November 2005 Archives

War would end if the dead could return. -Stanley Baldwin, statesman

(1867-1947)

That's a pretty interesting observation, isn't it?

I am awaiting word back from my new parole officer about whether I am either a) going to be discharged from parole soon or b) cleared for a pass home at Christmas. As soon as I find out I can book the flight.

Apart from that, I am finished reading the text of a one-woman show, The Belle of Amherst, (about the life of Emily Dickinson) that I may direct. Hopefully I won't fall asleep--not because it's boring, but because I didn't sleep too well last night. This because I didn't follow the usual script with someone in a phone conversation--the script in which I am sympathetic and understanding instead of the one where I say refuse to co-sign someone's bullshit. And that's all I'll say about that.

Meanwhile I got something that can only be described as fan mail from a young man in New Hampshire and it sort of made my day. He discovered me through my article in Pride Guide. Tomorrow a new article I wrote on World AIDS Day (December 1) should appear in WeHoNews.Com and I'll post that.

MCO 2005

NOTE TO GLENN I: My email won't go through to you.

BOUNDARY MAN!

Faster than a speeding addict...

more powerful than a low-down motive

able to skip tall issues in a single bound...

it's Boundary Man!

MCO 2005 (with help from Steve. S.)

When I was young, I admired clever people. Now that I am old, I admire kind

people. -Abraham Joshua Heschel, theology professor (1907-1972)

This reminds me of what Winston Churchill (I think) said, at least style of it, if not the substance: "Anyone who is not a socialist when they are young has no heart. And anyone who is not a capitalist when they are old has no brain."

This day is looking way busy. I need to write an article for Wehonews.com for World AIDS day (December 1), plus I'm taking care of the neighbor's dog and he'll need a long walk/run (unfortunately Gaza and he have it in for each other so can't be together).

Today I woke up to a message from my sweet Mom telling me she would buy me a laptop for Christmas. I called her right back and told her that it was absolutely not necessary, but I would take airfare to see her for Christmas. I kinda knew that would get a yes. It turns out my sister is flying back as well, on the 28th, and together we will see my nephew who is coming back from Ethiopia--yes, Ethiopia--on the 27th, where he will have just been part of a documentary crew. The film's about--get this--two rich girls from the Upper East Side who donated the money to be spent on their BatMitzvahs to an Ethiopian orphanage. What a capital idea! Maybe they'll start a movement! See what I mean by Rosa Parks Moments? (By the way, if anyone is brave enough to take it, check out http://sleeplessinsudan.blogspot.com. The horror there continues, and it reminds me of how my own blog started. The Internet reaches in--and out--from the most extraordinary places).

So when I tried to inquire as to whether I would be off parole by Christmas or needed to arrange for a pass, I found out my Parole Officer is vamoose, and I have a new one. She hasn't contacted me, and her voicemail isn't even up and running yet. I have no idea whether or not this will impact me. I will note that the average length of job duration for a parole officer seems to be shorter than the average length of a typical parole.

I gotta write.

MCO 2005

No, this isn't an entry about Revolutions per Minute. It's my acronym for "Rosa Parks Moments." And what I mean by that is a small, everyday gesture that comes from a place of integrity that has far-reaching consequences.

Here's the thing: any one of us could be having Rosa Parks moments at any time without even knowing it. Let's say you dogsit for a neighbor who had to run home for a family emergency. Your willingness to do a simple favor may mean a trip gets taken that would otherwise be cancelled, and maybe as a consequence your neighbor's presence home prevents a suicide, or gets someone into treatment. Maybe the saved person goes on to do extraordinary things in the world, or has a child that does something extraordinary.

I chose a completely random example, my point is, you never know. You might have a much greater impact on the world than you imagine. So keep being of service, even if it's sometimes a pain in the ass.

MCO 2005

This entry is rather a study in contrasts compared to the last, but I like to keep you all on your toes.

I suppose this is a parallel counterpoint of sorts to my entry of several weeks ago about the African men imprisoned in horrific circumstances of overcrowding. The subjugation of poor African girls in pre-pubescent marriages constitutes a giant prison without walls. Unfortunately, I don't know what to suggest that we in more privileged circumstances do about it, but as I've said before, awareness can only help.

