never enough mayonnaise

Renouveau 70

Make yourselves at home, shag carpet lovers.

I decided to turn this blog into the place where I ramble about the 70s as well as share photos of my macramé art. So, funkadelic times ahead.

Let’s dare, shall we?

Earlier today, I saw a picture on Twitter, courtesy of 70s Dinner Party, that delighted me to very core of my being.

The next time I have a couple of friends over, I’m going to have to make something like this. Because it is magnificent.


This is, officially, one of my favorite 70s food ads of all time. Now that I think about it, my other favorite 70s food ad is also a Hellmann’s mayonnaise ad (again courtesy of 70s Dinner Party. You need to buy the book now, by the way).


I will never tire of gazing at this glorious aspic aquarium. Ever.

And remember that polyester is…

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getting the wheels in motion

Apostate Island

What’s shakin’, bongo players.

Once again, it’s been a while. Life and all that shit.

I’ve been taking care of a lot of stuff. Things that needed to be done, such as clearing out the basement (not finished yet, but I at least got the long overdue project started), and assorted bits big and small—this, that, and the other.

Now, if the weather could start warming up and drying up longer than three days in a row, that would be most revitalizing.

But anyway.

A couple of days ago, I got some new ink. The hula girl I’d been wanting for some time; I had a space left for her on my right forearm. Loving my girl. And she’s sitting on a Tiki. I have this image on a flask. The moment I saw her, I knew she was the one.


I’m still kind of tired, but it’s all good.

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the way we are

Welcome to the fondue party, everyone.

Well, I’ve been busy doing a bunch of things these past few weeks. I spent more than one evening too exhausted to do anything but lie down on the couch.

So I haven’t made any more macramé lately, but I’ll be getting back to it soon because I enjoy it and find it wondrously relaxing. And I love gazing at macramé wall-hangings. I decided not to list my pieces on Etsy, but they will be available via my website Renouveau 70. I’ll accept funds through Paypal and possibly Square as well, and money orders (old school right there).

The first issue of my journal-style zine if half finished.

I started doodling again, something I used to do constantly when I was a kid. There’s probably going to be some doodling and stuff in the zine too.


This spring (the weather is finally showing signs of spring-like changes), I’m doing something I’ve had on my list for a few years: cleaning, sorting, and re-organizing the basement. I’ll be calling a junk company to cart away the dead furniture, dead electronics, and assorted crap very soon. The space will be in tip-top shape when I’m done.

I’ve done a book cull, too. Spring clearing.

The garden is another place I’ll devote more attention to this year; last year, it’s safe to say I ignored it altogether. I was too tired. But this year, I’m getting a small electric mower and I’ll do at least basic maintenance, nothing too elaborate. I’ll put the chairs out and sit back there again. Relax.

Basically, home life is my priority these days. I want to be home. I’m happy when I’m home. And that’s where I’ll be. Writing books. Twanging my ukulele again.

I’m hoping the peri-menopause shit will be over soon. I’m feeling better, it’s not as intense, but it’s still draining.

The 70s remain my mindset of choice. This is what I’m listening to right now:


As I said before, I find the twenty-first century useful insofar as it facilitates my 70s lifestyle.

I got a fancier turntable and speakers a month or so ago, and holy fuck does it ever delight me. None of my records skip on that turntable. Little by little, I add more records to my collection. I love listening to vinyl. I still buy CDs (some music is easier to get on CD), but vinyl is pure love. Watching the needle slowly drop on the record, seeing the record spin: indescribable satisfaction. Streaming simply can’t compare.

And there’s something increasingly subversive about “owning” music, when a growing number of corporations want to sell streaming subscriptions and charge a monthly fee for, essentially, nothing. Next to nothing is what many (most?) artists are getting in return for their participation in this so-called great opportunity.

I’m really sick to death of this kind of shit.

In a similar vein, my upcoming books will be available in print form only. I’m aware that one of the popular trends these days is to offer free e-Books (especially true as far as independent publishing goes), but I refuse to do this.

I believe my work and I are worth something.

Remember the days when you’d order whatever in a catalogue, and you had to wait for the items to arrive, and then you opened the package they came in, and it was awesome? Even now, nobody orders virtual clothing. You order a shirt, you get a shirt, you put it on. Why should it be different for books? Why it is that literature, and movies and music, for that matter, have had to become entirely “convenient” and disposable to be “marketable”?

Anyway, that’s how I feel. When the fantastic magazine Car Toons was revived not long ago, I got a real subscription immediately. I wanted a real fucking magazine.

And speaking of shirts, my collection of vintage polyester shirts is expanding. This fills me with glee.

There will be photos at some point soon.




See how joyous they look in my wardrobe:


Yesterday, I got my hands on this beauty. It’s pale green, and has a darker green and peach bamboo plaid pattern. Classic.


Then I got this phantasmagoric vintage King’s Road western style leisure jacket, because it was an extra small men’s size thirty-four, and what a glorious damn thing it is, I mean look at it.


So yes, more photos on the horizon.

Tomorrow, I’ll be getting a little ink. It’s been a while. There will be a small hula girl in the empty spot on my right forearm. This is going to be excellent.

