings time. Today, I'm going to show you my sensitive side.


I am a bachelor, but one day I would like to be married and have kids, or at least one kid. But, of course, when I say that 'I' want to have kids, what I mean is that I want to participate in the miracle of creating new life with a woman whom I love, and who, I hope, can tolerate me. The actual having of the baby, I'll leave in her capable 'hands'- so to speak.


I tell you this because I want you to know that I have nothing against babies-and that,one day, I'd like to hold at least one of my own.

But having said that, I have to tell you, I fucking hate holding other people's babies.


I know from experience that parents get annoyed, upset, and angry if you refuse to hold their baby. And I assume that they would probably get even more annoyed, upset, and angry if you dropped their baby. Even though, technically, it would be their fault for insisting that you hold their baby in the first place. But who's a judge and jury going to believe? A loving married couple who have lost their baby or a no good weirdo bachelor? So, off to jail you'll go as a 'baby killer'- and from what I hear, you don't want that to happen.

So, if you are at some gathering and the hostess or hosts says something along the lines of,


"Sounds like little Emily, Charlotte, and Anne are awake."


And others at the gathering insist that the babies be brought out and put on general display, look at your watch and loudly proclaim:


"Is that the time? I really must be leaving."


Because if you if don't leave, you'll end up holding a baby. You can politely refuse, but that will be taken as a consequence of your lack of self confidence and low self esteem caused by the fact that you are a bachelor. Everyone knows that we bachelors are hopeless cases who can't really do much for ourselves.


"Who does your washing, ironing and cooking for you?" is a question that even now, in 2002, I'm still often asked. Often by people much younger than I.

And when I reply that I attend to all my own domestic duties, the response I get from my questioner is one of incredulous surprise and delight.

"Really"?!

Yes, really. I mean there was a time when I did have a few supermodels come over dressed up as French maids to do a spot of house cleaning and I had a robot butler. But, unfortunately, I woke up from that dream.


Anyway, the baby's parent will insist you hold their baby- as a sign of their respect, trust, and love for you.


Babies don't weigh much, so you can't use excuses such as my arm is sore or my back is aching. There are no excuses.

You'll just to hold the baby.


Now, babies aren't stupid. They know when they are being held by a bachelor. And they want to see you go to jail. So, they will do everything in their power to make you drop them. They will cry, scream, dibble, drool, piss, and shit, but most of all they will squirm. But no matter what they do. Hold on. You don't want to go to jail do you?


But not too tightly. You don't want to break the baby's bones. Again, I assume that the parents would be most upset if you gave them back their baby with a couple of broken bones and cracked ribs.


Also, always remember to support the babies head. But for fuck's sake, DON'T GO ANYWHERE NEAR THE 'SOFT SPOT' OF THE HEAD!" if you touch that- the baby falls apart- I think.

I hope that this guide as been of some use to you. If you would like to ask me some more questions about the care of infants, I'd have to ask you,

" Why are you asking me ? What's the matter with you? Are you insane? Go ask an expert, Go ask your parents. Sheesh!"

Say, Aren’t You…?

I was in a local café the other day, reading emails and surfing the net, when a young guy (teenager-the place was filled with teenagers) tapped me on the shoulder and asked:


“Hey, has anyone ever told you that you look like Billy Connolly “?


He said it very loudly and everybody in the place stopped what they were doing and looked at me. There were a few giggles, and a few “Yeah, he does-es”.


“Yes”, I replied, I have.


The fact is that since I have grown my hair and a van dyke (both of which are ‘salt ‘n’pepper’ in colour) I have been told almost on a daily basis that I look like Billy Connolly.

Just as I was continually being told that I looked like Tom Hanks when I had short hair and was clean shaven. I can’t figure out how any one who supposedly looks so much like Tom Hanks can suddenly looks so much like Billy Connolly –simply by growing his hair and a van dyke.


But, then I have one of those faces. A face that is constantly mistaken for other faces.


I have found myself saying:


“ I’m sure it's not my autograph that you want. I’m not (any type of musician in any type of band, or any type of actor, or anyone else you may be thinking of.)


But I stopped arguing. Now, whenever I‘m asked, I write some short message (‘all the best” or “here’s looking at you”- or something lame like that)- and then make a scribble that is meant to be the autograph- and the person goes away happy.


If I don’t give the autograph, more often than not, the person goes away pissed off and disgruntled, probably thinking that I am an arse-hole famous person who’s too good give out an autograph.


I am not famous. I’m a nobody, and not even a fabulous nobody, just a plain ordinary nobody. I prefer honesty to dishonesty, but if someone thinks I’m somebody famous and an autograph will make him or her happy then I’m more than pleased to scribble down an autograph for them.


But much more often I’m just mistaken for other ordinary persons and I’m asked about people places and events that I know nothing about.

Yes, my, in my opinion, non-descript face has illicit many different reactions in its time. (I get a lot of comments about my eyes- positive and negative) I uploaded a pic of myself to an online friend and she said that I was very handsome…. but she turned out to be a psycho-nut case. Another friend who had been emailing/chatting with for about six months, stopped emailing- and chatting to me when I finally uploaded a pic of my face to her- I guess, faced with the evidence, her oft repeated theory that ‘looks don’t matter’ was disproved.

My face has also elicited much hatred in its time. I have a tendency to suffer from depression and pessimism, but not paranoia. I know when somebody doesn’t like me- sometimes I am wrong- but it is rare- and many a time in my life- a person, when he/she first looks at me- despises me- looks at me as though I were a piece of shit at the bottom of his/her shoes. Or as if I were the person they have to kill.


So, there you have it, I have face that is mistaken for other faces- sometimes famous ones, mostly other ordinary ones, sometimes it’s considered attractive, even handsome, and at other times as the reincarnation of evil, itself—I wish, I had a point or a conclusion but I don’t. If I did you would probably be reading this in a magazine instead of this journal.

Remind me to tell you the 'What Do You Want For A Dollar' story sometime.

An Interesting Turn Of Events

There was a time when a guy, I used to work with, was at a nightclub drinking at the bar and chatting to his friends when a woman asked him to dance.

So, as they were dancing, and even before she asked his name, she asked whether he was into group sex and could he get a couple of his mates to see her,then she gave him her telephone number and address.

He asked me if I was interested. I thanked him but declined his offer. He did, however, manage to find three other guys.

And so, there you had it. A woman who wanted to have some sex with more than one guy
And four guys who probably just wanted to have some sex. The perfect match.

The next day at work, I asked him how it all went. He told me that she had called it off

'Why?'

'Well, I rang her up and told her that I had three other guys who were interested'.

'And?'

'Then she said, ‘ three other guys? With you that makes four guys. What's the fourth guy going to do?'

'I don't know, maybe he could suck your toes.'

'SUCK MY TOES! I AM NOT GOING TO HAVE ANY GUY SUCK MY TOES! WHAT DO THINK-THAT I AM SOME SORT OF A SLUT’?!

'And what did you say?'

'I said, hey, honey, I don't think you're a slut, besides who am I to judge?

'And?'

‘She hung up’.

'What an interesting turn of events' I said, one day I will have to write something about them.

And I have.

This is it.