To Carry the Weight of All that Greed

How long did anyone think I could blog without eventually linking to JoniMitchell.com?

What got me today was, I was thinking about Republicans and what popped into my head was the lyric...To carry the weight of all that Greed. It's from Joni Mitchell's song Shades of Scarlet Conquering on the album, The Hissing of Summer Lawns.

I think the lyrics sum up the Repbulican party perfectly.

Shades Of Scarlet Conquering
by Joni Mitchell

Out of the fire like Catholic saints
Comes Scarlett and her deep complaint
Mimicking tenderness she sees
In sentimental movies
A celluloid rider comes to town
Cinematic lovers sway
Plantations and sweeping ballroom gowns
Take her breath away

Out in the wind in crinolines
Chasing the ghosts of Gable and Flynn
Through stand-in boys and extra players
Magnolias hopeful in her auburn hair
She comes from a school of southern charm
She likes to have things her way
Any man in the world holding out his arm
Would soon be made to pay

Friends have told her not so proud
Neighbors trying to sleep and yelling not so loud
Lovers in anger Block of Ice
Harder and harder just to be nice
Given in the night to dark dreams
From the dark things she feels
She covers her eyes in the x-rated scenes
Running from the reels

Beauty and madness to be praised
'Cause it is not easy to be brave
To walk around in so much need
To carry the weight of all that greed
Dressed in stolen clothes she stands
Cast iron and frail
With her impossibly gentle hands
And her blood-red fingernails

Out of the fire and still smoldering
She says "A woman must have everything"
Shades of Scarlett Conquering
She says "A woman must have everything"

JoniMitchell.com

Scams-O-Plenty

My life is so tedious. I have this tendency to make sure I am not getting ripped off. Mind you, I can handle it when I go to a mom and pop grocery store to pick up some eggs and they look at me in my fine pajama wear that says, "I don't work that hard so you just have to assume I have some cash," and they ratchet up the price.
Shit, I mean, when you get in a cab in Spain, a civilized nation, it's the only way they conduct business.

But corporations? Especially lately when it seems like they can do anything they want while they exploit the masses, I just have to say, "I'm onto you, you dirty pigs. And I will fight you like the street peasant that I am."

First of all, there was the Verizon Cell Phone service that did not work in our house. We switched to Cingular, which does work. Verizon insisted on charging us an early termination fee of $175 per phone. I insisted upon not paying this since we've already paid for months of service for phones that only work when you stand
on the toilet in the back bathroom while wearing an aluminum foil hat. The customer service took off one phone fee because, "You weren't in contract with the one phone, so we will only charge you one early termination fee."

And when I asked, "How did I get charged for two early termination fees, then?"

The answer, "It was a mistake."

And I said, “So if I didn’t call you, I would have had to pay for this mistake?”

I then asked to talk to someone higher up because I was in no way going to pay the early termination fee for the other phone since we didn't get service. After being on hold forever, a rep came on, his name was Brad, and one of the first things he said was, "Mr. Cummings, you should know that we've already given you credit for the one early termination fee."

And I said, "I was out of contract."

And he said, "No you weren't."

And I said, "The lady just told me I was."

And Brad said, "She made a mistake. But I'm not going to fix her mistake, I'm going to let you have the credit."

"How kind of you," I flatlined.

Next, I said, "Well you should all get your stories straight. You sure she wasn’t just lying to get me off her back...figuring you could get at least $175 bucks out of me instead of $350? What’s the game here?”

“It’s no game. She just made a mistake.”

I said, “Okay. I'm still not going to pay for the early termination fee on the other phone. I'm just not."

And after a while, Brad told me the only way I could get out of paying the fine was if he turned on my phone again, with a different cell number so as not to disturb my Cingular Service which now has taken over my original cell number, and to then go through a series of tests with the phone and if it is determined that the series of tests show there is a problem, then they will issue a trouble ticket and a technician would come out and check the area to see if the cell service is spotty.

I told Brad, "But Brad, if Verizon is the decider of what is satisfactory cell phone service, won't they choose in their own favor?

And Brad chuckled, "Of course not."

So, he reinstated my old phone with another number and said he'd call back the next morning to do the testing. He called back the next morning to tell me it wasn't up and running yet and that he would call me the next day. He was churning me like butter. I dug my heels in.

When the phone was finally up and running, he did get a technician on the line to do reprogramming crap. It didn't help. (I also made sure I was standing in the worst location in my house.) So, a trouble ticket was put in place and some Verizon guy is going to come to my house, in the front yard, and test the signal. And from that, they will determine if the signal in the area is okay and if it is okay, then I am still responsible for the $175 early termination fee.

The guy has not come yet. And apparently, I won't even know when it is that he'll have visited. Brad will call me with the results. And I will tell Brad, "No matter what, I won't pay. Send it to collection."

You have to pay hardball. And I’ve had a tiny bill go to collection before. I never paid it. It doesn’t do anything to your credit rating.

But man, why should Verizon get $175 of my money (Originally $350) when they have all this money, already? And why do they get to decide these charges based on their own testing? These pigs need to be put down.

But here's a worse one. I looked at my landline phone bill and I got charged two months of a service charge from OAN...some sort of phone service agency. Turns out, OAN is a scam and they are able to charge your phone bill and collect from your phone company and you have to pay it. Unless you catch it...which I did...and then the phone company calls OAN and reverses the charge. Simply enough, my landline phone company (ATT) immediately did agree to reverse it but said, "By law, we have to accept a phone charge that comes to us."

And I said, "You know this OAN thing is a scam. It's all over the internet. How could you let it be charged on my bill?"

And the rep said, "We have to follow the law or we'll be closed down."

“So the law lets OAN charge anyone? It's ludicrous.”

And ATT said, “This is how it is. We are your local phone company and we have to accept charges that come on your bill.”

And I said, “Well, reverse them.”

And she said, “I already did.”

I called OAN over the weekend. All I got was a message machine. I left a detailed message that ended with, "And get your fucking paws off my phone bill."

Then, I called them again today and I got a person. And I said to the guy, "This is such a scam. Why are you charging my phone bill?"

And the guy said, "We are just a billing company for a music club."

I said, "I didn't join any music club. What are you talking about?"

And he said, "Sometimes people don't know it when they join. But if you got a Wal-Mart gift card, you are automatically enrolled in this music program."

And I said, "I never go to Wal-Mart. This is bullshit. Reverse it."

And he said, "Do you want to opt out of the program?"

And I said, "You mean you would keep charging me $16.40 per month forever on my phone bill if I hadn't called?"

And he said, "Yes."

And I said to him, "Cancel right now. And get your fucking hands off my phone bill."

People who run oil companies, utilities, telephones...they get so much money and all they want is more. And companies are so powerful these days, we are all getting bullied. And you have to fight to hold onto your cash. It’s disgusting.

Keep your eyes peeled. Watch those bills. Because even though it's a nightmare to get on the phone to have to talk with a customer service person, unless you stay on top of these greasy pigs, you are training them to continue their swinish behavior.

Major Endorsement

You all need to buy this CD.


Camille

Bush and Nature

So it is true. Bush has tanked. For good.

I look at sunflowers and the small pumpkins on my mantle. The outcome of nature is beauty.

And you can always trust that what is true and good will prevail---
What is true happens because it is the truth—nature likes maximum efficiency.
What is good happens according to our perception of what is good: which is what is good for us. Which is again, maximum efficiency.

There is nothing moral here. Invading Iraq, letting people die in New Orleans, these were not necessarily wrong actions. They were just against truth and goodness. Against efficient use of energy and resources.

So, calmly, I see the beauty on my mantle. Which required almost know planning, just acceptance of what is beautiful. And I know this is the future. There is nothing to worry about.

The natural oddity remains curious. Barbara Bush’s energy is clearly that of a mammal who eats its young. One wonders why she didn’t snack on this particular child.

The New World Order

In the new world, Democrats will be running congress. George Bush will concede the failure that is the Iraq offensive. Donald Rumsfeld will be fired. And my dog will continue to be the sweetest thing on four feet.

The price of housing will decrease. People will rise up and insist on health coverage. Bigotry against gay marriage will go into the closet. Many, many more countries will have nuclear weapons (not necessarily a bad thing).

France will continue its Gallic pragmatism. Tony Blair will happily pipe down. Italy will change governments. Germany will become even more xenophobic.

Ms. Rice will simmer down into obscurity. Hillary Clinton will make a bid for the presidency. Civil war will break up Iraq---or---a new dictator will rise up to unify the warring factions.

Afghanistan will continue to supply most of the world’s heroin. South America will rise up, for good. Africa will only get worse.

And people like me won’t ever shut up.

The Pink Scourge

In the newspaper today there was mention of a pink purge....apparently the religious conservatives in the Republican Party want the homos OUT. Not out of the closet. But out of the party.

Oh my gay friends, why were you ever members? Like Jews joining the Nazi party, your actions had to be propelled by some self loathing, self destructive vector.

I don’t blame the Republicans for wanting you out. Who would want nuts like you around? Let the pure schism take place. Let the Republican Party stand for bigotry and backward thinking. Save yourself and run! The Democratic Party is ready for you. Come on over. We’ll take care of you. But please, leave your delusions at the curb. The Republican Party will never change. And they will use you as cannon fodder for votes. And even if you are smart enough to know it’s all an act, why would you want to be used in that way?

So sorry if they tricked you. They are a snaky bunch.

The Fat of the Land PICS

HAPPY FRENCH NIGHT!



The Fat of the Land

I'm so GLAAD

In Los Angeles and in other cities, GLAAD pokes around and sees plays and hands out awards. It’s based on a voting system by esteemed GLAAD members.

I was informed today by the head of GLAAD that my play, The Fat of the Land, is getting high marks. And I was instructed to send him as many pictures of the show as possible for an official presentation.

