Old is Gold (especially in Hollywood!)

A guest in my home might initially think I have some kind of geriatric lesbian fetish.  On top of my DVD player are stacks of Golden Girls and Murder She Wrote DVDs.  I'm not going to pretend it stops there.  I also have signed photos of two actresses from the Golden Girls, as well as a portrait of each of them done by a famous gay artist from Chicago.  (What he is famous for completely depends upon who you ask!)  I've written a poem about Angela Landsbury (aka Jessica Fletcher,)  and in the spirit of complete honesty I will disclose that I have also had one romantic dream about her.  However, I'd like to point out, it was only ONE dream, not particularly graphic (thank God) and I'm pretty sure it had far more to do with eating Mexican food after a night of vodka and then passing out to an especially gripping episode of Murder She Wrote, then because I have some sort of closeted lust for this legendary actress. If you're trying to decide if I rode the short bus to school or simply haven't seen a television since the late nineteen eighties, don't be so quick to judge! I'm not the only one who loves these girls!  I've had several guy roommates, straight, domestic beer drinking, sports watching, disgusting naked pictures of women in their bedrooms kind of guys.  And do you know what?  All of them watched the Golden Girls with me, and all of them liked it.  Pretty soon it was one of things we looked forward to doing together.  The truth is, the characters on the Golden Girls are sexy, sassy, smart, and hysterically funny!  They have jobs, hobbies, sex lives, family drama, dreams, and challenges.  These old ladies are the women we want to be one day- they are a reason to look forward to the golden years, giving us hope that we have more in our futures then memory loss and wrinkles, and showing us there are unlimited ways to eat cheesecake.  They inspire us to maintain our friendships and to cherish them, and in the case of Jessica Fletcher, well she inspires me to publish a novel in my fifties, move to a small New England town that enjoys weekly murders, and then solve them!  (Hey, I'm entitled to dream!)




Ode to Angela

a young Angela Landsbury

When you sit across from me
Sipping your milky cup of Earl Gray
I know you are noticing
Those rusty slivers of heme
Dulling my nails
There from when I scratched his eyes out
You casually study the bulge in my pocket
eyeballs losing their moisture
their retinas fading from cornflower to haze
Oh how I covet your superior skills of detection
You restless sage with your blended persona
Part teapot, part Mainer, part immigrant entertainer
Though your lips are thin
Your smile is pleasing
And I hope to endear as many
When I solve nefarious murders
And publish a succession of books