Judgment Days

My nephew has a very funky haircut. Joan Jett meets Liza gone awry. He does it himself. It’s very long in the front, brushed forward and flattened against his face with a certain Goth aesthetic? Or is it Emo? Some sort of hairy something that this old man does not have prior experience with.

It’s very dramatic. Add to this: it has stripes of orange in it. It is cut shorter at the crown of the head in a layer above the long hair so there’s this mini Dr. Zeuss thing going on. The whole do, besides the stripes, is dyed jet black and ironed flat.

Add to this the tight pants, the studded belt, funky shoes, underwear hanging out the back and being quite tall, this guy, at seventeen, cuts quite a visual swath in the world.

While we were in Paris, we went to many restaurants and no one blinked. But one place where we had dinner was in full light with tight tables. We sat at a banquette. On one side next to us was a German couple. The woman of the duo looked at my nephew and a look of disgust came over her face. She quickly turned away. On the other side of us was a French businessman who was eating alone. His look toward my nephew was truly hateful with disdain, a Gallic disapproval that was fleeting yet forceful.

And there I was, the old guy guardian and all I could think was, “I can’t believe my nephew goes out in the world with that hair. Doesn’t he feel the negativity that comes at him?”

And then, quickly, I realized it was my discomfort I was concerned about. Why in the world should I care what people think about anyone, at all? I made the transition over a period of two or three minutes. I actively pursued this acceptance.

I switched fully. I felt proud that my nephew could sit there, in his hair, and just be what he wanted to be while others were unhappy about it. And that made me feel free. And isn’t that the trick? To feel free here?

The French businessman froze his gaze forward for the rest of the night. The German woman started to ask us about our desserts. Apparently, chocolate mousse trumps Bay City Roller Head meets ostrich.

La Tour

 

Our Lady

 

Go to Paris

I took my nephew to Paris because he is turning seventeen in two weeks. I went to Europe for the first time at sixteen (Paris) and then again at seventeen (Italy). Those experiences were invaluable in expanding my world view. And, the food was good and everything was so pretty.

Still is.

My sharp, droll nephew proved to be great company. He is easy going about food (does not have to have three normal meals each day) and he can walk for miles on end without complaint. I also had two old friends who were in Paris, friends from my childhood trip, and we spent a little time with them, too, which broke things up and rounded out the experience. But mostly, it was Daniel and I pounding the streets of Paris.

I recommend going to Paris in February. We had cool, spring weather. We were able to walk at length without having to fight any heat. And though there were certainly tourists, it was not thronged.

This is the thing about Paris. Sure, it's a cliché, but it truly IS the most beautiful city. I have not been to Tokyo or Winnipeg. But I do think Paris would still hold this title in my mind even if I had seen those cities.

The French take great care of everything. There is money in the budget for maintenance. They continue to expand an already huge public transportation system. There were fewer cars there than twenty years ago. The air was extremely fresh and clean. The exhibition rooms at the Louvre have expanded. Brasserie Bofinger still serves up an amazing dish of choucroute garni. Street crepes (simple--with just sucre) are as tasty and easy as they ever were. The architecture: sublime.
Our hotel rooms were in the Fifth with a view to Notre Dame. The French seemed more friendly than I remember from any other trip. People there seem very relaxed and happy. My nephew was amazed at how happy old people were. He said he'd never met a happy old person in the U.S.

You get this sense in France that everything is catalogued, measured and cared for. You also get this sense in France of a certain cultural and politcal oppression.
Is the physical beauty and the moment-to-moment happiness worth having to endure the controlling culture? I'd say yes. Go see for yourself.

From the Pompidou

 

Charles De Gaulle Ahoy

The blog will return February 22. Stay tuned for Paris stories.

Have a lovely weekend and a bountiful week.

What's All This Monkey Business on the Web?

A long day of traveling--followed by a lovely evening with my friends Megan and Martha in Queens--and safely sitting in my apartment with the winter wind howling outside, I bring to you this clip.

I was reading about how kids these days put EVERYTHING online. Naked pictures of themselves. Complete journals of their every action. I have been a daily diarist since February 16, 1973, so I do understand the compulsion to get it all in writing. (And now in images)--

But must we see everything? Is there no mystery left at all?

Paris 2007

Demain, je depart pour New York. Vendredi, j m’en vais a Paris avec mon neveu pour lui montre une piece du monde plus vivant que l’etat de New Jersey.

On va visiter La cathedrale de Notre Dame, La Tour Eiffel, Le Musee D’Orsay et Le Louvre. Eh, bien sur, nous mangerons commes cochons.

Aussi, la musique—nous entendrons la musique. En plus, on va faire des courses pour acheter les chemises, chaussures, etc.

Et les amies seront la. Deux.

A bientot.

Peut-etre je bloggerai pendant que j’y suis.

Pear Blossoms

 

For my friends who do not live in California I give you this picture. We are about a month late this year. It was so cold in January that the jasmin and the pear tree held off.

So we're having January in February. It's so fresh. The back page of the local section of the Los Angeles Times shows the air quality level: green dots all the way inland to San Bernadino!

It's perfect early spring with all the joy that goes with it: clean air, flowers budding, cloudy skies, cool happiness.

Have a lovely day.

The Lives of Others

The Lives of Others is just plain smart and good and up for the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film.

Okay, the movie is slow. But you just have to sit back and let East Germany of 1984 take you over. I loved how the streets were almost empty (in the middle of East Berlin).

The director, Florian Henckel Von Dommersmarck, creates a spare and terrifying world where creative human beings are controlled by monster bullies. It’s claustrophobic. The worst dream you’ve ever had about being held down by others. The set design by Silke Buhr is all finished wood paneling and brownish curtains. East Berlin in 1984 looked much like 1962. I love the design. It’s easy on the system. But its neutrality adds to the paranoia.

The three main actors, Sebastian Koch as the playwright who turns against the communist party, Martina Gedeck as the pill-popping actress who is of weak yet beautiful character, and Ulrich Muhe as the Stasi Captain who has a turn of the soul, all give lovely, clear performances that are wonderfully, humanly layered. And the supporting characters, wonderful and interesting all.

About halfway through, I felt a certain disappointment, like, “When is this thing going to get moving?”
And then it did. And it was rough.

Can you imagine not being able to say and do what you want? The movie eventually jumps to 1989 when the wall falls. This is very interesting, too. No need to give away any plot at all. The ride is subtle and harrowing. Humanity triumphs. But not completely.

I visited East Berlin in 1983. It was quite odd. It felt like one was under constant surveillance. It was colorless as there were no signs, no advertisements. And the design of curtains, furniture lighting was definitely from an earlier time. Strange suffocating place.

How did it ever happen?

Can you imagine if Bush is right and we do have to take out the fundamentalist, warring Muslims because of their hatred of freedom? Imagine? Can you?

The Lives of Others

Pariscrastination

I suffer from a certain mild autism. I can listen to the same song over again for three hours while I am writing...even longer.

My favorite television station is The Weather Channel.

And next week I’m going to Paris. I’ve lived there. I’ve been there many times. I’m only going for four nights. I know the city very well. Yet I cannot stop reading guide books.

And I love the metro map.

Could it be that I am procrastinating finishing my television pilot?

Paradigm, big Hollywood agency, has graciously taken me on as a writer and they are working closely with me as I write an original television pilot for them to sell or to use as a sample to get me working on an existing television show. This means I get a lot of notes. And as soon as I say “no” to the notes, the game is over. So, as I want to be in the game---because I’m old and this is my biggest prospect—I keep saying “yes.”

I’m sucking it up. And actually, I think the script does get better with their notes. I mean-why the hell not?

But I take off a lot of time while writing to look at guide books. And web sites.

And the map. The beautiful, lovely, you got it---Paris Metro Map.

Paris Metro

Hedge Hogs

All this talk about hedge funds and corruption. Quelle surprise.

Does one enter into a Wall Street Career because of generosity and an compelling altruism?

Look—the regulators don’t quite regulate because they are having lunch with the regulatees. Would you snip the wings of your pals?

A tiny percentage of people in this country make out like bandits. Fine. Given. Let them have it. It takes a certain kind of personality to keep the market brisk.

My only thing: Would it be so much to ask, while you are skimming as much cash as possible off the top, would it be so much to ask to make sure that the rest of society at least has health coverage and passable public education? That’s all.

It’s a grabby zoo out there. Rise up, you half awake people, and claim what is yours: a life that is worth living with clean air and decent health care. After that, let the pigs rout for truffles. And we can all look at them and laugh at their vanity---but only if we are healthy and safe and educated.

February 10 & 11, 1979: Atlantic City

In 1979, I was in the All Eastern Choir in Atlantic City, New Jersey. It was comprised of the best singers from the All-State choirs from many Eastern States. Oddly enough, Adam, my-recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner, was also in the choir. I was from New York. He was from Delaware. I don’t remember meeting him. But then again, what chance did I have? The following two entries are from the two major rehearsal days that we had, Saturday and Sunday. It should be well noted that I had a terrible cold all week long according to earlier entries thus causing my lack of enthusiasm.

February 10, 1979:

Today was a good day. We fucken rehearsed all day. I didn’t go to one rehearsal. I’m exhausted. Tonight girls got caught in all the boy’s rooms, what a panic. Goodnight.