So I could get nominated. It would be nice.

When I was a kid, I remember thinking about my gayness, “I will never tell anyone. I will get married to a girl and die with the secret.”

And now, by no grand design, I’ve written a play that turns out to be good for the gay community. Lovely really.

Bush the Idiot: No Nukes?

As with cannonballs and ice cream, anything you create will be repeated by others.

Meme

Be careful what you make.

The cow is out of the barn.

The Terror of the Age

Frankly, it’s the loss of the middle class that has really wacked this country out.

Everyone wants to be a star. Or, they’re addicted to crack. Or both.

Okay, perhaps living in Los Angeles, I have a terrible view of the social order.

But where will we be if we aren’t all moving toward the middle? Oddly, and I hate middlebrow stuff, but oddly, moving toward the middle is very stabilizing for any culture. And the more people are moving toward the middle, the more stable things get.

I would like to see us, as a nation, move in this direction.

I need to visit Missouri or somewhere else like that. Maybe it happens there. It isn’t happening here.


________________________________________________________________________________


On another note---There were only ten people in the audience tonight for
The Fat of the Land. It went over so well. The actors were relaxed and had such a good time. The ten people were laughing out loud. And so, one must be grateful. "Isn't it amazing how everything works out?"

It's Not Always Nice, But One Must Take It

There has been a struggle with my play. Getting audience. Getting press. However, when there is audience and the actors are feeling calm and confident, the magic is there. Sometimes, it all gets a little less magical, what with there being no audience. I wish I didn’t give a flying load. But I do.

For World Premiere reviews, most of the attention is on the writing. Which is sort of an awful position to be in if you are the writer. The reviews, in general, are often forgiving to the actors and the director. Hell, it’s a new piece and if they come off at all okay, then all goes well for them. The thing under scrutiny, truly, is the play. And sometimes it slides in a positive way toward the writer, sometimes not. This is how it should be. And if you put your big wordy ass out there, you have to take your lumps.

Today, I saw a preview of the LA Weekly review and at its best it states this:

Using the same tart wit he displayed in his one-man play, American Air, Cummings subtly sets the artists’ self-absorbed creativity against their neighbors’ artless bluster and destructiveness — all with a sorrowful Chekhovian languor.

The very next sentence:

Unfortunately, the play is at least half an hour too long with three endings.

The rest of the review flatly retells the general story points of the play. Which is never a good thing. And the underlying tone of disapproval is palpable throughout. True, Steven Leigh Morris saw the play on a night with just a handful of people in the audience. (My publicist had a one hour warning that a reviewer was coming) And the play was quite pokey that night. But the actors did do their best under the sepulchral circumstances. And the audience just kind of didn’t care. There it is. 99 Seat theatre at its least affirming. Getting a snarky review is always disappointing.

I did get quite a glowing review in IN LA. Which was affirming, though less distributed:

The Highest compliment one might pay to Don Cummings’ alternately hilarious and heartrending new play, The Fat of the Land, is that it has its Chekovian moments....His modern day play is driven by witty, ultra-contemporary banter...With some judicious tinkering, Cummings’ gripping seriocomedy could have an illustrious future.

Again, these world premiere reviews really go at the writer.

One cannot live and die by the press. It’s too schizophrenic and masocistic. But one does anyway. It’s a professional communication that takes place. And though it is harsh, it is necessary.

The only thing to do in these cases is to have date night.

Adam and I went to the movies. We saw The Queen. Helen Mirren was outrageously good. The story was so delicate and so ambivalent and so well told, you have to wonder if the masses will go see it. Truly, a lovely movie. Helen Mirren is Oscar bound. Surely.

Now, I go back to The second half of the run of The Fat of the Land. Audiences do seem to get a lot out of it. I did get an important agency that loved it. I did set out to write a big, long play with lots of stuff in it. One takes a chance. And I stand beside my choice.

I have decided to keep looking forward. Always forward. To dust oneself off after the bumpy ride is essential. And to get back in the seat. And to proceed. Joyfully. This was made in joy. I am grateful that it is out there. I will continue with joy.
And I am learning. Because that's how it works.

Vanity, Insurance and Lack of Follow Through

Today, after successfully getting a new radiator put into my steaming car and having calmly endured the dentist chair for three hours, I realized the open road to happiness is to find joy in the pain.

Kind of like how one best endures a relationship: To be grateful for the ultimate disappointment.

But though I settled into a very happy place today, with my numb nose and my sore jaw, I still found the time to loathe three things about human beings.

1) The vanity. I mean, it is so amazing that Albert Einstein did what he did. But why do we worship the odd man instead of simply marveling at his unique brain? It seems that we want to celebrate particular human beings for their name and their achievements. To me, it seems enough to celebrate achievement.

2) Insurance. It should be discontinued. This constant bartering, in a tri-group...with the most powerful member of the group not present, but merely laying down what it will or will not pay is complete larceny. Not to mention pure evil. As citizens of the Western World we need to strike. We need to cease paying into insurance companies. We need to make it collapse. Then, I can negotiate with my dentist directly. And if I get hit by a car or bitten by a poisonous raccoon, the government is just going to have to pay for it.

3) Human Error. No matter the transaction, someone always makes a mistake. For instance, while at the Cingular store this weekend, a very lazy twit of a girl kept bothering my sales rep. She wanted him to do her work. Having a speech impediment and a lack of dashing looks, the sales guy indulged her. While indulging, he forget to set the MMS messaging on my phone. So I can’t send pictures. Can you imagine the horror?
I can’t imagine how airplanes remain in the air with the amount of human error out there. I have rarely met a person who actually tries to make sure that what they do is correct. Remember checking your work? Is that a quaint idea that died during the Carter administration?

One tries to remain positive. And frankly, my mood is quite upbeat. But I still cannot help noticing what is dreadfully wrong.

October 10, 1980

Today was an amazing day. I had physics, then I cut calculus and went to lunch. Everyone went home this weekend but me, John and Pam---a friend of Pam’s came up. So—me and John went to BU, we took his sister’s car- on the way there we turned into trolley tracks and the car was stuck, a tow truck pulled us out. We went down a one way street the wrong way- we finally got there and overly partied. We hung out on a grass spot near the river. It was so cool. Dorian was totally out of it. We finally left - It was raining hard, and we got a second flat (we got the first in the trolley tracks) and when we went to turn into the gas station we went over a 3 foot curb. We parked the car – we didn’t have a dime, we got one – lost it in the phone – I had to stop a car to get another dime. We called his sister to call a cab. WE didn’t even know where we were – so eventually what happened was we saw a cab – we hailed it down – and we were on our back to Tufts at 2 A.M. That was the best $7 I ever spent. On a cab. It felt good to be back. Goodnight.


I remember this night very well. John was a huge pothead from Cleveland. Dorian was from New Jersey. I worked with her at a 7-Eleven the summer before I went to college. She was a year older than me and had all sorts of friends. I went down to BU to see her a couple of times. Turns out, she was such a huge drug fiend, I couldn’t keep up.
The hilarity of that night, though. I mean, what really happened was the tracks for the trolley weren’t even there...it was really these grooves in cement where the tracks should have been. John made a left into the tracks. He was stoned. The tires of the car fell into the grooves of where the tracks should have been. And the chassis of the car just fell flat onto the cement slab. When you hit the gas, the wheels just spun in the track grooves.
And of course everything just kept getting worse with the passing of joints and time.

I Love LA Weekend, October

It was one of those I love LA weekends.

We bought new, groovy phones at Cingular (We finally tossed Verizon. Service in the house was down to one bar)

Cingular 8125

And we had brunch at Vienna Cafe with our closest friends.

Soon after, we ate chocolate at Boule on La Cienega.

My play, The Fat of the Land, ran for four nights to pretty full, appreciative houses.

And I got drunk at Trunks with John for his birthday

Followed by a huge plate of tacos at Taco Bell. I ate five tacos. #8

Life is beautiful.

I Am So Fucking Tired

Read Someone Else's Blog Today!


(BUT-- HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MARY--)


A Writer

A New Yorker

A City Planner

A Traveler

Doubt

I will be very succinct about Doubt.

Cherry Jones is something else. To see her do this thing that she does, go.

The play, I don’t know. The conceit seems to eat up the humans. A bit too constructed for me. But then, I’m in transition right now. The dialogue...incredible. JP Shanley has an amazing ear.

The director, Doug Hughes, a perfect touch.

If you live in LA, go see it. Honestly, there is so much power. Kind of hit-you-in-the-stomach stuff.

Again, Cherry Jones...

Isn't it Amazing How Everything Works Out?

This is a quote from my play. And oddly, it fits in the grand scheme.

The Fat of the Land has been a success, even though we’re still waiting on a lot of press. About one-hundred plays opened in Los Angeles this fall. Rough. We are working on this problem and we’re still running four more weeks so much can still be achieved in this area.

The good news: My Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner, Adam’s agent from Paradigm (bigass place)- came to see the play, loved it, and is taking me on as a television writer...provisionally (I have to write an original pilot). A little hoop jumping is in my immediate future. Ten years ago this happened to me with ICM with my one man show and I did not take the bait to become a television writer.

Now—I’m older and wiser. A good creative job with a big fat paycheck seems like a great idea. I can still write my plays and stories. Shit, Joan Didion wrote all sorts of crap. And I weigh more than she does. So, I’ll just have to do everything. And working in television, successfully, will give more business weight to my plays, my book, etc. Plus, television is better these days.

This is a great coup for my career. My new pilot is already outlined and it’s going to be textured and character driven and hilarious. I’m feeling very confident.

Now the problem remains. Sixteen more shows with one hundred seats to fill and still Nine-Thousand Dollars in the hole. I need 1,600 asses. Give me your ass. And bring extra ass with you.

www.myspace.com/fatland
Use Promo Code 008 for half-priced tickets.