The article to its left, which I didn't even notice at first, covers behavior we in the United States at least, can do a bit more about. As far as I'm concerned, there is no excuse for anyone in American custody to not be afforded due process and all the protections of our law. Period. In years to come, I am increasingly convinced that the Bush et al will be seen in history as a rogue regime that flouted the norms of international law and behavior. How are you supposed to keep the moral high ground over terrorists when you behave like a tyrant?

MCO 2005

I don't usually go gooey about gorgeous men, but I was watching French Rugby on TV5 and found my jaw dropping at the beauty of a player named Frederic Michalak, above on the left. May I note that he shares the same birthday as my hero, Oscar Wilde, October 16, and both were born one day after me? While I was googling him, I accidentally happened upon another French rugby player, Sebastien Chabal, who I included not because of his beauty--though he's certainly hot stuff--but because he's probably a distant cousin. His last name is my middle name and my mother's maiden name.

So between the birthday and name proximities, that rubs off on me, right? I don't know how it works exactly, but I'm pretty sure I am better looking than I was before you read this.

If I am wrong about this, please do not tell me. I'm quite happy over here in Deludedland, thank you very much.

MCO 2005

My parting observation of the last entry actually got me thinking. Thinking about all that I don't have that I want, but that I totally enjoy wanting, working for, anticipating. Ergo, I am able to thank GTUHPW (God, The Universe, Higher Power, Whatever) for 1) What I've got 2) All the bad things I don't have (or suffer from) and don't want 3) All I do want but don't have. I oughtta write an inspirational book called "Total Gratitude."

After publishing that, I can start on my next book "My Dog, Myself" in which I extol the idea of looking to one's dog for guidance on how to live. For example, I find it completely marvelous to watch how dogs completely accept reality as it happens. There are those days when I take the dog to the park, we get out of the car, I realize I have to repark it for some reason, so I re-open the door and say "up!" and he pops back in, tail still wagging, then pops right back out after I repark. He doesn't bitch and moan or refuse to budge, he doesn't hold a resentment because he had to wait an extra few minutes, he doesn't hold a grudge by later refusing to get out of the car or somesuch. When we are on the walk and I go down a different path than usual, he follows, and if I change my mind, he immediately changes course to follow mine. The tail doesn't wag one bit less. He exhibits total acceptance of whatever happens as it happens, all the time. Even if I accidentally step on his paw and he yelps, he immediately gets over it. Instant forgiveness, never takes anything personally.

At least that's my dog. I say, these are traits to imitate (imitraits?)

Changing the subject completely, I have to share something I've noted about the French, a propos to their reaction to the recent riots there. I get a French TV channel, which I pay extra for and watch a lot--even if only in the background, like now. Say what you want about the French, but they are not burying their heads in the sand about what just went on. Every other day there is another hour-long town hall type program about the riots, their causes, racism in France, what needs to be understood and addressed about it. What's impressive is that each speaker gets to speak for several minutes, is given a chance to make his/her points without being interrupted, and the speakers are very well-informed, civil, and compared to typical Americans on TV, amazingly open to and respectful of opposing points of views. The level of discourse is smart and civilized and respects the audience's intelligence. Even the politicians do not speak in sound bites, and though I don't often agree with a lot of what they say, I find that the conservatives at least marshal their arguments with a degree of intelligence rarely heard in the United States--save perhaps the occasional George Will. And let me tell you another thing, the French don't bash the States either. The negative references are few and far between, in fact, on this topic, they seem to be looking to our history for guidance. It's rather in contrast to how often the French get mentioned snottedly over here for their supposed snottiness.

So, there.

MCO 2005

So I took Gaza for a big hike yesterday almost to the top of Griffith Canyon, on a road I'd never taken. There's a bend in it bordered by a willow under an outcropping, it's a lovely, unexpected corner that looks like it could be found on some Tuscan backroad. It occurred to me that I could be in Italy, and be heading back to my rented farmhouse to write home what a lovely corner of the world this was, and how I wish you could be with me. I could even find myself happy to be there but also rather lonely, or irritated at my traveling companion. But certainly, that sweet grove I discovered wouldn't have been any prettier for being in Italy.

So I had that delicious rare moment when you realize how lucky you are to be exactly where you are, in fact, wouldn't choose to be anywhere else. God knows the weather couldn't be better, the view of LA was spectacular, my wonderful dog was loving playing trailblazing adventurer, and the rent was paid on sweet little apartment that I was returning to, a full refrigerator within it.