February 11, 1979:

We ate out for breakfast, went to rehearsal. Today was real good, we rehearsed. I didn’t go to one rehearsal and watched Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. We went to the exhibits in Convention Hall, walked the Boardwalk. Tonight we just joked around. Goodnight.

The summer of 1978, I was in choir school up in Fredonia, New York and made friends with other choir geeks from all over New York State. Two of my friends, John and Jeff, roomed with me in Atlantic City. We did such brilliant things. We poured baby powder on the floor in front of the threshold of the adjoining door to our neighbor and then turned on a blow dryer to blow the powder into the next room.

The Limiting Factor

Back in the day, I was a Biology major. College. I was required to take eight courses of Biology including two labs. Since I was also pre-med, I had to take two Physics, two inorganic and two organic Chemistries and two Calculus classes. True. Though I did love science in high school, in college, it was another matter. A bit much.

However, what I did love about science and what I still love about it is the way rational thinking is built upon itself to conclusions that you can count on. Every step has to be solid, and if it is, then you can know where things are headed. Also, you can count it, graph it, write it down. Very enjoyable, in a way, in a world that is so topsy-turvy.

One beautiful concept was very simple and also very visible when conducting experiments: limiting factors. The concept of limiting factors is simple. If you run out of a reagent but still have more of something else, well then, the reagent is the limiting factor. You are reagent shy so your reaction slows down to a homeostasis that gives you a reading of, “all done”.

Another limiting factor can be the build up of waste. If you have a load of bacteria in a dish and the bacteria have access to lots of food (say glucose)---and the glucose is in such abundance that no matter how much the bacteria ingest, there’s plenty more glucose to be had, the bacteria will continue to multiply. Eventually one or two limiting factors take over. One is, you can end up with so many bacteria that they start to crowd each other out and so no more bacteria can arise. But usually before that happens, you have the limiting factor of waste. The waste products of the bacteria start getting in the way of the ingestion and the respiration and breakdown of the glucose. Waste, in the face of great abundance, becomes the limiting factor. And the bacteria must slow down their reproductive efforts. In fact, they just do.

You see where I’m going.

We’re the bacteria. The earth is the Petri dish. What will happen naturally, in our carbon-dioxide wasted earth, is we’ll slow down on reproduction because we are suffering from the limiting factor of great waste. It will be interesting to see how this waste actually physically slows down our reproduction.

Seems to me we cannot control ourselves—being driven just like bacteria are driven—by the force of acquisition. But then nature steps in. Fascinating, really.

Are Locusts Next?

Part of the joy of doing construction is the never ending visitation of filthy insect beasts.

Our walls are completely closed. Yet today, while doing some fine spackling of the window molding, I turned around to see a monstrous water bug on the floor. Okay--it was a cockroach. You know---those huge ones that love water. They come in on dry days. I don't like them very much. Killed that fucker.

Then later on, after dinner, I came home and there was a spider the size of Tuscaloosa on the drywall right next to the left side of the window. It was chocolate brown and had two big eyes that were almost comical. It seemed to me they weren't eyes, actually, but some modified structures to make the spider look more beastly to would-be predators. Or maybe they were eyes. Who knows! Usually I just let spiders live. We get them in the house. The little tan ones. The pointy, striped black ones. Whatever. But this thing was so googly-eyed and so big and so nasty---I killed that fucker, too.

Then, I walked the dog and I came home and to the right side of the window there was a cricket. We almost never get crickets. And I thought, "Well, it's just a cricket." But then I had an immediate recall of a story my friend Bradford told me the other night about how his entire side yard is always swarming with crickets and how it's real noisy and like something out of a horror movie. I don't want this happening to us. One less cricket to breed---I killed that fucker and flushed him good.

Of the three beasts that I annihilated, the one that spooged the most juice was the cricket. You think it would have been the roach...but those big hard shelled roaches seem to retain their water in their carapace after the death crunch. The cricket just splattered into a puddle. The spider was, for sure, the creepiest. I made sure I had a big wad of toilet paper to pick up his dead ass. I didn't want any spider poison to touch my skin.

February 2, 1974

Another boring day has gone by. Daddy shaved his moustache off. He looks a little weird. Welp Goodnight.

The Random List

1. I still can’t seem to cut my hair.

2. Global Warming is finally a bi-partisan problem. Fucking Republicans.

3. Congratulations to Megan who bought an ENORMOUS house in North Adams.

4. I’m middle aged—and I like it.

5. The walls in my kitchen are all finally closed up. It’s a joy to behold. Cabinets aren’t far behind! (Like having children, if you knew how painful remodeling a kitchen was, you’d probably never do it.)

6. I’m taking my nephew to Paris for a few days on February 16. Because at sixteen years old, everyone should go to Paris.

7. I am writing hours every day. It’s fun. And it does seem like I’m getting somewhere.

8. I just love spackling.

9. I need to play music, live. For fun. I will more often.

10. I would happily lose fifteen pounds.

The Heave

When I was a child I was very attuned to war and its weird affect on the culture. Vietnam was in full force. What I most remember about Vietnam was the weird word. Nothing in normal English sounded like viet or nam. Never mind Vietnam as a three syllable word all together.

In addition to the odd name, one was also made aware by the conversations around him that war was very wrong. People were awake. The teenagers in the neighborhood had long hair, played guitars and seemed very, what I realize now, stoned. And they were feeling their youth. They wanted their chance at life.

It was not the Vietnam War that formed my real dislike of war did to the culture. It was World War II. Being the “good” war made the idea of any war even worse. If there was such a thing as a good war, than that means one day one might have to go to war. Furthermore, I did not know anyone in the Vietnam War. But my father had five older brothers who were all in World War II.

What I cobbled together from the personalities of my hard drinking uncles and movies about World War II---is that during war (like during illness)—joyful life is compromised.

The protestors of Vietnam during that colorful Hippie time seemed to be fighting not only against the war but for the sensual nature of sweet life and joy.
World War II was more of a total lockdown, “We just have to get very serious and win this thing.” This, of course, was the perfect attitude for that particular war, but a deadly idea for a child.

I hated the thought that people had to get that serious and be constantly enemy focused. Besides, joy opens up possibilities. Seriousness offers nothing but sameness. Just a “think about nothing else until this is finished” mentality.

Bush and his profiteers would have us believe that we are in a very serious “good” war where we must shut off our joy and keep our heads down. But truly, this war is another Vietnam. It is quite different in its particulars but fundamentally the same in its misguided thrust.

I am too old to go to war. But I am affected, like everyone else, by this joyless gray culture in which we live where people have their heads between their trembling legs, terrified of the terrorists and of our own nasty government. Add to that the sad smacking of our lack of social structures for health and civility, and one sees all joy has left our shores. All that is left is coercion, greed and pride.

And where are the young people playing guitars, loving in groups, protesting the wrong headed actions, trying to claim the open, relaxed joy of living? I fear they are all in church praying to a God who demanded they vote for the tyrannical reign that holds them captive.

Time for a Cool Change

Let’s see what Hillary is up to:


Blog for Vote Hillary

Iran

Does it not seem like Quacken Bush is picking a huge fight with Iran?

It is declared that any Iranians causing trouble in Iraq are to be killed.

Will this not bring civil war into full regional war?

I don’t think the president will be happy until World War III is in full force.

OR

Another theory posited:

If all these terrorists are so scary and bad, wouldn’t the government of the United States have already executed a plan to succeed at this job in a timely fashion?

Perhaps imminent danger is nothing more than a bill of goods that has been sold to us. So this whole war may be nothing more than a few greedy men living richly off manufactured chaos.


OR

A bunch of fucked up dudes on both sides just like to fight.

January 26, 1979

Today was a new low. I got in a fight with Sally. She pulled my hair and I punched her so it was pretty bad. I felt horrible. I knocked her off her feet. I thought I killed her. Well we talked, me, Sally, Mom, everything’s o.k. I did my papers. Bruce and Maureen came over about 5:00, we sang. It was fun. We went out for pizza and came back here and fooled around, Bruce left, then Maureen stayed. Goodnight.


This was junior year of high school. My sister, ever my tormentor, was pissed off at me because it was my turn to make dinner and I was playing my guitar and I didn’t want to be bothered...and when she came to my bedroom to tell me to get moving and make dinner (fries and burgers), I told her I’d do it in a minute. She demanded I listen to her and the more she demanded, the more I made it clear that I would make the fries and burgers when I was good and ready. She didn’t like the look on my face and told me to wipe off the smirk and then she started pulling my hair. And with that, finally, at the ripe age of sixteen, I hauled off and hit her...it was the punch that was heard around the world. My sister never touched me again.

Bruce and Maureen were good friends from choir. Bruce sang. Maureen played the piano.

Hair Today

It's happening. My hair is getting very long. It looks awful. And yet, I just can't bring myself to get it cut.

Something about having huge, sloppy hair that makes me feel like there is still time on the meter of my life.

Adam, my recognized-by-the-state-of-California-Domestic-Partner, has a look in his eye that telegraphs, "Don't you think I find you ugly enough already after thirteen years?"

Robyn, a lovely woman I work with who is practically blind--I am not kidding--said to me today, "You look so sexy with that hair."

There is major bozo action happening above the ears. My hair grows out, not down. Yet still, I can't seem to hack it off.

Will I become one of those insane people who never cuts his nails and ends up with those ghastly curled things sticking off the ends of his fingers?