October 3, 1974, 1980

October 3, 1974

It was so cold today. I froze my rearendoff. Well I'm going to sleep now. School was fun, blah, blah, blah. Goodnight.

October 3, 1980

Today was truly shitty. I had my physics test--I bombed. I had calc. No prob. So this afternoon I read chem, then had dinner. I have bad allergies. I feel shitful. My exploration went to the Ballet---but not me--here it is Friday night and I go to the library. I'm so behind. I'm doing chem right now and then bed--Today sucked.
Goodnight.


So, I got to thinking. Was it really that cold on October 3, 1974 that I would have actually frozen my rearendoff? So, I did a little research and I found that October 3, 1974 was a record low temperature for New York in the Twentieth Century.

Record Cold for October 3
Click on Averages and Records.

I got to thinking about Tufts. Perhaps majoring in engineering for a semester and a half was not quite right for me.

Tufts

Nick Drake at 2 AM

I can't stop listening to Nick Drake's Poor Boy from Bryter Layter.

Something about the jazzy background music and the simple downward chromatic melody.
And the amazing background singers. More than just a great song, it's also wry commentary. The clinging together of these empty, drab lyrics against the virtuosity of understated, yet showy musicianship. The touch is perfect.

Good 2AM, bring it on down and get to bed kind of song.

Nick Drake Bio

Backstage West Opening This Week Article

Just Missed Autism

The lore has it in my family that I was almost two years old before I walked, talked, sat up, did anything at all. I was one of those odd babies that was happy to sit and stare at a red square of fabric all day long.


My mother thought I was retarded. Dr. DeBart said that if I didn’t show signs of life within the next few weeks, they were going to take me in for testing, to see if I was, in fact, retarded.

My mother, twenty-four years old, was very upset and went crying to her mother, my grandmother, better known as Nanny.

When my mother sobbed, “And Dr. DeBart thinks he might be retarded and he has to get tested...”
Nanny said, “Give him to me for the weekend.”

By Monday, I was crawling, cooing, involved with the earth.
My mother asked, “What’d you do? Is he okay?”
Nanny said, “There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s just lazy. When he wouldn’t sit up, I wacked him. When he wanted to eat, I made him get it for himself.”

I have a natural propensity toward autistic behavior. I’d rather get off on a color or a sound for hours on end. I have to fight it. Though pulling in for some repetitive, enjoyable sensory experience seems preferable to social interaction and gives one a sense of control...it is anything but that. We do rely upon others and being separated from people for extended periods of time causes anxiety.

One must find the balance if one likes those little trippy times, all alone, smelling lavender and listening to a suspended chord while staring at the sky. Man cannot live on happy, firing neurons alone.

Midweek Claret

I was off to a reading at Booksoup in West Hollywood when I was stopped by a bottle of Francis Ford Coppola's Claret.

It was so much fun. Sometimes, when you are very busy and everything on earth seems at stake, it is so important to stop and hang and drink with your friends.

Though I understand the importance of a healthy thrust for living, I also know that one must let loose every now and then, or one gets very uptight.

You have to let your hair down. Because tomorrow is, for sure, another day.

Sales Forced

Yesterday, a child came to my door soliciting an LA Times subscription in order for his school to raise money for soccer uniforms. He rattled off his memorized paragraph like an automaton. Poor thing.

I said no, since I already receive the LA Times. He then rattled off his “How about a donation” speech. And I just had to say no again.

For three reasons.

1) I don’t think children should be selling door to door.
2) I hate having to transact on my front porch.
3) Soccer uniforms should be paid for with tax money.

Though I do believe in the free market, I am disgusted that schools do not get the money they need and so children must go begging. It’s terrible. And, it teaches children at a very young age that the collective does not care about them, so they must push for every silly little item in life, including clothing for a game.

This kid was so flat and shut down. Is this what we want? A generation of saleschildren?
Is it not enough that the adults in our culture are all shut down in the name of money? Must we destroy the children now, too?

Or, maybe I’m really off...and we’re doing these children a favor by making them understand that in order to get anything in this life, you have to beg for it.

September 25, 1974

Today was a fucken boring day and I got pepper in my eyes and I was in a shitty mood. Goodnight.

Opening and Nick Drake

I don't usually blog on the weekend...but I have to say...the opening was a huge succes. Almost sold out. The audience loved it. I could not be happier. NPR was there. So enjoyable.

And there was a big joyful spread--the opening night lobbby party. And now it's 3:53 AM and I'm celebrating...dancing around the office room...Nick Drake's Poor Boy--I's so fucking sad and beautiful and ironic. I Love this song. And it's 6:08 seconds. Which is so ballsy. The length alone says, "We're going to sit with this for a while...because we need to."

So, I would say, put on a great song, one that's kind of particluar, and dance--to get the idea.

Isn't it great that we're just animals?

SIGH OF RELIEF

My play has come together.

The actors are ready.

It's beautiful: The design, pacing, story, acting.

It's so real and sad and funny. Come see it.


The Fat of the Land

Sixty-Nine Hours Until Opening Night

Do come for opening night. There will be champagne. There are twenty seats left.

Why not get your tickets today!

The Fat of the Land

No Atheists in Foxholes

The beauty of the theatre is after all the fighting and crying, everyone comes back together to make it happen.

It’s so infantile. The primacy of the struggle is very interesting.

Why does one want it to be so good? I mean, at the end of the day, if the play isn’t good, well then, it’s just that all the elements did not come together.

My plays are hard to perform. In fact, it takes quite a bit of concentration and long arc pushing to really go through one of my stories. I’ve seen so much failure when it comes to presenting my material.

At times, the actors on the stage get it. They have these moments of fantastic poetic need. They show the vulnerability of living.

And at times, they bang through it with lead feet, saying what they have to say just because it’s time.

When a few actors can pull it off, together, the more confident I become.

One wonders, after having logged in close to 800 hours on a project, if it was worth it.

It remains to be seen.

I found myself looking toward the ceiling this evening. I was all, “God, help me.”

There is a great fantasy that there is someone out there who cares.

But at the end of the day, it’s the wanting of the caring that is suspect. At the end of the day, the result does not matter. The fun fight to get it all done, that was the joy.

Now, I listen to Debussy’s The Girl with the Flaxen Hair and I am very happy.

And though I hold all things unseen suspect, I imagine there must be something great, cool, bigger than us...but of course, this is nothing more than my need to be more than I am.

Am I a Tyrant?

I have been producing my play, which opens this Saturday evening. In the parlance of the theatre, I am in hell week. This is the week where absolutely everything must come together. The acting, the design elements of light, sound and set, the props and the audience. It's like throwing a party and providing the very involved entertainment.

All this in a small rental theatre in Hollywood.

The Fat of the Land Tickets and Information

And tonight, I made my director cry and I had a fight with my producing partner.

I attacked my director for being too slow with fixing problems.
I attacked my producing partner for talking to me like a servant.

In the end, I had every reason to be conerned about the behavior of the director and the producer. But ultimately, I don't like it when I get ugly.

When the wretched bile of living builds up, how does one respond gracefully?

I am not there yet.

Inertia

Clearly,
One must pick an energetic, committed path. It’s the only way. I am not earnest but I do want to feel connected to living in a pretty big way.
I like the idea of simply riding in a street car and seeing a tree and being thrilled for the seeing.

And I don’t think you can feel that way unless the overall circumstances of your life are fully energized.

When I was in my twenties and I was spending my time with other twenty year olds who were in the throes of trying to figure out what the hell their lives were about, every now and then someone would ask me what I thought a person should do, in general, to be happy and I would simply say: Fucking Pay Attention. The rule of F.P.A.

I think all is given to the person who fucking pays attention. To everything.

Loving Joan

California is a place in which a boom mentality and a sense of Chekhovian loss meet in uneasy suspension; in which the mind is troubled by some buried but ineradicable suspicion that things had better work here, because here, beneath that immense bleached sky, is where we run out of continent. -- Joan Didion


I think Joan Didion understands California completely. Given these conditions, one is forced to work hard. Because after you have run out of continent, you are left with just yourself. And you realize, after all the running, that YOU have to do it. No one else can. So when you choose to live in California, you are saying, “There is nowhere else to go. I have to do it. I have to be me, now. And it has to work.”

Of course, it doesn’t work for many. But oddly enough, it does for so many others.

And I am going to admit this right now and I fucking say it in all earnest pride: I like Schwarzenegger. The guy has the ability to learn. He is socially liberal. He is silly yet hard working. I think he’s perfect for right now.

And, though I am from the East and I love it so, I think the West is wide. And Joan, well, go read Play It As It Lays.

September 13, 1980

Today wasn’t so great. I slept extremely late. Then I had a headache so I took some codeine. I rearranged my room totally. Then I got tired from the codeine so I slept some more. I finally got out of bed and went to dinner. We ate. I came back and did tons of physics, then me, Pam and Sue went to see Norma Rae for $1. It was an excellent movie. After the movie me, Rene, Pam and Sue went and got pizza, then we hung out in Pam’s room ‘till 3:30 - Goodnight.

Five Years Later

And it's still a bummer.

I've read that this did not change people that much.

I think it has.

Chicken George Marries a Millionaire

I went to The Bel Air Hotel today to a wedding. I imagine I am some sort of Boheme when in fact I am a Hollywood house husband with a decent spending allowance.

I wish it was still 1973 and I was in a rock-folk band and the world was evolving into love, understanding and socialism and that we all felt calm and equal and safe. But in actuality, the gap between the rich and the poor is only getting larger and I have fallen in with the people with money and all I feel is plain lucky. And a part of me is disgusted. And a part of me always knew it would be this way.

The Bel Air Hotel is lovely. It is on the west side of Stone Canyon above Sunset Boulevard not far from UCLA. The grounds are covered with incredibly old trees. California Sycamores and Redwoods. It looks like Topanga, even a bit like Yosemite. It’s truly gorgeous. There is a fake, yet nice stream filled with white swans the size of pigs.