I'd had a little talk with God, that morning--and this morning as well, and I mean that quite literally. I've been praying out loud now, I find it makes for a much clearer communication. I discovered almost immediately that I have everything I need in life, without exception. If I had everything I wanted, I would be quite unhappy, wouldn't I?

MCO 2005

I'm putting this up a day early, for those who are checking email before they're off!

(If this reminds you of my Happy Halloween photo, it's because I took a photo of the same yard a couple of blocks away. Those mannequins work more than most actors in L.A.! I wonder what they do for Valentine's! Day)

Will blog later.

MCO 2005

So yesterday, right after I blogged, of course I lay down and napped for 90 minutes (as did, it turns out, my new friend. We never rendezvoused). To be fair to myself, I usually get to sleep at around midnight, and wake up at 6, so it's not as if I usually get a full 7 or 8 hours. Still, I can't doze my life away and expect to make the New York Times Bestseller list in this lifetime. Or get nominated for an Oscar for Best Original Screenplay (I don't have to win, a nomination would be fine. See how reasonable and humble I am?)

So I'm mixing it up a little. I slept till 8, took the dog for a long walk, and now I'm going to try to get some non-blog writing done. (Isn't it interesting that I have absolutely no trouble producing the blog, and never missing a day? I am so motivated by knowing that I am being immediately read. It's rather more difficult to "get in the zone" for some future audience that may or may not even "see" your words on screen.)

But hell, that's the way the screenwriting business works, and there's nothing to do but accept it. The big question is whether or not to refugee out to a noon meeting. I do need to be vigilant, even if it's time consuming. Cause while I'm can't imagine actually giving in to the urge, I have to admit that last night I spent a good 5 minutes questioning why the hell I couldn't have a glass of red wine while I cooked dinner. The answer, is, of course, that I can't have one because I can't have one. Oh, maybe I could for a night or two, but eventually, inevitably, I would have two and three and then I might make that phone call for something rather less legal and more toxic than a few cocktails. I know this is what I risk doing, and so accept that I can't even have that one glass. But I don't like going through the moment of considering it, even if it doesn't rise to the level of craving.

I did hear a report on NPR about the "hidden hunger" of the working poor in the country. They profiled a family of five in Southwestern Virginia scraping by on the combined income of $22,000/year. About 30 million Americans are in the same boat or worse. This is a national scandal--or should be.

And I'm complaining that I nap too much and can't get drunk?

Get over myself.

MCO 2005

So yesterday I went back to Griffith Park, but this time I took the car so I could park close to the dirt roads that snake up the hills, where I could let Gaza run free. Unfortunately, I took a road that was more of a fat trail, that dribbled into a path. My instinct was to turn back and retake the clearly marked road, but that would have meant retracing my steps, and I hate retracing my steps--I kind of have a thing about it, in fact. And once before, I had been adventurous and taken a path up the canyon that had ended up being a good workout and a shortcut to the upper part of the road, so I decided to try the same thing this time.

Big mistake. The path sort of disappeared, and I was suddenly way up in thick underbrush, and by the time I got to a ridge that I thought was the edge of a road, I swear to God I thought I was going to have a heart attack. I had to rest for a good 15 minutes, panting like a Bedouin without water in the desert. Not only was there no road there, but no path down the other side either. But I figured the trip down that side couldn't have been worse from where I just came from, so I plunged down, scratching the hell out of my bare legs (I was wearing shorts) on the thicket of brambles and thorny bushes that greeted me. When I finally got down and found the road, looking like Pig Pen, my sneakers full of dirt, I realized I had lost Gaza's leash, (but not Gaza, thank God) and wasn't about to go back and look for it.

I guess this is pretty pathetic as far as a true adventure story goes, but I do understand much better how those people who go hiking in the late afternoon in rather deeper, outlying canyons suddenly find themselves getting helicoptered out the next morning dehydrated, with a broken ankle or recovering from a mild heart attack. I'm sticking to the road and bringing water from now on. Gaza had a great time though--duh.