Will I swallow one of those cleansing ropes and pull it out of my ass?

I hope not.

For now, I think I will let this mop get wild. It's winter. I can always wear a hat.

I can't be put in prison for unruly locks.

For some reason, I need to let it fly.

Bushy and Me: Growing up Together

A man eventually faces his solitude.

This Bush guy is facing his.

(My only comment on his State of the Union Speech is: “With that horrific Dick Cheney sitting behind you sending out unctuous waves of greed, how can you be in such denial that this war has been nothing more than a bloody grab for oil money?”)

But then, we all have our delusions.

As one gets older, one may or may not hold fast to one’s convictions when surrounded by the scrum of disapproval.

The questions arrive. “Do I stick with what I want? Do I pay attention to what others want? Do I do what others want while quietly holding onto opposite convictions? Do I change my desires to match the needs of others? Am I right? Am I wrong? Do I know what I am doing?”

And you stand there, perhaps able to answer a few of those questions but certainly not all of them. This not knowing, no matter what your swagger, forces you to face your limited mortal being, your unique separateness.

Revolution

With the income gap widening, are we not seeing the return of a hardened feudalism with the pretense of freedom and opportunity brought to you by Nabisco?

Relinquishing the Hill

Hillary is running. Long live her campaign.

What I look at now, after losing years of my life under the Bush administration, is the fundamental difference between the two major parties of our great nation.

The Democrats support group caring but behave individualistically.

Republicans support individual liberty but push for group conformity.

Like the man who needs to learn the skills of navigation so he takes on a career as a bus driver, each political party arrives with its natural behavior and then proclaims the opposite in order to balance its energies. If this occurrence did not happen, each party would become unstable and splinter. This internal split of stance and action creates stability.

Politically, the two parties then behave dualistically as a huge push-me-pull-you monster. And so it goes. Creation-Conservation-Creation-Conservation.

And now we are moving away from the deadening paternalism of Republicanism to the creative, generative power of the Democratic Party. I encourage the Democrats to be brave, to embrace huge change that will benefit the environment, support the broad education of the citizenry and encourage individual expression.

Why Hags Love their Fags

Because after we spend two straight weeks demolishing the walls, making sure the plumbing and electricity are installed in the exact location, give or take a millimeter, then put up drywall, spackle and paint...we then furiously vacuum, mop, wipe, organize, and curiously wash all the dusty tools and tool box before putting them away.

Climate Haiku

Dead Bodies for Oil
Arrogant as the Sun God
Snow on Malibu

January 17, 1974

Daddy brought home these used skates which didn’t fit. So tomorrow I’m getting skates. I played in the snow with Greg and George.


Greg is my brother. George, best friend down the street.

Jack Frost Murdered my Yard

So---I was up this morning at seven. This is actually true.

Our good carpenter Kurt came to put in the new kitchen window (though the window was too small and we returned it. Have to wait at least ten days for a new custom window. We’ll live.)

But what was so amazing—as I was crossing the backyard to go to the garage to get some things, I looked down and the grass was covered with frost.

I have never seen this in Los Angeles. It was so fresh and fun. Yet so odd. I never even considered that something like frost would show up in my yard. With the lemon tree and everything else.

Well, you know how when your fridge gets real cold you can destroy the spinach or the lettuce? The leaves are destroyed and wilted and wet. (I imagine the ice crystals break down the cell walls.) This is what happened to our nasturtiums in the back yard. And our star flowers. And something that I only know as bat plants (the flowers of this plant look like little purple and red bat faces). Most of the murdered plants formed a border in front of bigger, sturdier plants.

But to see all these dead plants from a winter frost in Los Angeles. It was very strange.

Polar Bear in the Pantry

 

The Hilarity! Coldest January in about seventy years in Los Angeles---and our kitchen walls are open.

Ah, what a great memory it will be. We've put up thick sheets of plastic over the kitchen doors. It works.

The difficulty about a complete kitchen renovation is the incredible inconvenience mixed with the length of time it takes. You do something major, like demo out the old kitchen and you say, "Great. Now we're getting somewhere." Which is true. But the road is so long.

You get the plumbing and electrical taken care of and you realize, "Hell, I better just yank out the rest of the wall that they destroyed." And you do. But you still have such a huge way to go.

And then you put up some dry wall (today)-- but you still have the new window to put in. And the spackling and priming. And they haven't even come to measure for the cabinets yet.

So, the appliances will come on Friday. And they will sit in front of the new dry wall and they will all work. Including a washer and dryer (Thank goodness).

But you have to wait a few weeks while they make the cabinets. And then when they do put them in, you have to get them finished and you need the tile guy (Haven't even figured out who that is yet)...connect everything up. Get the floor refinished. Paint.

And then, it's almost summer.

And we'll remember that the walls were open when it was thirty-eight degrees.

Thursday's Quote by Daniel Kaufman

Someone said to me today, "It's a good thing you aren't suicidal." I said, "I am, just lazy."

Can it Be?

Is The Terminator the man we’ve been waiting for?

Does he have Messianic tendencies?

Did breaking his leg shake his soul?

And why does he care about the air?

I think our governor is one of those middle-Europa practical guys. We know them well. They can fix the broken door, make the sausage, work all day at the plant and then get up early the next morning for swimming. Because it has to be done that way.

The guy is downright grounded. Even with the imperfect healthcare-for-all scenario, he really is going for it. And California is ready.

Plus—encouraging the market to come up with new fueling---completely gets my vote. You can make an economy based on anything. Why not base it on the future? (Who are these people who say things like, "You can't do that! It'll upset business!" whever someone wants to make changes. Are they morons?) We can always do better and the Kahuna in Sacramento knows it. Schwarzenegger---you may not have loved him in Rabbit Test—but the guy sees where things are going and really does run there first.

I hated the whole “Oust-Gray-Davis-with-a-bunch-of-signatures” thing. But here we are. And Arnold is going at it very well.

I am so optimistic about the future. I just, I have to be. The earth is pulsing with positive change.

Words, Philosophers, Mythology

I am curious. Beyond that, I am compulsive. Lastly, my memory is good for the basic underpinning of anything, but not the exact fact. Eg. Hume is in the empirical camp of philosophers--which is not quite right. He was a skeptic, influenced by Locke and Berkeley, who were empiricists.

Desultory means random, not quite connected. I often think it means half-assed.

Avuncular means uncle-like. I often think it means “cheery”.

The ancient Gods: Odin, Norse. Jupiter: Roman? Zeus—Je pense Grecque.

One wants to know. And which plays did Euripides write? Which ones were written by Aeschylus? And how about Sophocles? I think Sophocles wrote the Oedipus ones. Yes, that is true.

I read most of them. I forget them, for the most part.

Avatar? Acolyte?

Yes, I finally know the meanings of these words.

But meretricious? Is that something good or bad? I say bad. In fact, it means something sort of whorey, showy.

I do not know much about the history of China.

And I know very little about the Bible. Though I could name the twelve apostles, most likely.

It seems so essential to know things. Especially now. In this day of information.

And though I just took a break from writing this blog to read about Greek playwrights in the Wikipedia, I know that it will be hard to remember it all. Not that I want to impress...but I do want a grasp. To know where we fit now. To be in the river of time-ideas.

I would like to commit to harboring greater exact knowledge, while resisting becoming an annoyance. Why we want this, or why certain people want to fill their heads with these kinds of things, I do not know.

In the end...I want these things to make me feel alive...I do not want the dry facts to dry me out.

Maybe I should sing in a field instead.

January 9, 1974 Snow Day

There wasn’t any school. I got play-dough today. I made pies and stuff. I played a lot in the snow. I went sleigh riding. We tried to build a snowman but the snow is too soft. I had a GREAT day.

Children of Men

Children of Men

We went.

First of all...this thing is smart. Directed by Alfonso Cuaron and based on the novel by P.D. James—you have this sci-fi chase movie, expertly realized.

Julianne Moore takes on a tiny role as a revolutionary. Michael Cain is brilliant as this old hippie guy in the woods hiding out as civilization is ending.

You see, what has happened is embryos are no longer viable. So extinction of the species has arrived. And the human race is living out its last days knowing the gig is up.
And how do they choose to spend this time? Well, Great Britain does it by setting up a xenophobic fascist state. There’s an uprising. There’s Clive Owen, all hero-like. But truly, the best thing is the filmmaking itself.

Gorgeous shooting of incredible art direction with a scoring that is unique, disturbing and hits it so right.

I love it when a movie knows exactly how to handle vision AND sound.

This is a huge experience into a nasty world. It’s very fucking grim. So don’t go see it if you aren’t in the mood for something like this. But do go see it if you can handle it.

Dead cows burning in fields.

Human Beings at their worst.

Sad, sad, end-of-days racism.

But ultimately, poetic. Oh, and there’s something very positive about it. But it cannot be named without destroying an early-on surprise.

People. Blech. But movies can be very good. Great film maker. If you want something easier on the system, you could rent his brilliant Y Tu Mama Tambien with hot little Gael Garcia Bernal.

Hints from Hell-Louise

We had a party. We have new white chairs.
You can imagine.

Not red wine...just the black sole of a little girl’s shoe...black and gray from living.

Big dirt stain.

I used water to try to get rid of it. The water dried. It left a brown water mark. I knew better than to let water sit on material all night.