There are pink bungalows and stone walkways.

The rooms go for about $500/ night.

And there we were for the wedding. Adam, my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner, works on a sitcom called Two and a Half Men. It stars Charlie Sheen.
One of the creators was getting married. A tall, older Jewish guy. His wife, Iraqi American. The master of ceremonies/pastor? Ben Vereen. He acknowledged the Jewish-Arab harmony. He also sang.

It wasn’t so sad that Ben is no longer acting and instead officiating weddings, but actually surprising.

I mean, Ben was a big black deal in the 1970’s. I saw him on Broadway, in Pippin. “Join us, leave your Fields to Flower. Join us, leave your cheese to sour. Join us, come and waste an hour or two. Doodle-di-do.”

His spiel at the wedding was half new age, half revival, and overall, unfocused.

The television writer who was getting married occasionally did bits, pretended to have a conversation on his cell phone during the nuptials and generally hammed it up for the crowd.

His Iraqi-American wife was beautiful, has a degree in spiritual psychology (perhaps this is what brought in Ben?) and also makes films.

Who knows what the hell this couple is up to. I mean, they do seem happy. So that's great. And I was happy to be hanging out at the Bel Air Hotel.

The food was lovely. The crowd was privileged. The setting was Los Angeles swanky. I sat at a great table with lively, interesting people who were very funny and present in mind and character. Charlie Sheen was there in his violet sunglasses.

I got drunk.

And so did a lot of other people. The conversations ranged from, “That was a weird ceremony. Half Ben Vereen spiritual, half comedy,” to “We are so lucky to be here. Look at us. Our biggest problems are whether or not they have the size we want of a shirt we like at Fred Siegel. How did we get to be here?” to “I don’t know about these belly dancers.”

People snuck out without saying goodbye.

I think at one point I told Ben Vereen that I saw everything he ever did in New York when I was a kid, when of course, I didn't. He walked away from me politely and quickly.

Tune in next week when we go to a wedding in Malibu. I found out today that it will be officiated by Marianne Williamson. Will this be a return to love?

Sometimes, I think about the smell of the brakeshoe plant, the dog food factory and the water treatment facility that surrounded my neighborhood growing up and I think, “Yeah, I knew it would be different when I got older and I like rich, white people who are extremely liberal and beautiful, but when the bottom falls out, where will I be able to find the thick ankled grandmothers in the house coats with the good pots of soup?”

Dog Days

Louise, the poor little pooch.

During the last week, Louise has been keeping us up at night with lots of scratching and chewing herself raw and matted. Yesterday, I looked at one of her little front paws, and one of the toes has blown up enormous behind the claw. Like a pink grape.

So, we went to the vet. La Brea Pets. (Don’t throw my doggy into the tar pit!)

Our amazing doctor, Kate Monroe Zapata, said two things:

1) Louise has allergies. That’s why her skin is so awful. This has been the worst allergy season for dogs since she has been a vet.

2) Her little toe is infected and needs treatment. Separate issue from the allergies.

She shaved Louise’s chewed up, nasty parts and her swollen paw and gave her a big shot of antibiotic. Right between the shoulders. And then she told me what I had to do.

So I left the vet’s office with a bag of medicine (Hexadene, Betadine and Lincocin) and instructions to buy Benadryl tablets.

I bathed Louise with the Hexadene medicated shampoo, rubbed it into her skin and let it soak for twenty minutes. Then I rinsed her off. I cut a tablet in half and gave her 12.5 grams of Benadryl.

Later tonight, after Adam walked her, we gave her another dosage of Benadryl and then soaked her paw in a Betadine solution for ten minutes.

Tomorrow, she gets three dosages of Benadryl, a morning and evening dose of Lincocin (an antibiotic) for her paw and at the end of the day, the Betadine paw soak. This must continue for fourteen days with one more medicated bath thrown in next week.

September is never a great month in Los Angeles. It’s hot. It’s dry. And dogs suffer.

I love my pooch.

September 6, 1980

Today was excellent. Megan called, I got up, ate, and met her down in Boston. She was with a friend. It was excellent to see her. We hung out from 12 to 4. It was really great. She’s doing good. Then I came back and ate dinner- a cookout, then me, Rene, his roommate- Eric, Pam, and Sue, went to see an improvisational group. They were excellent, really great. Then we went into Cambridge, ate and walked around. Eric is really weird. He is so insecure. I felt good that someone was worse off than me. Things are really getting better. Goodnight.


Apparently, it was very important for me to feel that things were excellent. Propping myself up? And thank goodness for the pleasurable dopamine surge in my brain provided by the Eric Schadenfreude.

This was my first week at college and I remember there were many adjustment problems. Tufts University. Medford, Massachusetts. I did not and do not like change all that much. At least not when it’s huge. Sue was hilariously miserable. We went on one of those Boston Harbor cruises the night before. Everyone was getting drunk and Sue and I just looked at each other and would say things like, “Can we go home now?” “I bet I’m more miserable than you are.” On the way back from the Harbor Cruise the bus got lost. Pam, Sue and Rene (not Eric) were my first friends. That lasted about a semester. Though I always remained friendly with them (as I do) and at graduation, they all sat together (sans Eric) and I sat with my freshman friends Joe and Ed. When I went to Europe, Junior Year, I went up and stayed with Pam in Edinburgh Scotland for only one night and drank in a pub with her friends and I visited Sue in Lausanne, Switzerland for a day and we went to the Musee d’Art Fou.

Rene was a guy whose family was a bit Cannuck. He referred to himself as Rainy to avoid having a woman’s name. He was gay and very Christian and tightly closeted. He wanted to go to dental school in the worst way. He ended up going to Hospital Administration school at UMASS. Perfect, because more than anything, he exuded a secretarial nature. Sue wanted to be a veterinarian in the worst way. She ended up at NYU with an International MBA focusing on French. This made very good sense. Sue was extremely smart in a wide net kind of way and she spoke amazing French. Pam majored in Chinese. I bet she became a spy or a murderer. She was one of those nasty bitches from Bethesda. She was cute. She would only date Jewish men. My good friend Joe was in love with her for the longest time but she could care less. He became a doctor in Cleveland. I was in love with Joe. For a short while. Eric was truly funky and remained nothing more than Rene’s roommate (Rainy’s roommate). The poor guy had awful acne. And he had very fine, greasy hair. He had a great body. I am having a vague memory of imaging Eric and Rene together, doing the Cannuck-Acne-Guy beast with two backs.

I do not remember seeing an improvisational group. Maybe in Goddard Chapel on campus? We often went into Cambridge. I bet we ate at The Mug and Muffin. Or we drank in that pub. Was it called The Ale House? I bet we did both.

Megan, of course, was Megan who, of course, is still Megan. She went to Simmons for a year. Not the right place for her. That school was all about marrying a Harvard Med student. We did go see Tess of the D’Urbervilles that fall.

The New Theatre Presents

The Fat of the Land

After the Factotum

Matt Dillon sure can act, still.

Lili Taylor can still sure act.

Marisa Tomei still can sure act.

Factotum is filled with great acting.

The movie is disturbing. This is mostly due to the subject matter. Alcoholism, simply indulged in, is about as interesting as a car wreck. Chinaski, presented as a self-destructive human being, yet success obsessed writer, is quite a famous character from the Bukowski books. And everyone has a certain love for the wild man who is true to his passion. So this could be enough...

Of course, one could make a case for Chinaski as the ultimate expression of mid-century Americana and not just the stand in for a drunk author. It was an interesting time. Our culture needed to have everything exposed. It took World War II to jar Americans into examining excessive traits and/or marginal characters in the culture. So, Chinaski might not be just a solipsistic construction, but even more, an un-American-yet-so-American Everyman.

But I think he was just Bukowski being really truthful about himself.

Which is just better all the way around.

But this movie is laid out flat and that’s its best and worst thing. I mean, watching the morning puking scene where Matt and Lili take turns hobbling to the toilet to throw up is priceless. And there are moments of stillness, played brilliantly by Matt Dillon, that are truly breathtaking. So, it’s worth it to witness this. But ultimately, even though Chinaski triumphs in the end (without even knowing), as an audience member, you just end up feeling so unsettled and horrible.

Oh wait. That was the point for Bukowski and for the movie. What a movie. Do yourself in: Go see this incredibly well done movie. Feel bad about how bad life can be. And feel bad that your life is not even as bad and that you are not as interesting or successful as Chinaski-Bukowski.

Goats the World Over

The Faggot Can't Read

I made a note to myself last night about prejudice.

“Most people hold their deepest prejudice based primarily upon the style of another group’s ruthlessness. It’s a self protective device.”

So, someone might loathe me for being loud and Wop-like, because it is the stylistic tip of the iceberg of what could become ruthless bullying.

Or I might loathe the Hassidim on my street because they are so clannish and blind to my existence---their style reflects an inner ruthlessness of the ability to be dismissive of others. So, if there was a flood, they wouldn’t care about me.

Perhaps you hate a poor person because they might ruthlessly throw garbage on your lawn, caring not about the earth, or about you or your sense of order or safety.

And that’s all fine, my idea, except it’s too simplistic. The roots of prejudice might be even more rooted in the need to keep your genes alive. And mixing threatens your traits. Or maybe it’s taught. Or maybe children really are evil devils that are barely raised into civility.

Which brings me to Disney’s High School Musical. How dare they? Talk about hating the other. Is it not enough in this new world that well intentioned straight people have taken over West Hollywood and now we gay men must “mix” with breeders on a weekend evening, drinking and grinding with fat girls from Glendale? Now, with broad strokes, Disney has banished the gay boys out of the high school musical and has replaced them with just one guy: a very cute, sweet, straight athlete. Is this not the ultimate in prejudice or reverse prejudice or just plain old perverse?