And speaking of hula girls, if you’ve read my book There’s a Hula Girl on my Dashboard, I’d be grateful if you wrote a short review on Even one or two lines would make a tremendous difference. I only need four more reviews, just four more, to reach forty reviews, at which point Amazon will start boosting my book (however that works). I’m hoping against hope that I can reach this number, you know, sometime before the year is over… This would be such a huge step forward for me. It’ll be the first time a book of mine gets forty reviews.


In other news, I can’t stop watching The Nice Guys.

I’ve begun writing both Hit the Road and Severus Snape and the Art of Being Human. These are the books that will be published at some point in the coming months.

Other than all this, I’m taking care and living my life.

Say cheese.


the professor with the golden sunglasses

Apostate Island

What’s shakin’, bongo players.

Aaaaand it’s been a while again.

Side note: I may continue reblogging these personal Apostate Island posts on, otherwise hardly anybody will see them, probably.

So anyway, it’s been a very intense month and a half over here. Life-changing, in fact. I’m still not going to go into specific detail (although if you’ve known me for a bit, you’ll probably have some idea what I’m hinting at here), but it’s been an excruciating thing, and an absolutely fucking glorious thing. It’s something I’ve wanted, desperately so, ever since I was old enough to think.

It’s been excruciating because of the severe Complex PTSD symptoms and behaviors it reignited—think “volcano-level” symptoms—and glorious because of the delirious, hitherto unparalleled freedom that is resulting from it.

It’s normal, maniac-free living.

And whoever thinks it’s easy to extricate oneself from an abusive situation, which is like being trapped…

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Kind readers,

allow me to begin this post by sharing a passage from Tom Hodgkinson’s wonderful book How To Be Idle:

Living in the past is an effective way of retreating from the vulgarity of the present. I have noticed this trait in artists. My friend John Moore, a musician, once a member of the very noisy band The Jesus and Mary Chain, now likes having the middlebrow radio station Classic FM playing at home. “We like to pretend that the modern age doesn’t exist and we are living in the 1920s,” he says. Deference to a former age is not necessarily mere nostalgia and escapism; it can also be a conscious rejection of the values of consumerism and the feeling of being victimized by the constant search for “the latest thing.” Any era will do; for me it is the eighteenth century.

The constant search for the latest thing—what a bore. What a pain in the ass. To me, it’s a form of tyranny, of subjugation. It’s also exhausting.

If you’ve been following this blog lately, you’ll know what my era of choice is: the seventies. The wacky, tacky, sleazy seventies. Disco, shag carpets, “horrid” color combinations. This is a time that doesn’t take itself too seriously.

To me, it’s the very essence of fabulous.

Take polyester shirts, which I’ve begun carefully collecting. Marvelous things.

You know, when you put something on and it just feels so right? Yeah.

Yesterday, I took a bunch of quick shots of me wearing one of these shirts, the green one, which looks like it was made to be worn with my tan suit (needless to say, there will be photos), and my gold mirrored sunglasses, which I adore.

I have a feeling I’m going to end up with a collection of aviator sunglasses too. Because those things fucking rock.

You could say that these photos are a funkadelic tribute to polyester and golden sunglasses. I was lying down on my white shag carpet when I took these.

So. Your place or Las Vegas?










I don’t know how I let so many years go by without golden mirrored sunglasses, really.

To get over tough times, may I recommend feeling fabulous and treating yourself right.

I’m going to have great stuff for you in my upcoming book, Hit the Road and Be Who You Are. It’s going to be a vibrant, live-your-life book.

It’s cold as fuck today, but April and spring are around the corner… I’m looking forward to doing more 70s-riffic photo shoots in funky locales.

More news soon. The first issue of my zine is in the works. I thought it would come out last month, but stuff happened. If it’s not out this month (new computer is imminent), it’ll be coming out next month for sure. In these mad times, there’s something to be said about the power of photocopied booklets you get in the mail.

Your devoted
Logospilgrim, the quiet professor

a good place

Kind readers,

well, the last few weeks have left me, and persons extremely near and dear to my heart, utterly drained.

I have Complex PTSD, and let’s just say that my symptoms, which had been not too bad, were brutally reawakened and the result was similar to a massive volcanic explosion. You know, the kind where half the volcano collapses and slides into the ocean and generates an emotional tsunami.

This happened roughly two weeks ago.

It’s not what happened that was the cause of my distress; rather, it was the underlying decades of abuse and the final criminal act (threats of physical violence, not to mention the standard verbal and psychological abuse) that precipitated said event, which was already in the planning stages.

The event itself was good, if incredibly stressful. Freeing yourself from an abusive situation is often agonizingly difficult. Those who think it’s easy can fuck right the fuck off, and then fuck off some more.

I’m not ready to disclose more details yet, but suffice it to say that a certain batshit abuser’s reign of terror has at long last come to an end. The person near and dear to my heart who was still most affected by said batshit abuser (he is the reason I have C-PTSD), is now safe. A lawyer, and other people acting in an official capacity, are involved. Papers are being filed. There has been support from a large number of people.