The material is made from canvass. It has that very light speckled brown in the white.

Adam, my recognized-by-the-state-of-California-Domestic-Partner, brought home two spot removers. One turns things brownish. One bleaches--but you have to rub.
Together, a lot was accomplished...but then there was a bigger problem.

Some sort of batting exists under the white canvass. The more I worked the fabric, the color came up from the batting and stained the chair, right in the middle of the seat...far away from the original dirt. A whole new problem: Reddish-purple-brown. Like dried blood. In a few spots right in the middle.

Oh my goodness.

So I used hydrogen peroxide and a blowdryer. This helped, but not nearly enough.

Bleach on a cotton ball took out the red-brown stain.

But then, I had this big bleached spot.

So today, I made tea...used a toothbrush to apply the tea to calm down the bleached area.

Sprayed the browner stain remover, mixed with hydrogen peroxide. Speckled in a fine spray. Blowdryer.

Eventually, I ended up with a very decent looking chair except for two darkish brown spots...I continued to use a spray bottle of hydrogen peroxide and the blowdryer to get to the right color on those spots. Sometimes I used a toothbrush to really scrub in the hydrogen peroxide. But you have to be careful---because you can get brown lines...so speckle-spraying is better.

It went on and on...but it appealed to my perfectionist tendencies.

This was brilliant physical therapy between eight hours of reworking my television pilot. One feels guilty for procrastination. But people who create with the mind need to do things with their hands. It frees you up. And you end up with the chair how nature intended it to be.

In my television pilot (because the agents told me to do it)—I have more death and mayhem. Someone actually gets run over by a Brinks Truck. And the maid, running away from the I.N.S., eats the Virgin-Mary-Quesadilla that her daughter was trying to sell on ebay as the maid escapes through her kitchen window. Because in the world of television, these are the kinds of things that happen, so I’m told.

I think I’ll do a few more coats of Hydrogen Peroxide tomorrow. The chair is so close to being back to perfect. Control—anything to control.

Alumni Newsletter: Trying to Forget the Elephant

Alumni newsletters upset me, yet I read them. Why should I care that Rob Burnett from my graduating class was honored at Tufts University for an “outstanding career in the entertainment industry,” as executive producer of the David Letterman show?

I knew Rob very well. He lived on my floor freshman year. He arrived the second semester along with Nancy Jajinski from Ohio. They were both wait listed at Tufts and I guess a couple of freshman must not have made it back from winter break giving these two B+ students a crack at one of the universities in the “Most Competitive” column of the Barron’s.

Rob was a clown. A high energy, nonstop clown. I was also a clown but not so relentless. Plus, I had this darker brooding thing going on. And, I was best friends with Joe and Ed, and Rob tried to horn in.

Rob was not so much funny as he was bossy. And, he was non-handsome yet extremely confident. All that bad hair and a firm belief in the self? How did he do it?

Junior year of college, I studied in Paris for one semester. Nancy Jajinski was also there...in her cape. Rob, though not with the Tufts-in-Paris group, but with the American University in Paris, was living right around the corner from me. We went for a walk together one day through the Bois de Vincennes. He treated me to his very strong views on art. He was against anything abstract. He felt that the only true measure of an artist was whether or not he could paint someone’s face to likeness. No matter what I said about all other forms and styles of art, he would say loud and definitively, “But that’s not as good as someone who can really paint a face or a place that really looks like a face or a place.” A complete literalist, I just rolled my eyes and thought, “Fuck. This person is bullying me with his opinion and he just won’t see my point of view at all. And we all know that the amazing art that was made since the impressionists onward is so important. I mean, come on.”

Deaf to me, we ended our walk and he went back home to his apartment on Boulevard Picpus. And I went back to mine on Boulevard Soult. And I did not see him again for the rest of the semester. But I did see Nancy...in her cape. She hated me. Being one of those very serious blond haired, blue eyed Jewish girls from Ohio, holding on tightly to the idea that she was a proper WASP, shunning anything expressive or vulnerable or creative, in her eyes I was but a riff raff.

So, Rob and Nancy, those wait listed slide-ins, do not figure positively in my life. And there on the cover of my Department of Drama and Dance, Tufts University newsletter, “In the Round” (Our theatre was The Arena Theatre, thus the name), I have to look at Rob’s face with his hand clutching a metal elephant with four other honorees (the elephant is the Tufts mascot—P.T. Barnum gave Tufts his dead elephant, Jumbo, which was stuffed and placed in the Biology building lobby. When the Biology building burned down, so did the taxidermy pachyderm).

I rail. Of course, I’m just jealous.

January 2 is a tired Day

After weeks of flying, eating, buying, dining, drinking, eating, snacking, visiting and eating some more, the holidays finally end.

The Christmas tree is in the green can. (Green cans are for LA clippings. Blue-recycling. Black-Garbage. Can you imagine that meeting?)

Some bills are paid. Some are not.

The big question on January 2 is, “Can we get back to normal, now?”

Finally, for one day, you get to slow down (even though you are actually gearing up). The day has arrived when the whole shebang has been put away for another year. And you realize, “This holiday stuff is exhausting!”

And then you put on your work outfit.

It's a Little Hot Outside

Welcome to the new year. 2007

Beyond my understanding.

Let’s talk about global warming. The next ten years are very exciting because right now, in garages and labs across the country (and in the greatest numbers in California), creative, ambitious people are figuring out how to make very efficient engines; how to easily use bio-refuse as fuel; how to creative a true mathematical model that gives the answer to the world’s troubles in X=trees planted + feet used – burned fuel + anything else that is good.

We were in New York City for two weeks. And it was unseasonably warm. I am not going to say it wasn’t freaky, but it was also not unheard of. As a temperature observant child, I remember some very warm December days. Not for ten days straight. But for maybe two days at a time. Okay, fine—

So I wasn’t so upset about the temperature being so springy while I was there. Many days in a row, strange. But warmish in December, not the worst thing to happen to a person. But there was something going on in New York that was straight out of Science Fiction: Pussy Willows.

You never saw pussy willows in December in th 70’s.. No matter what. December--No Pussy Willows!

But there they were, all silvery and fuzzy, pushing out all along the tips of thin branches.

Pussy Willows were always the first sign of spring. It was so exciting. In December, not so.

Dear Pussy Willows:
I’m sorry we are upsetting your world.

(Note: Great Britain has experienced its warmest year since records have been kept. They started keeping record in 1659.)

But I am optimistic. People are going to figure this out. It’s exciting.

Puss On Earth

 

 

Have a wonderful holiday season. The blog returns January 2, 2007.

Meow for World Peace, Joy and Understanding. Love. Rest. See. Hear.

Spending Money in a Big City

My Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner, Adam, and I went on a binge today. We decided to rip out our old kitchen (Oh, how we’ve suffered) and put in customized cabinets (necessary, always) and all new appliances (most of the old ones are leaking water and oil).

The excitement is ludicrous.

First stop was a few miles south of downtown. This enormous cabinet place. They make beautiful custom cabinets for a price that is half most other places. All we had to do was get our asses there. Almost a full industrial city block of buildings sawing wood into future Trader Joe’s sundries holders, for the people.

Then, north up Alameda, through downtown, through Chinatown, up San Fernando Road to the Sears in Glendale to go appliance wild. Say what you want about Glendale---the whole city is worth the appliance department at Sears. One guy did the fridge. One woman did the washer/dryer. One fresh Armenienne did the stove, dishwasher and garbage disposal. Everyone was very friendly. And there was the big sale. Plus, we don’t have to pay anything until February of 2008. That’s a lot of free meals.

After ordering all this stuff and feeling elated with the purchases...all we got to go home with was the garbage disposal. It sits in the garage.

Walking the dog tonight and feeling the endorphins still pulsing, I heard the usual rustle at the corner near the opening of the storm drain. It was one of the friendly neighborhood raccoons who lives in the drain. He (or she) often pokes up to say hello when I’m with Louise. Raccoons, no matter how annoying, are very cute.

Lucky for Los Angeles. Lucky for the new kitchen stuff. Lucky for Louise and the raccoon.

I can’t wait to grind garbage in the bowels of my new sink.

Disney Hall--A Treat

Finally, we went to Disney Hall.

That Gehry is a true genius. The place is beautiful.

The front display pipes of the organ are at crazy angles. They look like huge cartoon tube worms.

The acoustics are so amazing that someone rustling his program from ten seats over and three rows down, sounded like he was right next to me. Spooky, really.

I have never been inside a room with this kind of sound. I loved it. Hearing such clear tones gave me that incredible brain clarity that fast, intricate music can give you. Lines you all up. You feel so smart, like you just ate two tunas.

The organ concert was Christmas and populist. At times silly and at times pretty great. I preferred the more modern, brave, dissonant pieces. A strange new introduction to Joy to the World by Craig Phillips and a funky variation on the eighteenth century French Noel by Dupre were my favorites. I really need to go back and hear a concert of Hungarian Twentieth Century composers. I love the modern Easterns.

Though not an amazing night of music, the beauty of the organ and of the concert hall---in soft wood and curving lines everywhere and the entire building---it was so worth the traffic snarl to get there. (If I had time, I would have taken the red line to Pershing Square.)

And the outside of the curvy, wavy nutty thing, way up high, has an aerial walkway between the curves. It’s like walking through a titanium cavern with occasional openings and wonderful views in the middle of Los Angeles.