After months of hearing about it, we finally PVR’d this Disney thing. Besides being awful, in its desire to show that “We’re all in this together,” Disney air brushed out the happy gay singers. And the only character that was possibly gay was the evil half of the egomaniacal performing brother and sister team. He wore silly hats and looked much like Macaulay Culkin. And they only hinted at his gayness, focusing more on his vapid nature. He was the star and he was banished from stardom by a straight guy. Furthermore, they made a pretty big joke that he was stupid and could not read. I’ve never met a gay person who couldn’t read. And I’ve met a lot of gay people. Perhaps they were trying to hide his gayness behind a learning disability. Which, of course, insults everyone.

Okay, maybe it’s stupid to care about anything Disney makes. Fine. I mean, what the hell am I doing wasting my time with this crap? But in the end, Disney did everything else it could to bring everyone together. The horrible TV movie worked in very happy, fluid race relations that resulted in lots of cross color dating. For the most part, skin tones had to be within two steps of each other, so it was quite calculated. However, they did throw in one total black boy on blond girl at the end. Bravo. But the gay kid got nothing but “lesser half of the evil team and being sort of dimwitted.” And a bag of cookies to eat alone. But maybe it was a magic bag of cookies, because it did make his blond sister succumb to the cute black guy.

What is the tip of the iceberg of ruthlessness of gay style that Disney, serving its customers, is afraid of? That a gay person is often dismissive of reproducing and joining in the American fantasy that everyone cares about everyone? Oh right.

Shit.

Survival

This animal based need to survive. Goats do it without a god.

Consciousness has brought us much. But as our three sections of brain,
Reptilian-flight or fight, Mammalian emotions and instincts, Human intelligence, struggle to make sense of each other, one notices a force that unites these disparate working areas.

The go between energy.

It can guide well if it’s well developed. I don’t know what develops it.

I think if it is well developed, it gives rise to more creativity. The section of the mind that harnesses these three forces—is the same section that creates.

Those who use it and are not afraid of it can be more than just functional. A joyful pace of pleasure can arise with its humming.

Those who are afraid of it must name it as something outside of themselves.

So, they call it god or give their natural power away, this force of three brains working together. It is not surprising, the religious trinities that form---as a projection of the triumvirate brain.

Evolution raised us up, but left our very mixed brain trio. And since it all evolved together, it somehow works. It is a miracle.

And then you die. And that’s okay.

The more one can ride the brain’s go-between courier, the easier and more wonderful and more powerful and more vibrant everything becomes.

We must risk delight, We can do without
pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must
have
The stubbornness to accept our gladness in
the ruthless
furnace of the world.
-- Jack Gilbert

August 30, 1974

Well we saw the last game Hank Aaron ever played in New York today. The Mets won. We’re leaving for the Poconos tomorrow. Well I’m a going now so I’ll be a saying Goodnight!

I Like Spike

We disked the Spike Lee, When the Levees Broke and watched it.

You know, I had an interesting reaction to Katrina. I have such a deep loathing of George the Chimp and it became immediately clear that this was his Waterloo, so Katrina brought me an odd mirth.

And though there was so much suffering, I was happy. I like when the truth becomes hard and undeniable. I love when people are rendered mute by what is real.

With that being said, it was definitely time to revisit this disaster from the comfort of my dry living room to catch the human element. And Spike Lee really brings it on home. Completely worth the four hours. Actually, I’ve only watched about two and a half hours so far. We’ll hit the rest of it tomorrow.

It’s mostly talking heads interspersed with footage, like lots of documentaries. But of course, these people are so colorful and articulate and pained and forthright, it makes for the case that humanity should actually be loved and appreciated.

Listening to that witch, Babs Bush, in the Astrodome was enough to make me think, “Who needs the generational heft of the 1960’s? People of all ages should rise up and storm the castle.”

I’ve been to New Orleans about five or six times. I never liked it. I only ever saw it as a few blocks of extreme wealth and tourism (mixed with alcoholic puking) surrounded by complete poverty that was accepted as the norm. It always seemed like a heartless, awful place to me. It seemed cynical in its ossified class system. And there are many cities, especially in the Southeast, that have this feeling. It is truly pathetic that we have this extreme division of experience.

What is so difficult about our nation is if you are not ambitious and acquisitive, you suffer mightily. If you are sick or poor or disabled in any way, there is not much there to soften your path. This is Bush country. Conservative Compassion.

I can’t wait to watch the rest.

Join Freecycle Today

Join Freecycle Today and help the planet even more than you already are! It’s so cool. (Thanks Jeff)

www.freecycle.org

From their site:

What Freecycle is about:

It is about keeping things out of the landfill.
It IS about giving away something that has no use in our life anymore to someone who could extend its usefulness a little longer.
It IS about giving gifts to people while clearing out our own clutter.
It IS about creating, building, and sustaining an environmentally aware community.
Offering Items We No Longer Need to Those Who Need Them



I’m all for this. Often, people scratch their heads in wonder when they see me driving my 1992 Geo Prizm with 147,000 miles on it with no end in sight. But my feeling is, the beast gets good gas mileage, I try to drive as little as possible, I park it on the road so why not have a heap, and the energy to build a Prius has to be more than the gas I would save by exchanging this perfectly good car for a new, more efficient one. Though, I don’t know how I could run the math on that one.

Until further notice, I’ll drive my bomber. And when I’m done because they’ve come out with a car that runs on waste, I’ll either drive the sweet old thing down the Baja and hand the keys over to someone who needs it and take a plane home. Or, I’ll list it on Freecycle.org. Let someone enjoy another 100,000 miles.

Send your totally good stuff out to those who want it. Slow down the economy. Be thrifty. Give to those who would appreciate your old gift.

It’s a good world. There’s just a whole lot of people who need to know more things about it.


www.freecycle.org

August 25, 1980

Today was cool sort of. I got up pretty late. B came over. I went to the bank to send my money up to Boston. I came home, ate. Me and B had great sex. So she left. Sarah came over, I talked about my arrest. Well—mom found out via Glen Wilson (Fireman) > Lisa Wilson > Sally > Mom. Shit. Mom and Dad were pissed, really pissed. I talked to Johnny Walsh. He said my case should be laughed out of court. The cops are stupid and that any lawyer could get us off. Anyway, Bruce came over, left. Me and B went to the movies – “Prom Night,” It really sucked. We ate at Denny’s, came home. This arrest shit sucks.


---This was the summer before my first year of college. I guess I opened a bank account beforehand so my check would clear. Ah, and B was my girlfriend, Barbara, and from poking around the pages of that 1980 summer, B and I had a lot of sex. But I think, Bruce came over, left is also code for sex. If I remember correctly. Johnny Walsh was a lawyer and he was married to Barbara's sister, Donna. Johnny was a true hippy turned professional, a Fordham graduate and extremely pompous. Donna was the prettiest sister in Barbara's family of six girls. Johnny and Donna were huge potheads. They lived across the street from me in the second story apartment. Barbara's grandparents owned the buildng, Maple View Apartments, a slate gray, rundown fourplex with a stone basement with a dirt floor. The Luarcas used to live in one of the bottom units and John Luarca and I made a movie in the basement called, "Crack of Dawn," about vampires. Like the other movie that I made, about a lemon-ade stand, the film didn't turn out. The Luarcas had a cute maltese named Toby.

The arrest happened the night before. I lived in a neighborhood that was sandwiched between train tracks, woods, a river, a water treatment plant and the municipal shed that stored all the trucks that salted the roads. Behind that shed was a green picnic table where we used to build small fires and smoke cigarettes. The cops came and we ran away. I was with my brother, Greg, Matt Poole—who was only fifteen years old and so he wasn’t given a ticket---and Holly, a very close friend.

We had to go to court. We were actually charged with Disorderly Conduct. But the cops said we got off easy because we could have been charged wtih arson.

From August 26, 1980:

I came home, got ready, picked up Holly, and me, Greg and Holly went to court. At first it was held in a parking lot ‘cause the judge didn’t have a key, then we got inside. The court clerk wasn’t there, so the judge didn’t have a record of what we did. He was real nice to us. I really think the whole thing is gonna be dropped. We went home. Holly left. Me and B walked to the black bridge. I was ultra-depressed. We both cried, we left, then went home. I felt a lot better, and me, mom, dad and Greg stayed up and watched “The Uninvited”- 1937. It was cool.

I think B and I cried because I was leaving for college.

Democracy Means Never Having to Smell Those Awful Flowers

Please leave your smelly flowers at home. Sure, we live in a free society and if you want to buy flowers that smell like a sugar cane factory in August, by all means, do so. But please don’t bring them to work!

What a headache.

The original idea of democracy was that each individual would be free, sure, but in addition, each citizen would do their best to take responsibility for a decent society. Do people forget this?

As my friend Jeff K. says, “We’ll all get along and we’ll all be okay if everyone agrees to be just a little bit unhappy.”

Not everyone can have their way:

1) Rich people like Tom Cruise should not be allowed to set up Scientology Tents while on the set of War of the Worlds. Ironic, since L. Ron Hubbard was a science fiction writer. So Tom doesn’t get what he wants. Doesn’t he already have enough?

2) People who like smelly flowers or sweet perfumes should live in Antarctica. Enough said.

3) Industrialists should not be able to glean profits off the cancerous breasts of millions of women. Women should not put up with having their chests lopped off in the name of yellow dyes and plastic reagents. Industrialists should not be in the business of bodily mutilation.

4) If the United States government does not want Iran to make a nuclear bomb, it should just give Iran a few of the extra ones they have, and then Iran won’t need to make them. Wouldn’t Iran change its tune if we gave them such an expensive gift? We’d be a little less happy, but the tension would dissipate.