I hope I made a new friend this morning. One of those people you meet, and within 5 minutes, you are confessing your secret turmoils to. He's another person that works from home, alone, and struggles with the periodic feelings of isolation and loneliness that goes with that So I'm going to head over to his place later and he's gonna walk the dog with me. Just our conversation was such a relief, I often think my lonely attacks are just me being willful and unappreciative of how lucky I am. I'm just a social animal, just like him, who happens to have chose an anti-social profession. (He sometimes takes his laptop to a coffee shop. That sounds like a good idea. Mmmhh...Christmas is coming, isn't it? HINT, HINT)

MCO 2005

I wish to hell I understood dreams. Do they mean anything, or are they just how the subconcious creates art? Last night I dreamt I was trying to get back to New York, and make both my college graduation ceremony and my first day of orientation to graduate film school. I finally realized I would not make both and had to choose between the two.

It just so happens that, for real, I chose not to go to my college graduation. Instead I chose to babysit (literally, a baby) and I strolled past Washington Square Park with the infant in a carriage and realized that was my very graduation I heard going on. This may seem extraordinary to you, in fact, now it seems extraordinary to me. But I was raised in the French tradition, where the closest thing to graduation is seeing your exam results posted. We all went to my brother's graduation, because he was the first, but by the time mine rolled around, my mother was like "is it important to you?" and I honestly said no. But it's a decision I regret, frankly.

And that sentiment of regret infused me waking up. I drifted back into a reverie where I started to half obsess over/half dream about what I would do if I could go back to the early eighties knowing what I know now. Would I be able to convince my friends, and brother, to have safe sex in time for them to remain negative? Would I have told anybody how horrific AIDS would turn out to be? Would I have bought stock in Microsoft? Would I have dragged my Dad into AA? What screenplays would I have written? Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. These questions assumed some urgency in my mind, as if I really had to determine the answers to them. It was actually kind of upsetting. Inevitably I pondered all the bad choices I made, though many of them were only so in retrospect. If I'd made a different series of choices I 'd no doubt now have an entirely different set of regrets. That's what your 20's are, as my father used to say, one long "learning experience."

I did get a gratifying phone call while walking the dog from David, who has been in San Francisco almost a week and is hating it. He's thinking of coming back and I am thrilled at the prospect, as we would probably rent a nice house together if he returned. I really don't like this living alone shit, I have been beseiged by loneliness but find it very hard to reach out and make new friends. Particularly as when I really get up against that wall, I do, finally, start to write. I'm on page 6 of the new screenplay. If I write, say, 2 pages a day, I will have a completed work in 2 months. And if I double that output, one in a month.

Off to church, where I hope to sit next to my new crush.

MCO 2005

I got a ticket for letting Gaza run free in Griffith Park without a leash. This was, of course, extremely annoying. The ranger said "this is what we get the most complaints about" and what I wanted to say was not my dog, but there was no point. He did say "you know where the dog parks are, right?" and so I did try the ecological defense, that I was trying to save on gas going to and fro, but he wasn't buying. The truth is I love Runyon Canyon, but parking is a bitch there, the drive time and the traffic to and fro is a pain, and there are no squirrels to chase, which Gaza lives for. As for dog parks, as Gaza gets older, his herding problem seems to get worse. He will obsess about a dog with a ball to the exclusion of anything else, and it can get pretty annoying, especially when he starts nipping at the neck of a dog who is not chasing according to his specification.

There's an article in today's LA Times about an inmate beaten to death in the LA County Jail because he didn't honor his correct place in the chow line (the whites came after the latins and blacks, that day), and there were no deputies even watching. On the one hand, I was of course relieved not to be there, and hasten to reassure everybody that this was in "gen-pop," meaning not in the gay dorms where I was and such violence is rare. On the other hand, being straight shoulldn't condemn you to death either--whether guilty or innocent of the crime that put you in custody. It is very, very easy, even for me, to forget about those inside now that I am no longer among them. And I'm imagining that most of you, at this point, have come to read the blog since my release. So this is my periodic reminder--to you and to myself--not to forget the forgotten.

My buddy Mike is a great letter writer and really appreciates all communication. So this is my periodic plug for potential pen-pals for him. His address:

Mike Stiltz

V-31062

D14 15U

P.O. Box 8103

San Luis Obispo, CA 93403

He's non-violent, non-racist, sober, straight, 31, and loves science fiction/fantasy, cooking, and keeping up on current affairs. He will be inside for another 7 years, I think, although I can't think of a better candidate for clemency.

MCO 2005

A friend sent me this Hubble photo that is circulating on the Internet... Supposedly it represents some planetary formation that only happens every 3000 years and the Hebrews termed the Eye of God. (I admit I wasn't there, but I'm pretty sure ancient astronomers did not possess telescopes). But I quibble. I took it as an basis for a birthday greeting for my Mom, who today has been on this earth for 80 years. She has certainly watched over my siblings and me like a Goddess, and I know the Goddesses are watching over her.