I have never been in any building like this. I have never heard sounds like I heard sound inside this.

That wife-of-a-mouse-man really did something amazing. And soon---they're building an entire new downtown below it. Let's see how that turns out.

Fusion

Religions are absorbed. All the time.
They change. All the time.

Isn’t it time for a big change? One world religion? Just start paring them all down. Keep the best parts. Like a restaurant that serves the greatest foods of the world. (Mole from Mexico. Crepes from Brittany. Dumplings from China. Beer from Munich.)

Add it all up. Everyone feasts. Together. Same table situation.

Then, let it keep paring down. Keep focusing on eating the tasty things and let God creep out of the situation.

And all that is left is a bunch of people, eating. A spiritual food court.

The evolution of religious thought, heading in the following direction, is my vote:

Many fairy tales with many Gods. (Formed not long after consciousness/speech...the Cromagnon years)
Many distinct fairy tales with one God each. Each fairy tale, vain and hungry for supremacy. (Where we are right now and have been for two-thousand years)
One fairy tale with one God. (Maybe Bill Clinton can pull this off?)
One fairy tale with a diminishing God but a strong code of positive behavior. (Five-hundred years from now?)
One fairy tale with a strong code of positive behavior. (Soon after that)
A strong code of positive behavior. Worldwide. (By the year 3000)

And there we’ll be. Facing each other. As mysterious little mammals, embracing the mystery of life, taking good care of our big home, together at last as a species.

And death, well, it will be accepted as a simple end to all the good living. Sayonara.

December 12, 1974

I went to the mall today for Christmas shopping. What a rip off! I bought mommy a jeanie lamp incense burner, daddy a plaque that says “Never trust a man that doesn’t drink.” Sally a Capricorn band, and Greg a flash light. In a store called “Mexico” in town I got Wendy a blue pig, Chris an onyx frog and Nanny this clay pot. The TV specials were on tonight for x-mas.


What a rip off! Is diary code for shoplifting. I remember stealing most of the things in the store in town, Mexico. It was a gift shop filled with Mexicrap. It smelled good.
I remember by sister’s Capricorn band---it was a bracelet, leather, with the word and the goat embossed. I still have a red version of Wendy’s blue pig. Wendy and Chris were my closest friends. Chris was a year older. Wendy was two years older.
I loved the Christmas specials.

Carbon Mine

Simple Math. Seems to me the only way to go is simple math.

And complete equality.

Let’s do the Buckminster Fuller thing---and have everyone start out with the exact same amount of resources, but in this case, it’s not money, but Carbon Allowance.

This could be very interesting.

So, each child is allotted 100 carbon credits per year. For personal use.
Each adult, at eighteen, is allotted 1000 carbon credits per year. For business use.

Credits can be sold, traded, used, stored, donated, etc.

What a great market it would be!

Now, what is a carbon credit worth?

I don’t know. But taking into consideration:

1) Total carbon on earth
2) The amount of carbon fixable by a leafy, full grown tree
3) The amount of carbon used in any given action (driving, raising cattle, flying, etc.)
4) What percentage of the total carbon on earth a particular country is entitled to---again, through bargaining within a carbon market based world.
5) How quickly carbon can be fixed by other sources
6) Anything else that has to do with the lifecycle of a carbon molecule.

One can come up with what a carbon credit is worth. The trick is, the credits used per person per year both personally and professionally all added together, must not exceed the rate that carbon is returned, fixed into living things. Of course, one can increase the amount of things that can fix carbon...which could lead to more trading.

It’s just math. And though there is much chaos on earth, we have managed to manage water. So why not waste?

There’s a huge game in all this. It can be thrilling. Have a baby, plant twenty trees.
Hate driving? And flying? Sell your carbon credits to someone who likes those activities!
Corporate welfare can spring up by buying out personal carbon credits every year.

Importantly, everyone must be allotted the same amount of credits to begin with each year. Basing the credits on total population and fixable carbon rates makes it a usable system—the gold standard.

For true regulation, one must measure. And it has to be a little bit of a challenge to keep our busy monkey minds interested.

Carbon—control it. Master it. Or it will choke us to death.

War Profiteer

George W. Bush should be put in prison.

All this? And then everyone just goes home?

There is no call for his part in this? Everyone puts it on Rumsfeld? Cheney?

Where is the accountability?

December 7, 1974

Mom and dad went to a cocktail partie at 5:00. It's 10:15 now and they just came home. Mommy was sicker than a fucking dog. I think she's drunk.

TITS!

I decided, since winter is coming, that I needed to join the gym, again.

I hate the gym. They play rap music. The machines are dirty. I wonder if there is staph in the ducts.

But, the rain will come and I won't be able to do five mile walks outside. And the family-friends plan means I only have to pay nineteen bucks each month. Nothing really. One visit and a one Yoga class a month, I'm even.

But this is the thing---there's all these televisions playing videos. Now, I do recognize some of the girls---Lindsey and Jennifer. But man--they aren't kidding. It really is all about sex.

Not that I'm a prude. But like, if everyone is showing their stomach and wearing colorful dancer bras--doesn't it get a little dull?

I have to say, I've never been into soft porn. And, I'm really not into it in public. But ultimately, I guess these girls (and boys) really want to shake their shit and people really want to watch it.

Wild. I find it so dull. I would rather watch polka dancing. In fact, tonight I did. Our good friend Bradford gets high and watches Lawrence Welk. He has them all Tivoed. Friends, if you get a chance, you just have to. It's hilarious. And I wasn't even high. So joyful. And all that accordion music!

Ah. The innocence.

Rebecca Waring Sells It

Congratulations are in order for Rebecca Waring, my Recognized-by-the-State-of-California-Domestic-Partner-Sister-in-Law, for two big things.

One, she submitted work into a Maryland Art show and this painting won first prize in the Oil and Acrylic category.

And two---It promptly sold for One-Thousand bucks!

Isn't life sweet?

Congratulations. What a joyful day it is.

Do what you want or a reasonable version of it. There's nothing else.

Paranoid Nut

At a birthday party last night for a good friend, we had the pleasure to meet Claire. A nut.

At first I was intrigued, like I am by all nuts. She was direct. Chatty. Ready to tell me whatever was on her mind. A journalist and political commentator, at first she seemed very informed and professional.

I mentioned Ebay and Claire went off on how Ebay collects information about me and how Americans need to rise up. The government has no right to invade our privacy like that.

She then went on and on about the internet, credit cards, banks, etc. I agreed with her. But the emphatic nature of it eventually lead to Claire telling me that she truly felt we are living in a fascist state. No irony. No seeing the moderate side. She meant it. She also did not seem to be someone who was open to any reasoning since she seemed to have a hard time believing in anything other than the thoughts in her head.

At one point, making a joke about how ready I was for something new in my life, I said, “We don’t know what we are going to do next. Maybe go to Nepal?”
Claire told me why it was not a good time to go to Nepal. Above all, the weather this time of year. The commercialized cities. The bad government. I even explained to her that I was just making a joke. And she continued about the problem with Nepal. Odd duck.

She was either heavily medicated or had a mild form of autism. She told us she was a journalist, but left her latest job because she was having trouble with them. I asked her, “What is your outlet? Where can I hear you?”

She vaguely mentioned a podcast. So, I imagine she is doing her “show” or her “column” from her home. (No judgment there...)
So, I figured she was just this wacky type, like me, sending out opinions and blurbs on the internet to a small audience. But oddly, she had an intern. An assistant, who was there at the birthday mix, too. A young woman. This was her first “cocktail party.” She wasn’t drinking because she was too young. And, it appeared to me she was the driver for the night.

Such an odd relationship. This young woman hitching her wagon to this wacky, older loon. The assistant was cute. She had a little purple hair action growing out. She seemed sort of normal. But I think the hair was the tip of some odd iceberg. I didn’t get to talk to her too much. But, she did seem disaffected by her short past. Who knows!

The interesting thing about Claire, like many nuts, is that she was very intelligent. And she did say something I found very fascinating. “You and I are nice people. We think everyone else is that way. We don’t think there is evil out there. But there is. Both families that Bush comes from, the mother’s side and the father’s side, have been involved in war profiteering since the middle of the nineteenth century.”

From the mouths of nuts---comes the truth. I like meeting these kinds of nuts.

No Cancer Here

I decided that I had cancer.

I had this little thing on my nose. And if you went at it like a pimple, it would bleed for over an hour...

And after doing some reading online about skin cancer, well, I figured I had a touch of skin cancer. This did not freak me out, but I assumed it was so. I decided I would get it removed and like so many other people who get things removed, I'd be fine with the change.

Life would continue. I'd be cancer free. The sun would keep beating down on me, but I would forever be protected by Sea & Ski SPF 50. And though the aging process cannot be halted, I would fare well against future cancer. I would add the application of sun block to the rest of my keep-the-future-corpse-shiny scheme---flossing, trimming, sacrificing grilled cheese sandwiches.

I went to the dermatologist in the Mt. Sinai medical tower. Dr. Mekelburg (a name that demands to be said out loud with a clownish accent and a dada tilt of the head toward the ridiculousness of unknowing and the resignation to omniscience) and I waited for an hour with all the others who trekked to Beverly Hills to have their lumps examined. And then I got into an examination room where I waited again.