5) If rational people of the United States cannot hoist off the yoke of repression brought upon us by the Religionists with their fear-based, ignorant fairytales, then a civil war (hopefully employed without weapons) might be the only answer. Rational people are a little bit unhappy living with all these nuts, but we deal with it. Religionists should give us the same courtesy. If they continue this way, on their 4,000 year old planet, then perhaps they need to be deported to Antarctica with the bad smells.


My street savvy mother used to always say, “Play to win.”

Maybe playing to win in the current world is to pick some uncomfortable middle and then fight to the death to defend it. Taking a strong stand to one side in any relationship is the recipe for a failed relationship. Standing together in the middle, though annoying, depressing, disappointing and dream crushing, is far more workable.

And if your mate does not like flowers and you do, maybe you can agree on a different, more neutral decoration, like a river rock.

Bunnies

Something tells me you could watch this all day.


Bunnies

A huge congratulation is in order today for my friend, Dan Kaufman.

He made the choice to spend more on his electric bill which will increase the percentage of renewable resources for electricity to Los Angeles by a huge percentage.

Los Angeles Dept. of Water and Power

So, all it takes is money to fix the world? What a novel idea. How hard is it to move money where it is needed? What blocks it from happening? Only inertia? Special Interests? Fear?


And one more question about money and power:

Who the hell is going to pay for this war in Iraq? Have you seen the bill lately?

The Cost of War

I Can't Get Enough of Those Mother Fucking Snakes

On that Mother Fucking plane.

Look, there has been so much written about this movie that there is not much I can add to it except this:

FIND THE BIGGEST MOVIE THEATRE WITH THE BIGGEST YOUNG CROWD WITHIN A DAY’S FLIGHT FROM YOUR HOUSE, and just go see it.

It’s frigging hilarious. It is honest in its simplicity. And no matter what anyone says, it really is a parody. In fact, my first reaction after the credits rolled was, “That sure was arch.”

It is times like these when we need really smart movies about stupid shit, like snakes on planes, with great actors like Samuel Jackson screaming the title of the movie with the perfectly pitched sprinkling of two motherfuckings.

The creative sum of the flatness of a Gilligan’s Island episode, with the effects of today, well acted by a very savvy cast, filmed crisply, directed with a light/heavy hand, all played out in a ludicrous send up of a disaster movie makes me give this snake filled B flick two rattles up.

Because we need a little ridiculous.

I Say Hizbollah, You Say Hezbollah

No matter how you parse it, the Lebanese are into Hizbollah.

Or is it Hezbollah?

There is a faction of Arabs that want Israel to disappear. And the leader of Iran does have a point, “If the Holocaust problem was in Europe, why don’t the Jews have a place there?”

And then there is the understandable Zionist thing going on about the homeland. Stubborn, hard working Jews are modern, happening people and they laid claim with the help of Merry Old England. Fine.

But all histories and grudges aside, Israel is a nation recognized by the world. And truly, this really is quite a tiny bit of sand we're talking about.
Why not just let it be?

It seems like that would be too easy. Furthermore, it appears to the average eye that there is an Arab culture of discontent and war, even if it’s just a subculture. And Arabs all get it. And so they embrace, in their two-faced way, Hizbollah (Hezbollah?). And no matter what the leaders say, we all just have to admit that they are lying. They will not chase Hezbollah (Hizbollah?) away. Because no matter how funkyfucked they are, they are “one-of-us”. Oh, and they have a lot of cash.

I hate clans. Ethnicity. All of it.

My opinion? Why can’t both teams drop their precious traditions and resentments and just live together? And why do they all have to identify so strongly with their cultures and their religions? Or am I just a naïve American fool for thinking this way?

Give me atheist mutts any day.

The Middle Line

Some say Life is the thing that happens to you while you’re busy making plans for other things.

I think that’s a bit too simple and puts one out of the equation, in a way.

I think there is this mental idea of your life (usually idealized) and then there is the reality of your life and these are Vectors zipping along, obviously dynamic, sometimes volatile, but usually, heading in their own directions pretty steadily. I think Life is the Line between these two lines.

I would imagine, ideally, that one might want all three lines to be one line.
I think, at best, the two outer lines come closer together, making the center line as strong a Vector as possible.

I think the center line is the point of power. It is the place of action.

Here's the Scoop

We saw Scoop tonight.

It’s so silly! But I say that in a good way. It was as light as a popover. Miss Scarlett was funny and cute. Hugh Jackman is ridiculously attractive, all tall and handsome. Woody is jittery as ever, but these days, he seems to have a frozen left eye. Something’s up. Maybe he’s just really old?

The story is a whodunit kind of thing. Nothing new in the terrain. The set up is fun, what with a dead top reporter coming through the magician booth to give clues. And both the London scenes and the countryside scenes throughout are quite beautiful. The cinematographer does a great job. The very dated, bad special effects and the bad costume of death with the sickle only add to the silly charm. And wait until you hear the bad puns. One involves a sandwich and a great artist. You can guess.

Is Scoop one of Woody’s greats? Aw hell no. But at least it’s Woody. He seems less able to come up with complicated stories with nuanced characters as he ages. But at least he started high, so his sinking isn’t so bad. You can see the sketch he’s made. And it’s pleasing, if not fully realized.

And he still rips off other movies, shamelessly. In Point Blank, with its high class girl/low class girl problem and with this movie, the rowboat scene at one point, you get the feeling that Woody Allen loves A Place in the Sun more than he even knows.

Honestly, there’s not much else out there at the plex. So, this was a good choice. And I think for Woody Allen, in the late autumn of his career, it’s not a bad idea to release his trifles during the summer when the adults have nothing else to see anyway. You get the sense that even he knows the gig is up...but he kind of layers that point into the film, too. He’s honest, this guy. You might not like that he has shacked up with his daughter, but as an artist he’s a good one. He uses himself and his understanding of life quite cannily even in something as stupid and fun as this flick.

Get the Scoop. Why not?

Motivation

What compels people?

I had a Reike treatment today...It would be so much fun to make fun of if it didn’t work.

I have been running around town for weeks (okay, months) getting my show up on its feet, starting a new theatre company (The New Theatre) and now, we have a presence and tickets are for sale:

The Fat of the Land My Space
Fat Tickets

Being a producer takes a lot of work. First, we had to raise about twenty-thousand dollars, which we have almost done.

And while that has been going on, we needed to staff up. Staffing is actually the enjoyable part because you get to meet people and you get to host them kindly and you just sit back and see what they have to offer. We had four principal players, but we needed a director, a stage manager, two other actors (who we cast after much gathering and auditioning), an entire design team (Scenic, lights, sound, costume), friends to man the box office, a free-lance publicist, a graphic designer and parking attendants. And who knows who else in the near future.

This, after a couple of months of searching for space, signing a contract, getting the insurance together, having a garage sale and, oh yeah, and still working on raising that twenty k.

You know, I like being busy. And I am super pleased that everyone is off in rehearsals and from reports, I hear they are all having a very good time. We chose talented people who did not have personality problems. It’s so great, really.

But I noticed, in order to get this all going, I had to ramp it up to a pace that was outside my comfort zone. Good, that’s good, we need to do that. You have to jump out of that plane, sometimes. Glad to jump.

But I got tired. So, I called the Reike guy. He came over with the folding, padded table, set it up, started with the Buddhist gong and realigned my chakras. Sure, I twitched a little. And when the Reike Master opened up my heart chakra, I felt complete joy and laughed a lot. But the most amazing thing was the release of energy in the kidney area. Apparently, the kidneys are your “batteries”. I imagine this ancient Chinese idea has something to do with the modern knowledge of electrolytes and adrenal glands. In any event, people who drive hard do a number on the kidney area. And after the treatment, I felt like someone had given that entire kidney area permission to just go slack.

Unreal.

After the treatment was over, I felt like I had been vacationing in Hawaii for ten days.

Why, to get things done, does it take this big push? Couldn’t one do a big push without grinding the kidneys to a pulp?

And furthermore, if the goal of all action is for fulfillment (creative, monetary, emotional, social, etc.)—could it come to a person without having to use such adrenalin? Could a person do what they needed to do, what they wanted to do, without the kidney push?

I’m going to try to head in that direction. Hopefully, it doesn’t mean I have to live in a cave and subsist on jute and worms. But at the same time, being productive is essential. Finding the balance is tricky. But then, isn’t that why we have Californias?

In the meantime, make a reservation, relax, sit back and enjoy the show.
Fat Ticks

A Powerful Point Worth Reiterating

This is one of the EASIEST ways to save energy:

Go to your entertainment area. Are all your boxes plugged into a power strip? If not, go to the store and get one for under ten bucks.

Then, once you are sure all your boxes and your television are plugged into the power strip, shut off the strip.

Simple.

(You may want to keep your cable or dish box out of this scenario since some rely upon remote programming and special timers.)

Components when they are off, yet plugged in, use a load of electricity. Yes, the official quantitative amount is A LOAD.

So take a few minutes to reconfigure your plugs into a power strip and after you are done watching, listening, enjoying your good self, shut it all down. It’s takes just the flip of a switch to help us move toward energy independence.

The Speech

Ladies and gentlemen, leaders of the world. I, the Prime Minister of Israel, am speaking to you from Jerusalem in the face of the terrible pictures from Kfar Kana. Any human heart, wherever it is, must sicken and recoil at the sight of such pictures. There are no words of comfort that can mitigate the enormity of this tragedy. Still, I am looking you straight in the eye and telling you that the State of Israel will continue its military campaign in Lebanon.

The Israel Defense Forces will continue to attack targets from which missiles and Katyusha rockets are fired at hospitals, old age homes and kindergartens in Israel. I have instructed the security forces and the IDF to continue to hunt for the Katyusha stockpiles and launch sites from which these savages are bombarding the State of Israel. We will not hesitate, we will not apologize and we will not back off. If they continue to launch missiles into Israel from Kfar Kana, we will continue to bomb Kfar Kana. Today, tomorrow and the day after tomorrow.
Here, there and everywhere. The children of Kfar Kana could now be sleeping peacefully in their homes, unmolested, had the agents of the devil not taken over their land and turned the lives of our children into hell.