For her birthday, my siblings and I bought my Mom and a friend orchestra seats for Broadway's "The Light in the Piazza," which was co-written by an old friend of mine from my New York days, Craig Lucas. I was going to see his new film last night, "The Dying Gaul," but it has already passed from the theater--damn. So instead I went to see "Pride and Prejudice." All alone I might add, which was actually great. I caught up on some reading while waiting for the trailers to start, which I frankly preferred to small talk, and I particularly liked completly agreeing with my assessment of the movie afterwards. Which was a major, unqualified, no-holds-barred thumbs way up.

I was able to heartily recommend it to my Mother to see on her birthday. I think she might go if she doesn't get too drunk at lunch (just kidding). One thing I know about my Mom is what kind of movies she likes. Back in the 80's, whien I lived in New York, we'd meet about once every 6 weeks or so at Grand Central, (she took the train in from Westchester) and have lunch together and go to the movies. Lovely memories, all.

MCO 2005

Last night, I got a knock on the door from my apartment manager. She told me I finally got my own parking space. This is one of those little things that has a huge impact on one's life in LA, particularly in a neighborhood like mine, where parking is at a premium. (And I don't think it's too politically incorrect to note that Armenians are the kings of double parking. Driving around here at night is like negotiating a maze).

Last night I also finished the latest draft of what is now titled "In Deep: 286 Days in the California Penal System." I'm giving this version (thanks Angelo and Claudia for your input, I incorporated most all of it) to my friend Richard, who's taking it with him on vacation to Thailand, for proofing and notes. (It's perfect for a 14-hour plane ride--and back if he'd prefer to enjoy the sun without spending his days back in prison with me). I'm nervous that another huge edit will be indicated, but maybe not. In any case, I am going to try to crank out a new screenplay, fast, while Richard is gone. Usually, with screeenplays, the hardest part is getting started. Once I get going, the first draft practically writes itself. Then I go through a rough period accepting that I must go back and write about X

more drafts before it's ready to shop around.

So I made my first $50 subtitling, transcribing actually, and then learning "timing--" which is very confusing when you start, and ends up being very simple. I may go back to learn more today, but in any case, she said there's plenty of work coming up and she should be able to keep me busy. Yay!

MCO 2005

Check out http://wehonews.com/z/wehonews/archive/page.php?articleID=156. My "Modest Proposal" from a few blogs ago has appeared as my contribution this week to Wehonews.com. I don't expect you to read it again, if you read it the first time, but I'd love a quick visit to the site to bump up his traffic, plus you might enjoy some of the other articles.

Today marks one year since I was released from prison. What a life I have today. The glass is not half-empty, it is nine-tenths full. Really.

A friend wrote me that she knew a lot about my life from the blog but I still seemed somewhat "elusive." You know, I feel quite the opposite these days. I feel eminently straightforward. What you see (read) is really what you get. I feel simple, undramatic. I have passion for life, but almost no more melodrama in it.

Watch all of this serenity fly out the window the next time I fall in love--God Forbid.

MCO 2005

I just returned from 2 hours of subtitling work and am feeling good to be making money again. I go back tomorrow for more.

Yesterday the funniest thing happened. I was walking the dog when a "Noticias 22" truck--the equivalent or an Eyewitness News Van for a Spanish news channel. The cameraman jumped out and asked if I spoke Spanish and would consent to be interviewed. I said sure, but what was it about? He wanted to know what I thought about the new condoms for dogs (news to me), and evidently, Gaza was the draw for this interview.

So, with a little help from this guy, I said on camera: "It's seems to me easier to just fix them (operarlos). I added that I thought the idea "completamente loco!"

Anyway, for any local L.A. readers, check out the Channel 22 news at 7:00 pm. I'll be at a meeting, and hope someone who reads this can record it (My VCR part of the small TV that is not hooked up to my cable.)

MCO 2005

Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will

bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, or a new country.

-Anais Nin, author (1903-1977)

This following piece is inspired by the recent success of a friend...actually it's going on as we speak...That much is completely true...