And though he wasn't wearing floppy shoes and a red nose, that joyful Mekelberg came at me, took one look at my nose lump and told me without a clown tone and with one-hundred percent assurance that this thing was not cancer and that he would have it off in a jiffy if I wasn't wary of possible scarring.

I told him to have at it.

Which he did do. The thing to be excised was just some sort of keratin buildup...but it did have its own blood vessel supply in there and this is the reason I thought it was cancer. Novocain, Snip, Gone, Ointment, Bandage, Melanoma check, out the door just two hours after I had arrived. Not an altered DNA cancer cell in sight.

My advice to myself: I think I need to stop the self diagnosis. And, I think I need to assume that most things are not cancer. This new approach should serve me well.

And every now and then, just to lighten things up, I will say Mekelburg like some sort of deranged clown.

The Sound of Chewing Insects

Every week, one company is eaten by another one and we all must go along for the ride.

Fine.

Every day, the format for something changes and we have to adjust to it.

Fine.

Every hour, another bill enters the mailbox and it's just wrong. Almost never in your favor.
And you get mad, and you call, and you try to get back that $2, that $8.95, that $157.50. It's infuriating, but if you were a big company who could steal from people with a shrug and never have to pay any consequence, wouldn't you try to do it, too?

Sure. Fine. Thieves. America. Fine.

But what I can't stand in all this....what just makes me nuts...is at bottom the actions of the game are simply: attack, compete, destroy, grab and head back to the castle. And everyone is happy to play along.

While already very unhealthy, poor people eat KFC. Still beaten down, women die of breast cancer, daily, from the poison in our environment.

And no one is outraged?

Sometimes, I think my anti-virus program is the virus.

Sometimes, I think the drug companies are drugging us.

Sometimes, I think the banks are taking our money.

Sometimes, I think the ads are selling us things and we pay for the selling.

Paranoid? Me? I gave up weed over a year ago.

I love the variety of the big city. With everything there is to see. But does it all have to be for sale? And Rupert Murdoch always gets the vig?

While everyone gets richer, everything becomes more expensive.

I like nice sheets. However---

I wish the spam would stop. I wish the credit card offers would stop. I wish I could meet one person who did not have issues around money. I wish the sausage was fresh and the cheese more creamy.

But then, I'm a romantic.

November 29, 1974

We went ice skating with Earl tonight. We ate at McDonald's and we saw the Kennedy Center and Watergate. We went into this cathedral and I got lost in the crypt. Shit! I pissed in my pants.

I guess I was visiting my cousins in Washington, D.C.-- We often went there for Thanksgiving. I remember seeing the Watergate Hotel. And how odd it was that it was simply a hotel. The term Watergate seemed much larger than some building.

The Cathedral must have beenThe National Cathedral. It had the moon rock in one of the stained glass windows.

I am sure I did not piss in my pants. Just an overwrought expression.

Theft

Why do people get oil rights? And why do they get to keep the profits from such a thing?

I guess I don't understand how someone can own a part of the earth. I mean, don't we all own it?

And if that's a naive idea...fine...but if the swiftest and the greediest can claim they own the rights to something under the ground (oil, diamonds, what-have-you)-- then simply enough, we live in a world based on school yard bullying.

The strongest kid with the greatest will just keeps getting more.

Obviously, this cannot continue. This cannot be the future for the species.

I wish I had a fix for it.

All I can come up with is---INTENSE OVERSIGHT AND REGULATION AND ENORMOUS TAXATION.

Time for a change, friends.

Cut and Run, the Only Brave Thing to Do--Michael Moore

Friends,

Tomorrow marks the day that we will have been in Iraq longer than we were in all of World War II.

That's right. We were able to defeat all of Nazi Germany, Mussolini, and the entire Japanese empire in LESS time than it's taken the world's only superpower to secure the road from the airport to downtown Baghdad.

And we haven't even done THAT. After 1,347 days, in the same time it took us to took us to sweep across North Africa, storm the beaches of Italy, conquer the South Pacific, and liberate all of Western Europe, we cannot, after over 3 and 1/2 years, even take over a single highway and protect ourselves from a homemade device of two tin cans placed in a pothole. No wonder the cab fare from the airport into Baghdad is now running around $35,000 for the 25-minute ride. And that doesn't even include a friggin' helmet.

Is this utter failure the fault of our troops? Hardly. That's because no amount of troops or choppers or democracy shot out of the barrel of a gun is ever going to "win" the war in Iraq. It is a lost war, lost because it never had a right to be won, lost because it was started by men who have never been to war, men who hide behind others sent to fight and die.

Let's listen to what the Iraqi people are saying, according to a recent poll conducted by the University of Maryland:

** 71% of all Iraqis now want the U.S. out of Iraq.

** 61% of all Iraqis SUPPORT insurgent attacks on U.S. troops.

Yes, the vast majority of Iraqi citizens believe that our soldiers should be killed and maimed! So what the hell are we still doing there? Talk about not getting the hint.

There are many ways to liberate a country. Usually the residents of that country rise up and liberate themselves. That's how we did it. You can also do it through nonviolent, mass civil disobedience. That's how India did it. You can get the world to boycott a regime until they are so ostracized they capitulate. That's how South Africa did it. Or you can just wait them out and, sooner or later, the king's legions simply leave (sometimes just because they're too cold). That's how Canada did it.

The one way that DOESN'T work is to invade a country and tell the people, "We are here to liberate you!" -- when they have done NOTHING to liberate themselves. Where were all the suicide bombers when Saddam was oppressing them? Where were the insurgents planting bombs along the roadside as the evildoer Saddam's convoy passed them by? I guess ol' Saddam was a cruel despot -- but not cruel enough for thousands to risk their necks. "Oh no, Mike, they couldn't do that! Saddam would have had them killed!" Really? You don't think King George had any of the colonial insurgents killed? You don't think Patrick Henry or Tom Paine were afraid? That didn't stop them. When tens of thousands aren't willing to shed their own blood to remove a dictator, that should be the first clue that they aren't going to be willing participants when you decide you're going to do the liberating for them.

A country can HELP another people overthrow a tyrant (that's what the French did for us in our revolution), but after you help them, you leave. Immediately. The French didn't stay and tell us how to set up our government. They didn't say, "we're not leaving because we want your natural resources." They left us to our own devices and it took us six years before we had an election. And then we had a bloody civil war. That's what happens, and history is full of these examples. The French didn't say, "Oh, we better stay in America, otherwise they're going to kill each other over that slavery issue!"

The only way a war of liberation has a chance of succeeding is if the oppressed people being liberated have their own citizens behind them -- and a group of Washingtons, Jeffersons, Franklins, Ghandis and Mandellas leading them. Where are these beacons of liberty in Iraq? This is a joke and it's been a joke since the beginning. Yes, the joke's been on us, but with 655,000 Iraqis now dead as a result of our invasion (source: Johns Hopkins University), I guess the cruel joke is on them. At least they've been liberated, permanently.

So I don't want to hear another word about sending more troops (wake up, America, John McCain is bonkers), or "redeploying" them, or waiting four months to begin the "phase-out." There is only one solution and it is this: Leave. Now. Start tonight. Get out of there as fast as we can. As much as people of good heart and conscience don't want to believe this, as much as it kills us to accept defeat, there is nothing we can do to undo the damage we have done. What's happened has happened. If you were to drive drunk down the road and you killed a child, there would be nothing you could do to bring that child back to life. If you invade and destroy a country, plunging it into a civil war, there isn't much you can do 'til the smoke settles and blood is mopped up. Then maybe you can atone for the atrocity you have committed and help the living come back to a better life.

The Soviet Union got out of Afghanistan in 36 weeks. They did so and suffered hardly any losses as they left. They realized the mistake they had made and removed their troops. A civil war ensued. The bad guys won. Later, we overthrew the bad guys and everybody lived happily ever after. See! It all works out in the end!

The responsibility to end this war now falls upon the Democrats. Congress controls the purse strings and the Constitution says only Congress can declare war. Mr. Reid and Ms. Pelosi now hold the power to put an end to this madness. Failure to do so will bring the wrath of the voters. We aren't kidding around, Democrats, and if you don't believe us, just go ahead and continue this war another month. We will fight you harder than we did the Republicans. The opening page of my website has a photo of Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid, each made up by a collage of photos of the American soldiers who have died in Bush's War. But it is now about to become the Bush/Democratic Party War unless swift action is taken.

This is what we demand:

1. Bring the troops home now. Not six months from now. NOW. Quit looking for a way to win. We can't win. We've lost. Sometimes you lose. This is one of those times. Be brave and admit it.

2. Apologize to our soldiers and make amends. Tell them we are sorry they were used to fight a war that had NOTHING to do with our national security. We must commit to taking care of them so that they suffer as little as possible. The mentally and physically maimed must get the best care and significant financial compensation. The families of the deceased deserve the biggest apology and they must be taken care of for the rest of their lives.

3. We must atone for the atrocity we have perpetuated on the people of Iraq. There are few evils worse than waging a war based on a lie, invading another country because you want what they have buried under the ground. Now many more will die. Their blood is on our hands, regardless for whom we voted. If you pay taxes, you have contributed to the three billion dollars a week now being spent to drive Iraq into the hellhole it's become. When the civil war is over, we will have to help rebuild Iraq. We can receive no redemption until we have atoned.