Ladies and gentlemen, it's time you understood: the Jewish state will no longer be trampled upon. We will no longer allow anyone to exploit population centers in order to bomb our citizens. No one will be able to hide anymore behind women and children in order to kill our women and children. This anarchy is over. You can condemn us, you can boycott us, you can stop visiting us and, if necessary, we will stop visiting you.

A voice for six million citizens. Today I am serving as the voice of six million bombarded Israeli citizens who serve as the voice of six million murdered Jews who were melted down to dust and ashes by savages in Europe. In both cases, those responsible for these evil acts were, and are, barbarians devoid of all humanity, who set themselves one simple goal: to wipe the Jewish race off the face of the earth, as Adolph Hitler said, or to wipe the State of Israel off the map, as Mahmoud Ahmedinjad proclaims.

And you - just as you did not take those words seriously then, you are ignoring them again now. And that, ladies and gentlemen, leaders of the world, will not happen again. Never again will we wait for bombs that never came to hit the gas chambers. Never again will we wait for salvation that never arrives. Now we have our own air force. The Jewish people are now capable of standing up to those who seek their destruction those people will no longer be able to hide behind women and children. They will no longer be able to evade their responsibility.

Every place from which a Katyusha is fired into the State of Israel will be a legitimate target for us to attack. This must be stated clearly and publicly, once and for all. You are welcome to judge us, to ostracize us, to boycott us and to vilify us. But to kill us? Absolutely not.

Four months ago I was elected by hundreds of thousands of citizens to the office of Prime Minister of the government of Israel, on the basis of my plan for unilaterally withdrawing from 90 percent of the areas of Judea and Samaria, the birth place and cradle of the Jewish people; to end most of the occupation and to enable the Palestinian people to turn over a new leaf and to calm things down until conditions are ripe for attaining a permanent settlement between us. The Prime Minister who preceded me, Ariel Sharon, made a full withdrawal from the Gaza Strip back to the international border, and gave the Palestinians there a chance to build a new reality for themselves. The Prime Minister who preceded him, Ehud Barak, ended the lengthy Israeli presence in Lebanon and pulled the IDF back to the international border, leaving the land of the cedars to flourish, develop and establish its democracy and its economy.

What did the State of Israel get in exchange for all of this? Did we win even one minute of quiet? Was our hand, outstretched in peace, met with a handshake of encouragement? Ehud Barak's peace initiative at Camp David let loose on us a wave of suicide bombers who smashed and blew to pieces over 1,000 citizens, men, women and children. I don't remember you being so enraged then. Maybe that happened because we did not allow TV close-ups of the dismembered body parts of the Israeli youngsters at the Dolphinarium? Or, of the shattered lives of the people butchered while celebrating the Passover seder at the Park Hotel in Netanya? What can you do -that's the way we are. We don't wave body parts at the camera. We grieve quietly.

We do not dance on the roofs at the sight of the bodies of our enemy's children - we express genuine sorrow and regret. That is the monstrous behavior of our enemies. Now they have risen up against us. Tomorrow they will rise up against you. You are already familiar with the murderous taste of this terror. And you will taste more. In a loud and clear voice. And Ariel Sharon's withdrawal from Gaza. What did it get us? A barrage of Kassem missiles fired at peaceful settlements and the kidnapping of soldiers. Then too, I don't recall you reacting with such alarm. And for six years, the withdrawal from Lebanon has drawn the vituperation and crimes of a dangerous, extremist Iranian agent, who took over an entire country in the name of religious fanaticism and is trying to take Israel hostage on his way to Jerusalem - and from there to Paris and London.

An enormous terrorist infrastructure has been established by Iran on our border, threatening our citizens, growing stronger before our very eyes, awaiting the moment when the land of the Ayatollahs becomes a nuclear power in order to bring us to our knees. And make no mistake - we won't go down alone. You, the leaders of the free and enlightened world, will go down along with us.

So today, here and now, I am putting an end to this parade of hypocrisy. I don't recall such a wave of reaction in the face of the 100 citizens killed every single day in Iraq. Sunnis kill Shiites who kill Sunnis, and all of them kill Americans - and the world remains silent. And I am hard pressed to recall a similar reaction when the Russians destroyed entire villages and burned down large cities in order to repress the revolt in Chechnya. And when NATO bombed Kosovo for almost three months and crushed the civilian population - then you also kept silent. What is it about us, the Jews, the minority, the persecuted, that arouses this cosmic sense of justice in you? What do we have that all the others don't?

In a loud clear voice, looking you straight in the eye, I stand before you openly and I will not apologize. I will not capitulate. I will not whine. This is a battle for our freedom. For our humanity. For the right to lead normal lives within our recognized, legitimate borders. It is also your battle. I pray and I believe that now you will understand that. Because if you don't, you may regret it later, when it's too late.

ISRAEL AND JERUSALEM FACTS
1. ISRAEL BECAME A STATE IN 1312 B.C., TWO MILLENNIA BEFORE ISLAM;


Editor Don's Note: This is quite a speech. And Israel is there...they should be able to live peacefully.

My extreme idea of the day: We should either leave Iraq, or completely colonize it.

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court

Joey: But I’ve served this state, my country for three terms. How could this happen to me?

Hadassah: Get ready. It’s going to be a great service tonight, boobala.

Joey: I can’t go to the temple. Look what happened last night in London! Are the citizens of the great state of Connecticut so blind that they don’t see that we need to stay the course in Iraq? Don’t they know we have to stand behind the president so he can be strong and make democracy in the Middle East?

Hadassah: Joey, honey, you lost. Does my hair look like a wig?

Joey: But I’m the man! I’ll run an independent campaign that will knock down these ignorant doves. Like smashing through the walls of Jericho!

Hadassah: You and what army, Joe-Joe?

Joey: Our army, Hadassah!

Hadassah: Connecticut doesn’t have an army. Did you get the candles that I like?

Joey: Those extremists. Those damn devils. We have to exterminate them!

Hadassah: You’re getting a little Bergen-Belsen on me, booby. Put on your tallis and get over here.

Joey: But, Had, those Arabs, we have to change them. We just have to. They’re fanatics.

Hadassah: Did you have a B.L.T. today? There’s tomato on your collar.

Joey: You know I don’t eat bacon.

Hadassah: You better not.

Joey: I would never.

Hadassah: It isn’t right. Especially when there’s so much chicken.

Joey: We have to make those Arabs see it our way!

Hadassah: They never will.

Joey: I’m flying to London. I’m going to stand in the middle of Heathrow with all the cameras on me, and I am going to make it known that Joe Lieberman will stay the course! No matter what!

Hadassah: You can’t fly. It’s the Sabbath.

Joey: This is an emergency.

Hadassah: Don’t stretch it, Joe-Joe. Scotland Yard took care of it.

Joey: But the world needs me!

Hadassah: We’ll have the fish you like.

Joey: I won’t be eating fish. I’ll be in London. I always find a way to win. I always cover my ass. I always have a senate seat ready in case I lose. I have to. I know what’s right for the world. I know what’s right for this country. I know what’s right for the Middle East. God is on my side! The world absolutely needs me.

Hadassah: My little gray schmuck, no it doesn’t.

Sometimes, the Head Just Pounds

Last year, when I suffered from a bout of anxiety, brought upon by spending too much time alone, smoking weed, worrying about my book and facing mid-life worries, I became obsessed with my health.

It was not pretty.

I did calm down. I just had to be with people again and I had to cease the weed and I did the ol’ “think good thoughts” thing and I was back on my feet in a great, productive way.

Now, whenever I feel funky about my stomach (which has never been the greatest) or my allergies (which have always plagued me. As a kid---I once went into a coma from a bee sting, another time, they had to put a needle through my chest and into my heart because of some bad reaction)--I simply say, “Well, at least it isn’t Cystic Fibrosis.” I let myself know that what I have isn’t lethal, and, the thing does pass, and I’m back with the greedy and the ambitious, trying to take over the world.

And I am glad for this grateful way of looking at things.

However, sometimes, I just feel like crap. And it so often has to do with the weather...
I’m like a barometer for bad air quality. And I have to say, the air is getting worse.

Every year.

So, I do all these things (Steam, salt water, some drugs) in order to be able to handle it. And I’m not even worried about it. I just take care of it. But I have to say, like the canary in the coal mine, something is up out there.

The Only Sane Thing You Can Do Right Now

Stop everything.

Go in your backyard.

Pick a global-warming ripened tomato.

And make a B.L.T.

Visiting America

I have many friends who work at Disney. It’s just part of the collateral damage of living in Southern California. And though they suffer (having to be at work at 8 a.m., having to work the day after Thanksgiving, having to work Christmas week)—the manager and higher level employees get a bottomless free pass to the theme parks.

When California Adventure opened a few years ago, I thought, “A new theme park...just what the world needs. Oh wait, there’s a ride where you sit in this chair and fly over the major sites of California in an IMAX sort of situation, but all up close and freaky and the chairs tilt and sway in the direction of the movement of the flick so you feel like you are hang gliding over the ocean, desert, Yosemite, San Francisco Bay, Los Angeles, mountains and housing tracts while little vents across from your face blow air at you that smells like where you are—the pine scent worked best—and everyone says it’s pretty cool? Okay, take me! I wanna go on Soarin’ Over California!”

We went there. Today. Mary and Bardo, our friends who both work at Mouseschwitz, came by at noon in their Hybrid vehicle, Disney Silver Passes in hands, and we drove down to Anaheim in Hellish I-5 traffic, parked the car, took the very long, cool looking escalator down from the parking structure, got on the tram to the main entrance of Disneyland and California Adventure which are right across from each other, and smacked our lips in fun anticipation. You know which one is California Adventure by the huge cement free standing letters that spell California about twenty feet from the entrance.