NEVER HAPPENED

So here I am, sitting in my very own assigned chair, on the set of my very own movie, hearing the words I wrote coming out of the mouths of the actors playing the characters I have written for them. Of course, the director, who is yelling “Action!” is thinking this is his movie, and the star, about to say her lines, is thinking this is her movie, and pretty much so is the producer and the director of photography and the production designer and so on, to somewhat lesser degrees, down the line. But I know in my case this is true, as all screenwriters who come up with original screenplays born completely in their minds know. This is my movie.

This is my one week on the set, and I’m told I’m lucky to get that. The industry standard is for the writer not to be on the set at all. This I don’t really understand, and said so. All the producer could say was that it “wasn’t usually done,” but no one could say why. So when I was asked to be “flexible” as far as what I got up front for my work and what I got on the back end, I threw in a week on the set as something that I could get in return for taking less up front, and they agreed. I’ve even had occasion to do some quick rewrites on a scene or two, so it’s been working out all around. Obviously, it’s pretty thrilling for me. It’s a first, and in this business, who knows, could be a last as well.

Then something happens. Something unexpected, to say the least. They are filming a love scene, the only one in the movie in fact, and the character named Ed is about to kiss the character named Maddy, and out of nowhere he leans in and…bites her. On the neck.

She yelps, before he can actually break any skin. He jumps back, letting out his own yelp. You can tell from the look on his face that he is as horrified as she is. He is ashen, really. The director yells “Cut!” and S.—the Oscar-winning actress playing Maddy--cries out: “What the fuck are you doing!” to R., the Oscar nominated (twice) actor playing Ed. He cries back “I don’t know! I don’t know what came over me!” and everyone is still and shocked and then suddenly everybody’s talking at once and it’s general pandemonium. Normally, it might be assumed to be a part of some elaborate practical joke, but everyone knows this was no joke. We don’t have the budget to waste valuable shots on practical jokes, and the actors know this.

But they don’t know something I know, something that sent a chill up my spine as I soon as I saw what happened. Something I don’t dare share, that I can’t share. It’s too impossible. And yet the only thing that makes sense.

I stand there open-mouthed, paralyzed, and suddenly I feel the eyes of Ramona Fleischner on me. Ramona is the Wardrobe Mistress, and she is the one member of the crew who’s been in the business for years and years. Her resume is long and wide and deep. Big pictures, little pictures, studio flics, independents, and two Oscars to her name—I can’t remember for what. She’s in her seventies, and the only one no one says anything to as she puffs away on her Marlboro Lights on the otherwise smoke-free set.

She walks straight for me, cigarette in hand, her eyes like lasers over the half-moon bifocals that never leave her face. I spoke to her once, when I was introduced to everyone, and had been a little taken aback when she seemed to “tsk, tsk” upon hearing that I was going to be around a few days. “Bad luck” she’d muttered. “Bad luck. And you’ll be bored out of your mind, I guarantee you. It’s mostly just waiting around, you know.”

I’d answered that I brought my laptop, and would be working on a rewrite of another script in my downtime, so wouldn’t get bored. She’d cocked her head skeptically, and walked away without so much as a handshake. And now she’s in front of me, the inquisitor.

“Your new script. The one you’re doing rewrites on. It’s a vampire movie, isn’t it?”

My jaw drops. I am completely flummoxed. It’s the truth, and there’s no way she could have known about it. No usual way, at least.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? Even while you’re watching this movie being shot, you’re thinking about the other one, aren’t you?”

I recoil at her accusation, all the more because I cannot dispute it. I feel faithless to my own work, at the same time, a saboteur of it.

Ramona presses her attack. “Don’t you see? This is why screenwriters don’t get to see their scripts filmed. This is why they are usually banned from the set. What goes on in your heads, it infects the actors. I can’t explain it. No one can. It just is. Go home.”

At this point she has been overheard by others, and they seem to be forming a circle around me. I have not said two words since the moment of the almost-bite, and yet the atmosphere has been poisoned against me. Though it feels as if somehow it is I who have poisoned it.

There is nothing to do but flee, to let them resume filming without me. I know, somehow, no one will follow me to the trailer to convince me to stay, in fact, as soon as I get my laptop and knapsack, there will be a car waiting to take me to the airport. One of the best moments of my life has suddenly turned into one of the worst.

And yet there is more. You will understand when I tell you that I am not the one writing this. My friend Marc is writing this. My friend Marc, who was also a screenwriter once, and who is supposedly happy for my success, is writing this. I don’t know what his problem is, why can’t he just help me celebrate my moment, with silent support? Why must he create this outrageous fiction to undercut me? Does he fancy himself Charlie Kaufman or something?