In closing, there is one final thing I know. We Americans are better than what has been done in our name. A majority of us were upset and angry after 9/11 and we lost our minds. We didn't think straight and we never looked at a map. Because we are kept stupid through our pathetic education system and our lazy media, we knew nothing of history. We didn't know that WE were the ones funding and arming Saddam for many years, including those when he massacred the Kurds. He was our guy. We didn't know what a Sunni or a Shiite was, never even heard the words. Eighty percent of our young adults (according to National Geographic) were not able to find Iraq on the map. Our leaders played off our stupidity, manipulated us with lies, and scared us to death.

But at our core we are a good people. We may be slow learners, but that "Mission Accomplished" banner struck us as odd, and soon we began to ask some questions. Then we began to get smart. By this past November 7th, we got mad and tried to right our wrongs. The majority now know the truth. The majority now feel a deep sadness and guilt and a hope that somehow we can make make it all right again.

Unfortunately, we can't. So we will accept the consequences of our actions and do our best to be there should the Iraqi people ever dare to seek our help in the future. We ask for their forgiveness.

We demand the Democrats listen to us and get out of Iraq now.

Yours,

Michael Moore

Pilgrimage

I really think it's time to return to the relaxed joys of who we each are. No more anxiety over insane right wing Neocons. No more fear of ignorance and anger running the country.

We have to start believing we can get back to what is smart, good, clear about this country.

OR---is the truth that this country was founded by insane, religious Injun killers?

It would be so great to have a real understanding of what this country is really made of.

I fear it might truly be about greed and guns and hatred.

But I think we can create a reality that is based upon shared risk, clean air and some form of love. Even if the love is something as simple as mutual respect for people.

We did kill a lot of aboriginals to get this amazing piece of real estate. I wish that wasn't the case.

Some return to something good...something good. Sit back for one minute and let the earth breathe. Let yourself breathe.

A New Way

Atheism is the highest philosophy for producing spirituality and romanticism. It is an urgent condition calling for greater sincerity, love and community.

Vanity Peeled

We revile vanity in others for it supposes separateness where the one in self-regard imagines himself to be of a higher station than the one who bears witness.

We revile it in ourselves because we know it cannot stave off death.

We do, however, put up with our own vanity and secretly adore the hit for in its most delicate form it is the colorful, romantic expression of our consciousness.

How to Stop a Fight on Venice Boulevard

Driving West on Venice Boulevard today, traffic was going slow and to my right there was a pickup truck parked behind a sedan. Both cars had the angle that cars have after a small fender bender. Not quite at the curb. But certainly not in traffic. It’s the angle that says, “Let’s get out of harm’s way, but not park exactly.”

On the street side of the two vehicles were presumably the two owners of the cars. An old white guy and a middle-aged Hispanic guy. The latter was clearly stronger than the former.

Though I couldn’t see any damage to either vehicle, something went down and these two guys were yelling at each other. I approached the scene as the Hispanic guy was saying, “Go ahead. Go ahead,” egging the old white guy on to make good on his threat to hit him.

And you know what the stupid old white guy did? He hit him. But kind of old and girlie. And the Hispanic guy hit him back. And then they started kicking and punching each other. In turns.

What was wild about it was neither one of them were punching or kicking to win. (I am not a fighter. But the few times I have hit someone in my life, I have tried to make it a one punch done deal.) So this almost comical fight was going on. Odd half kicks. Half punches. Each guy getting out their aggression, but not hitting hard enough to cause any serious damage.

And there I was in my car and I did think, “This is serious enough so that it should be stopped. Two grown, civilized men. They should not be trying to kick each other’s asses.”

And though I had an impulse to get out of my car to break it up I thought, in my racist way, “What if the Hispanic guy has a gun?”

But then I thought, “The way he is fighting, with almost politeness, I am sure he doesn’t have a gun. And isn’t this fight, still, so oddly controlled in its amplitude?”

But being civilized myself, I felt like I had to do something to stop this fight. And traffic had come to a complete halt, everyone watching this. So I did what anyone who wanted to help but didn’t want to help too much would do. I leaned on my horn...like crazy. To cause, I don’t know, a distraction to the pugilists?

Immediately, all the cars around me started honking their horns with the same kind of cadence that said, “Stop the fighting, you two. You know better. Stop it right this instant.”

And then more horns joined in. And the two men, knowing that they were being watched and judged and honked at, stopped their fighting and got back into their cars.

I loved how the fight had this weird intensity that never got dangerous and how people honked it out of existence.

A Liberal's Pledge to Disheartened Conservatives

To My Conservative Brothers and Sisters,

I know you are dismayed and disheartened at the results of last week's election. You're worried that the country is heading toward a very bad place you don't want it to go. Your 12-year Republican Revolution has ended with so much yet to do, so many promises left unfulfilled. You are in a funk, and I understand.

Well, cheer up, my friends! Do not despair. I have good news for you. I, and the millions of others who are now in charge with our Democratic Congress, have a pledge we would like to make to you, a list of promises that we offer you because we value you as our fellow Americans. You deserve to know what we plan to do with our newfound power -- and, to be specific, what we will do to you and for you.

Thus, here is our Liberal's Pledge to Disheartened Conservatives:

Dear Conservatives and Republicans,

I, and my fellow signatories, hereby make these promises to you:

1. We will always respect you for your conservative beliefs. We will never, ever, call you "unpatriotic" simply because you disagree with us. In fact, we encourage you to dissent and disagree with us.

2. We will let you marry whomever you want, even when some of us consider your behavior to be "different" or "immoral." Who you marry is none of our business. Love and be in love -- it's a wonderful gift.

3. We will not spend your grandchildren's money on our personal whims or to enrich our friends. It's your checkbook, too, and we will balance it for you.

4. When we soon bring our sons and daughters home from Iraq, we will bring your sons and daughters home, too. They deserve to live. We promise never to send your kids off to war based on either a mistake or a lie.

5. When we make America the last Western democracy to have universal health coverage, and all Americans are able to get help when they fall ill, we promise that you, too, will be able to see a doctor, regardless of your ability to pay. And when stem cell research delivers treatments and cures for diseases that affect you and your loved ones, we'll make sure those advances are available to you and your family, too.

6. Even though you have opposed environmental regulation, when we clean up our air and water, we, the Democratic majority, will let you, too, breathe the cleaner air and drink the purer water.

7. Should a mass murderer ever kill 3,000 people on our soil, we will devote every single resource to tracking him down and bringing him to justice. Immediately. We will protect you.

8. We will never stick our nose in your bedroom or your womb. What you do there as consenting adults is your business. We will continue to count your age from the moment you were born, not the moment you were conceived.

9. We will not take away your hunting guns. If you need an automatic weapon or a handgun to kill a bird or a deer, then you really aren't much of a hunter and you should, perhaps, pick up another sport. We will make our streets and schools as free as we can from these weapons and we will protect your children just as we would protect ours.

10. When we raise the minimum wage, we will pay you -- and your employees -- that new wage, too. When women are finally paid what men make, we will pay conservative women that wage, too.

11. We will respect your religious beliefs, even when you don't put those beliefs into practice. In fact, we will actively seek to promote your most radical religious beliefs ("Blessed are the poor," "Blessed are the peacemakers," "Love your enemies," "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God," and "Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me."). We will let people in other countries know that God doesn't just bless America, he blesses everyone. We will discourage religious intolerance and fanaticism -- starting with the fanaticism here at home, thus setting a good example for the rest of the world.

12. We will not tolerate politicians who are corrupt and who are bought and paid for by the rich. We will go after any elected leader who puts him or herself ahead of the people. And we promise you we will go after the corrupt politicians on our side FIRST. If we fail to do this, we need you to call us on it. Simply because we are in power does not give us the right to turn our heads the other way when our party goes astray. Please perform this important duty as the loyal opposition.

I promise all of the above to you because this is your country, too. You are every bit as American as we are. We are all in this together. We sink or swim as one. Thank you for your years of service to this country and for giving us the opportunity to see if we can make things a bit better for our 300 million fellow Americans -- and for the rest of the world.

Signed,

Michael Moore
mmflint@aol.com

www.michaelmoore.com

November 14, 1979

Today was good. I went outside for soccer, we had an assembly 8th period for this group- Free Wheelin, After school I had play rehearsal, Eileen brought me home. I did Physics homework, I slept 2 hours, ate, read a real lot, and tonight I sold concessions with the senior class. We had a pisser. Miss Sliffman talks about anything, the horny thing. It was a good day. Goodnight.


Miss Sliffman was the teacher who was the advisor to the senior class government. I was friends with many of these people. There was a train link of subset crossover between student government/honor society/theatre/choir. It was a lot of good students/geeks/Jews/fags and not many jocks or burnouts.
I was rehearsing for the play Murder on the Nile.
I played the embittered communist.
I think Free Wheelin was some odd jazz fusion band or something like that. I guess I should mention at this time that the first real concert I ever went to was Chuck Mangione. It was in Chatauqua, New York, a spiritual retreat settlement. While Chuck played there was a lot of knitting going on.