I can tell you that the batshit abuser will never, ever see my face again. He can fuck off forever. As far as I’m concerned, he has ceased to exist. He is, and has only ever been, an insidious abuser. Read the chapter entitled “Captivity” in Judith Herman’s book Trauma and Recovery, and you’ll have a small idea of the hell we’ve been through.

Unless you’ve endured something like this, you can’t begin to imagine what our existence was like. The mindgames. The surveillance. The cruelty. A psychologist described him as a “very disturbed individual.”

But now, we’re free. We have escaped the prison without bars and the despotic manipulator, who is in fact nothing but an emperor without clothes.

The reality of this is slowly setting in and it is wondrous. It’s been a lifetime in the making.

Things are going to be better than they’ve ever been.

Throughout all of this, Mr P has been a rock by my side.

Because of everything that’s been going on, I haven’t been able to focus on much besides keeping myself together. I will, however, be getting a new computer soon and working on books and zines again, and setting up my Renouveau 70 macramé shop…

Here’s my latest wall-hanging. A couple more, and I’ll start listing them.


I ordered another vintage 70s disco shirt and golden aviator sunglasses.



They arrived today. Here I am, wearing the sublime mirrored sunglasses.


There will be asexy disco shirt photos soon. I must say that the shirts really are magnificent. Dat polyester, baby.

It’s very quiet here today. Mr P and I are resting. I got a bag of bacon chips and Mystery Science Theater 3000 DVDs.

Also, toys make everything better. I got these courtesy of a dear friend who sent me a gift certificate to cheer me.


I’m going to relax now. Me and my loved ones are doing good. We’re taking care.

I’ve learned that in life, you shouldn’t regret something didn’t happen sooner; there’s no point. If it didn’t happen sooner, it’s because it couldn’t. Instead, you should be grateful that it happened at all. When something great happens, when you get to a good place, that’s already a hell of a lot.

Enjoy your great moments.

Okay, the bacon chips really want me. Toodles.

Your devoted
Logospilgrim, the quiet professor

funky resistance

Kind readers,

I’ve been actively combating the whole… you know what I’m talking about, by living my joy to the max and taking care of myself and creating.

This is how I’m resisting.

Also, the 70s are my new religion. Alle-fucking-luia.

Yesterday, I spent part of the day creating a website that will be dedicated to showcasing my macramé art and zines.

It’s called Renouveau 70. I may wind up getting a dot com for it eventually.

I love making macramé so much, it’s like a drug. It’s very good for my over-active introvert brain. It gives me a good balance. Writing is demanding; you’ve got to let your mind rest.

Here’s a piece I made on Wednesday:


The only problem with my macramé is that I’d like to keep it all! But once I have five more pieces or so, I’ll start listing them on my Etsy. To keep up with all the latest news about that, follow Renouveau 70. You might want to follow my Apostate Island getaway too, because soon I won’t be reblogging it here anymore.

Here’s my awesome market booth banner, which arrived yesterday:


I wanted something colorful and cheerful, and this fits the bill very nicely.

I’ve got lots of macramé cord on the way, with colors like oatmeal, rust, forest, wine… I can’t wait to make wall-hangings with these.

Also on the radar: photo sessions. To be more specific, photo sessions that will feature me wearing clothes like the glorious vintage 70s shirt I got this morning. It’s going to look fantastic with my tan suit.


I found it on a website called The Rusty Zipper. This is the beginning of a funky collection, let’s just say.

Next, I’ll be on the lookout for Mr Lahey type glasses. If I could find mirrored ones, holy fuck that would be magnificent.

This summer, Mr P and I want to visit flea markets, so watch out! I’ll be on a 70s hunt, that’s for sure. Gimme my mushroom mugs and shit.

Next week, I’ll probably take a deep breath and finally go buy that new computer I’ve been needing for a while. Then, once it’s sat in the box for a few days and I’m mentally ready, I’ll set up and get back to work on Hit the Road.

I was supposed to speak on Monday, but for a number of reasons, I asked if it could be cancelled. And I’m like, done with speaking. Done. Podcasts now and then, that’s all right, but speaking makes me miserable and anxious, and I’m done with making myself miserable and anxious.

And it’s time for more macramé.


The 70s are beautiful.

Your devoted
Logospilgrim, the quiet professor

knots for relaxation and living

Apostate Island

What’s shakin’, bongo players.

So, while large segments of this planet are busy going absolutely batshit these days, I’m working on positive projects that keep me from having a fucking PTSD-fueled nervous breakdown.

Last night, thinking about the current situation, I began having an intense anxiety attack and I’m so done with all this bullshit and madness… I’m going to hunker down and try to live as calmly as I can until the rest of the world decides that religious extremism and nationalistic nuttery is a total dead end for humanity.

I think what we’re witnessing is the apoplectic, ugly demise of ancient worldviews, but anyway.

So much noise. I’m widening the moat and sound-proofing my physical and mental space.

I’m giving a Center For Inquiry talk on Monday, and at this point I’m pretty sure I won’t be doing the public speaking thing again for some time to come…

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