First thing we did, we went over to Soarin’ Over California in the Golden State section of the park and got ourselves fast passes. These are basically reservations to get on the ride at a prescribed time so you don’t have to go through the line.

Then, we thought we’d kill some time and go ride on the Grizzly River rafting company. Big attraction, center of the park. You know, that ride where you sit in a big round raft and go up a hill and then through water slides and such. The company that makes it can set it up anywhere and you can cover it with whatever you like. This one was a kind of Sierra Nevada thing. The plantings were great. They got the trees right—pine and oak. And the fake mountain and streams and waterfalls were pretty cool in that, “Sure, it’s all plastic, but I’m in the mood...” kind of way. We were on line for about forty minutes. Five minutes away from getting on, and the whole Magilla broke down. We waited while repairmen scratched their heads, started it up again for a bit and then it stopped again. In the park for over an hour and all we did was stand in that line. Cranky. I looked at the kid with the C.I.A. printed T-shirt that announced and stood for “Christ is Alive,” and I wondered, “Can he fix this thing?”

We left because our fast passes were ready for using. And use them we did. The Soarin’ over California was cool and pretty much like I described it above. Glad to have done it. Worth the drive down. The cool pine scent. The dizzy heights. The grand California scenery.

After our visual ride experience, we figured we’d go on the huge roller coaster over in the Paradise Pier Section, the other big ride in California Adventure. This area was kind of the best looking part of the park. It was simply a remake of a boardwalk. Like Santa Monica or Santa Cruz. And the rides were very carnival. We got to the entrance of California Screamin’, the coaster, and it, too, like the Grizzly Rafts, was broken.

So, the two biggest rides were busted. We left the park.

We went to Downtown Disney, the open shopping mall connected to the theme parks, with a movie theatre, stores, Disney stores, and ridiculous theme restaurants. We ate at The Rain Forest. The one where every half hour there’s a rain storm and the plastic gorillas and elephants move and make a lot of noise? They must have one in Nanuet by now.

You can imagine how delicious the food was.

It was here, in the Rainforest, where I discovered the most abundant (excepting rodents) American mammal: The humanoid cow.

Now look, none of us are thin any longer. And ten, twenty, even thirty extra pounds on someone isn’t so awful. If you ever get cancer in that condition, you might get a few extra weeks of life. But these people, these people were all between sixty and a hundred pounds overweight. All those planes that flew in all these monsters from all across the land! It was like a horror movie.

And there they were, gorging on huge plates of corporate food that all tasted like sugar and oil, in a plastic Rainforest, swallowing their disappointment for all the broken rides. Can you imagine spending your life savings to take your family to Anaheim and all you get to do is wait in line and then leave because the rides are all broken? And then the consolation prize is heaping mounds of imitation food?

Everyone was enormous. Those poor children! Drinking high fructose corn syrup out of plastic cups that actually flashed with electric rainbow strobe jewels.

After the ogita slather, we escaped from the jungle. Bardo had to go into the Disney store to use his discount to buy a present for a relative. Adam and I waited outside. We sat on a benchy-wall of a planted area and at our feet was a small, round vent about six inches in diameter. And rising up from the slits was the foulest smell of half treated sewage. We had to move over. Who manages the sewage treatment that it actually wafts up into the middle of the Disney food court? Goofy?

When we all piled into the tram and back to the parking structure, the cool looking escalator that we took down was broken, too, so the Disney visitors had to walk down a three story high, stopped escalator. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that the broken escalator was only the beginning.

Can you imagine being from some burb-o-America, slathering your enormous, mis-shapened body into a jet only to land in Anaheim where you will spend what little money you have on entrance fees to a theme park that is broken down and then eat terrible food that does nothing but make you sadder so you then have to work even harder at Walmart so you can save more money to take another dysfunctional, plastic vacation filled with corn syrup?

If Christ is Alive, why the hell isn't he doing something about all this?

God bless America? Raze it.

Who Knows Where the Time Goes?

Okay

Today was my birthday. Do I get a day off from blogging?

I’m sitting here, with a bit of a headache from drinking wine at the Farmers Market. I have this yearly party in the food court. It’s cheap. It’s easy. And you can buy bottles of alcohol at the wine bar. California is a wine friendly state. With my closest friends. Sitting near the raw meat of a butcher shop. Mostly chicken.

Very spirited. Very fun to be 44. Yes. 44.

I mean, who are they kidding?

I am listening to Eva Cassidy (who is now dead) singing Who Knows Where the Time Goes? Nice.

When I die, if I have a tomb stone (which I won’t) but if I do, it would read, “My sinuses never felt better.”

What I want for 44 is better air, lower temperatures and more people laughing and talking to each other on street cars. Maybe go listen to more live music.


Happy Birthday to everyone.

Go to England with my Sister-in-Law

The Lake District

Buy This Book: Coming to My Rescue

How often can one say, "My Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner's Mother wrote a book and it has just been published!"

After poking around the commercial publishing world, Judith took the matter into her own hands (rescuing herself again, having done so two other times, first, by surviving, second, by writing this book) and self-published. And here it is. You can buy it today. I particularly love the memoir pieces about growing up in the difficult 1930's and 1940's. Judith was half orphaned as a child but might as well have been completely abandoned. She survives to tell the tale. There are incredibly touching chapters about her relationship with her Aunt, the only adult who really cared about her. A particularly heartbreaking section about Judith visiting her before she died will make you want gentle, real love in your life.

I also very much liked the sections about Judith moving to Connecticut and trying to fit in, going to college and trying to fit in, marrying into a "family-with-lineage" and trying to fit in and never really fitting in.

Interwoven throughout the book is a call to a retro-feminine role of women as caretakers. Some hardass babes may wince at these sections. I found the philosophy pretty clear headed and refreshing.

Coming to My Rescue is about growing up. A young woman comes of age with hardly any support, and flails and sputters in the twisted world of Yankee coldness and survives by the warmth in her own heart and by seeing the warmth in others, especially innocent children. Check it out. Buy a copy for yourself or for your mother or for your favorite aunt or for your local library. This is a touching tale by an author who has examined her life. Published in the newfangled style.

Coming to My Rescue by Judith Malin Waring

This novel is about Mildred Cabell, a woman who, in late middle age, realizes she has always felt “too little”. In trying to understand why, she opens “a place in my head where I’ve kept all the sadness.” There she finds childhood memories of the thousand daily cruelties of a hurting family that has been passing its pain along for generations.

Mildred begins to feel a tenderness towards herself, as well as an anger at the culture for its ongoing blind disregard of the emotional needs of not only its children but also its entire citizenry.

And so her rescue begins.

Find the Cost of Freedom

Okay for me, it was all about David Crosby. Yeah, Neil Young still fashions himself as a rock star. And the unifying theme this evening was anti-war, freedom of speech, etc. and that was supposed to be powerful, and it was in a group cheering/short lived kind of way. But basically, when I go to a CSNY concert at the Hollywood Bowl, I’m only interested in the music, how it sounds.

Though I consider myself a protester, I don’t love protest songs.

But I did love Long Time Gone and Find the Cost of Freedom.

But really, it was all about Crosby. His voice. His cool guitar chords with the intricate picking. His solid stance, no bullshit, just playing music and singing really well. With his Yosemite Sam hairdo and his “I’ve been around, man, I’m just going to do this straight up as best I can,” I was blown away. Almost Cut my Hair. Shit.

When he and Graham Nash did Guinnivere, with only the guitar and the two of them singing, come on, it was frigging relgious. Crosby sings with full command of his voice. Up, plaintive and clear. The guy really is the Poppa Dadddy with the talent.

He was amazing.

But did I say, so was everyone else? The big deal about this concert tonight was really how good these guys still are. All of them. Sure, at times when the set switched to focusing on Stephen Stills or Neil Young, you could just hear the scratch of lawyers pens going over contracts that relegated performance time allotment. But hell, these guys did it pretty smoothly and with great ease and no ego. They took turns backing up the featured guy when he was the lead singer of his song.

Neil Young seemed to be the most preening. But he is a solid lead guitarist and maybe this is what is required to get this leadership thing across. Plus, it takes some good, solid Canadian balls to write a song about impeaching the president for being a liar. When he ended the night with Keep on Rockin’ in a Free World, with no encore, people were truly rocked out, even if we all were over forty.

Stephen Stills is still this blues guy. And he was greatly appreciated. Not my thing, but he was solid as hell and from what I can tell from looking around, he got to the bluesy heart of people in a very direct way.

Graham Nash, well, I mean, he’s amazing filler/sweetness.

Thirty-thousand people on a Monday night in the Hollywood Bowl. It felt like a very important event, what with the Iraq footage and network call letters at the bottom right in a font that looked quite cable TV authentic, the call letters being LWW, “Living With War”.

Exiting was difficult. There were so many people, it was kind of crushing and oddly suggestive of a refugee scenario. We survived.

We are in a redo of the late 1960's---in a stupid mess.

But this time around with this war and this terrible president, there is not the upswing of youth protesting. It’s just old people sitting around complaining and going to a concert on a Monday night for fifty bucks. And then exiting like cows in funnels.

But hell, we’re tired. The kids have to do it. They need to push back from their computers and their Blackberries and save the planet. There needs to be a huge swell. A real one.

It cooled off nicely outside. I was thinking... How great Los Angeles can be. Thinking...What a ridiculously special setting, this Hollywood Bowl. The oaks up on the ridge. The mountains all around.

Knowing...What a fucking amazing day it was when Mamma Cass was swimming in Peter Tork’s pool with these guys in the hills and suggested the formation of this band because she thought they’d do well together.