It All Comes Down to You: Joni

I first started listening to Joni Mitchell, in earnest, during a weekend trip to Pittsburgh in 1979. My girlfriend from high school, Barbara, who was a year older than me went to Duquesne and my sister and I drove out to see her. Barbara had Court and Spark and we listened to it all weekend. I couldn’t believe how good it was. In fact, it would be "time for dinner" and I just wanted to stay in Barbara's dorm room so I could listen to side two over and over again while I smoked Parliaments. After that, I listened to Joni Mitchell all through the early eighties, took a break for about eight years and then listened to her every day since 1991 when Night Ride Home came out. Bought everything she ever recorded. And just became one of those Joni nuts.

I knew I would eventually meet her. She eats lunch at The Daily Grill in Brentwood almost every day. I thought I could catch her there, but I didn’t want to be a stalker. I figured—let our paths cross naturally.

My friend Jeff and I were walking down La Brea a month or so ago and we saw that there was going to be a Joni art exhibit. I got on the list.

Green Flag Song. Joni was going to be there. And so, I went. Friday night.

I had some friends come, too. Bart understands my love for that open chorded lady. He came with me, took pictures, and paid for dinner afterward. Mild mannered Steve, from my writing group, was quite aggressive. He really wanted her autograph. It was his assault that gave me the courage to talk to her. I felt bad for Joni. Most of the scrum there attended much for the same reason I did. Joni sallied in and out of the VIP room and faced the plebian gallery crowd for short bursts.

She looked beautiful. Old. Uncarved. Jowly. Big gorgeous teeth. Watery eyes. But very alert and present.

Of course, I was sensitive to her position. She was there to be with her art. To sell her art. Like any other artist in a gallery wanting to sell her work. Most of the public was there to gawk at the Joni Mitchell they love. The Joni that they play to get through life, breakups, work, anything.

After Steve got his autograph, I pushed in with a gaggle of women talking to her. And others were pushing all around me. It was tight. Very hot in the place. I am sure they exceeded the maximum allowable occupancy, at least with regard to the air conditioning system.

Three women engaged Joni in conversation about this work, Green Flag Song. Triptychs of news images of the war, printed in large green, grainy photos. Joni told the women how she had this flat screen television and she turned it on and just recorded Ted Turner’s news channel, then had images photographed using a paper camera. I have no idea what that is...but I imagine it's some sort of box with photo sensitive paper. And then she had the images printed into these triptychs. In green. She talked about how she does art for herself, that she never really wanted to get into the art racket. Very human. Very humble. Very vulnerable. She went on about the war images. She said, “It would be so much better if the men just went into a field and used bow and arrows in the open air. You know? It would be so much better.” And I jumped in with the need to engage, “Or big arenas where they can play out their war games.” Joni acknowledged me in agreement.

After she did a couple more autographs, and I could still feel our miniscule connection from the comment that I made, I pushed forward, put my CD booklet from Turbulent Indigo in her face and said, “I know your being swamped with people tonight. I just want to say I'm a big fan and I’ve listened to your music almost every day for twenty-five years. It's great to be here. Would you sign this?” She said, “Wow,” in a tone that was pleased yet a bit dismissive. Then I thought, "Well, I haven't really listened every single day for twenty-five years. Oh Man."

She signed it, To Don, from Joni Mitchell. And there it is.

Now, I am no autograph hound. In fact, this is the only autograph I have from anyone famous. But there I am.

In the end, I always knew if I ever met Joni it would be less than thrilling. First of all, I have this whole experience with her, in my room. And that’s kind of personal. And why would she want anything to do with that? My relationship is to her creations, obviously, and not to her. I think the only truly satisfying experience I could have with Joni would be to pull out the guitars and sing songs together. But that’s not going to happen.

So I settled for talking to her a bit about her art, getting an autograph and being happy that I got to say hello.

You know, the stuff that comes out of her comes out of her. That’s it.

And I get to enjoy it. That’s it.

And Joni will never know who I am. And that's it.

Unless I start plotting. Could happen.

For Make Glorious Benefit

Borat. In the tradition of The Marx Brothers, the King Lear Fool and so many other clowns of distinction, Sacha Baron Cohen plays the idiot and sets the stage for petty, severely flawed mortals to show their true natures.

Worth every dollar you spend to get in.

Sure, you may not like the Jackass humor and the naked ass-in-face wrestling. But the idiot-clown shining a klieg light on the petty, small Americans of 2006 will be a historical postcard to future generations who want to know what in fuck’s name we were up to.

Beyond laughing, I sat, shocked, wondering how they could have possibly filmed this movie. Pamela Anderson getting a weeding sack pulled over her head. Crazy Pentecostals speaking in tongues. A bear riding and pooping in the back of an ice cream truck. The gay bashing rodeo guy signing a release form...”Sure, let the world know I’m a Nazi.”

Wild stuff.

Failed King Haiku

War profiteer,
The wet wind of Katrina-
Time to pay for drinks

Ding Dong the Witch is Lame

My prediction for Bush-the-Lesser? He will act like a spoiled child. “If you don’t do what I want, I’m going back to Crawford to clear brush.” And off he’ll go. With his devil tail between his legs.

The bastard.

What was so interesting about tonight’s returns was watching the happy faces on CNN and the glum ones on Fox News.

You know, Democrats are humanists and Republicans are greedy slobs. So it seems. To watch those newscasters on Fox get all glum because the satiation of their bottomless appetites will soon be thwarted, you just want to say, “Go home and overeat, you pigs.”

This greedy nature of conservatives disguised in Calvinist righteousness is so sour and so sickening. I do understand that human nature becomes very big animal behavior in the den of unconscious men. The cloven-hoofed, curly-tailed oinkers can’t help themselves. They are such fearful swine. They even sanction murder in the name of war so they can drive their huge cars. And truly, they are just responding to some lizard portion of their brain—aching for an endless feast of crickets. It’s pathetic and it needs to end. Good riddance.

The new setup is heartwarming.

I can’t wait to watch that prick, Bush, squirm. And that spitfire Pelosi is just the happening babe to hook that worm.

Go back to Crawford, idiot. And take Cheney Cow and Rove Sow with you.

We are done with you. You made us all smaller, older and sadder. You were a tyrant. And now your party is over. Go wash your filthy, bloodstained dress.

Happy Election Day to All

You just have to wonder. How many contested elections will there be? Will the Republicans fix the Diebolds?

Will they intimidate the colored folk from votin’?

What will these animals try to do this time?

They are so drunk with power, so addicted to righteousness, they act justified in their illegal shenanigans. They must be stopped. They must be voted out. It’s time.

The idea of George Bush flapping his wings around the oval office like the greasy lame duck that he is will be such sweet revenge. Let’s only hope that true elections occur.

And we’re counting on South Dakota to help with the gay cause. An unlikely place. But life is full of warm surprises.

What a World

For fun,

Why not grow some food on your front lawn? You own the land. Now eat the fresh food!

Eat Your Yard

Then, you can go visit your friends and bring them some of your extra carrots in your nonpolluting car.

LA Electric Cars

This company, among other ones, puts up this enticing website. But where’s the store? I can never seem to find the electric car dealership.

TANGO

And on a more ridiculous note...Eyes are opening. Many citizens of The United States are discovering that millions of men choose men when it comes to sex time. So one would think this country would simply calm down about the whole thing and just shrug their collective shoulders in disinterested acceptance and then with the next shrug agree to equal rights. South Dakota seems to be getting it. They are not leaning toward a same sex marriage ban. Many members of Haggard’s church were not outraged when they heard he was whooping it up with drugs and a male whore. They merely accepted it as a little bit o’ sin. Frankly, the Pastor Haggard may not be gay, but he sure does look and sound like a lot of musical theatre guys I’ve known. Whatever the case may be, why not just enjoy the day and love one another in the name of Christ and Cash?




Let’s get on with it. Gay men, straight men, bi-women (because all women are bi) and Trannies--- grow your yard food. Drive your 0 emissions cars. Get out of Iraq and don’t come back. It's time for something else.

The Life Force is Deadly

Big fish eat little fish. Cats eat mice. This we can accept, the interspecies devouring.


But then, dogs fight over bones and monkeys fight each other to the death. This is done over a lack of consciousness and a perceived lack of resources.

This warring condition is still in full force during the modern era. With human beings.

Since we know the perceived lack of resources ends in coercion and war, it seems to me the way to stop war is to stop the perceived lack of resources.

Since we know we have this predilection, is it not incumbent upon us to limit the conditions that foment war?

At all costs?

It would be so much cheaper and less traumatic if we would insist upon the awareness that resources are not limited. And if resources do become limited, wouldn’t it make sense to decrease the birth rate until a newer, more plentiful resource is discovered?

Or is full blown war, fought over things like salt, oil, land, gold and slave labor the natural condition of a very stupid species?

November 2, 1974

Go Shove It.

The Question Is

Why do people naturally concentrate power and then push it upward?

The boss assumes power over the actions of the employees, including objectives and schedules. The money moves upward to the boss, owners, too, which makes them more powerful.

And people seem to like this structure. It must be inherent in the biology of the pecking order.

If we are to accept human nature, then perhaps this needs to be accepted, too. However, this setup makes so many people so unhappy. And, it gives the power class too much, well, power. And frankly, most of them do not use it for the good. They seem to use their power to try to insure even greater power for themselves and for their genetic line. The ultimate expression of greed is devastation.

So couldn't we accept this pecking order, this paying-it-upward model since people seem to want to do it anyway? But then really see it for what it is and control and regulate the hell out of it? Based upon the greater health of society and the planet?

Right?