The character names are not Maddy and Ed, and the initials of the actors are not S. and R. There is no Ramona Fleischner, no “deal” made for me to be on the set, my presence has been requested since the beginning. There is a vampire script, and Marc read it, but I wrote it years ago and haven’t touched it since. This is just a lame attempt to divert attention from me to Marc, who is clearly rather more envious than he let on.

I tell all this to the driver, and ask him to turn the car around. He does so, as he sympathizes with my plight. “That’s terrible! What kind of a friend would want to ruin such a moment for you?” I breathe a sigh, relieved at his reaction. I will explain it all back on the set, and everything will be fine.

When we arrive back, the driver jumps out and opens the door for me. He smiles, and the roof light is just strong enough to glint off his fangs…

This is not happening.

Honestly, this is not happening.

MCO 2005

Today: one of my favorite words

tropism (TRO-piz-uhm) noun

The turning or bending (typically by growth instead of movement)

of an organism in response to an external stimulus.

[From Greek tropos (turning). Ultimately from Indo-European root trep-

(to turn) that also gave us troubadour, tropic, entropy, and contrive.]

If you've ever noticed a plant bending towards the light, you've seen an

example of tropism. The term is usually applied to plants. The response to

a stimulus could be positive or negative: towards or away from the stimulus.

Some examples of stimuli are light (phototropism), gravity (geotropism),

heat (thermotropism), touch (thigmotropism), and water (hydrotropism).

The word tropism is related to trope, the term for rhetorical devices such

as metaphor and irony. The idea is that the words in those rhetorical

devices are turned in a special way.

"The traits [Judith Miller] has drive many reporters at The Times crazy:

her tropism toward powerful men, her frantic intensity, and her peculiar

mixture of hard work and hauteur."

Maureen Dowd; Woman of Mass Destruction; The New York Times; Oct 22, 2005.

And you know what else is a tropism, IMHO? The attraction toward drugs and alcohol (I include cigarettes in this) that remains even after you stop using, drinking or puffing. And likewise the turning to spirtuality, God, or a Higher Power of your understanding that hopefully displaces that tropism.

Today, David takes off for San Francisco. It will be kind of nice to have my place back, but kind of lonely again too. We really, really get along well.

MCO 2005

Sometimes there are pieces buried on my website that I suspect never get scene by my blog readers.

This is a piece I really like.

MCO 2005

Howabout this: Replace "God's will" with "reality". So instead of praying for "God's will," you pray for "reality." Then all your prayers are always answered.

I think most of our discomfort in life comes from the delusion that God is supposed to be working for the greatest good of the greatest amount of people. There is really very little evidence of this, rather more evidence that it is not the case. And when so many bad things happen to so many good people, it rather makes God incomprehensible to us.

I say that's a good thing though. I don't think we're supposed to comprehend God. I do think we need to get that we are not God, and when we do that, there is space for whatever God is to make him/her/itself known to us. As I heard this morning from a wise man, God doesn't do it to us, or for us, but through us.

MCO 2005

PART II for November 12, 2005

I just came back from my writing class. Nobody showed.

We'd kind of been down to a "core four" out of the original 8 who signed up (this was to be expected), and out of those 4, 2 had called to tell me they were sick. One of those I think was telling me the truth, the other, I doubt it, but I was a bit surprised at the other 2 not showing.

And not surprised. I tried, very hard, to cite the parts of the pieces that they wrote that could be reshaped into the basis of a new draft of something that could really work, but I think they sort of wanted compliments more than constructive criticism. I certainly think they probably weren't too crazy to find out that 90% of writing is rewriting. Or if they understood it, at an average age of 78 or so, I think it was a bit too much to ask of them to apply it.

No harm done, certainly. I did leave the experience with absolute clarity that I understand a lot about what makes for a good story and good prose, and frankly, I thought I communicated my points rather well. I think it would have been quite different if my students were paying to be critiqued. I think they were hoping for much more unconditional, uncritical encouragement than I gave them. I don't quite see the point of that approach.

I wanted to help them become better writers, period. But I wasn't dealing with professional writers, or anyone aspiring to be. So maybe we weren't the right fit. I can't say I'm not a tad relieved. It's very hard to be honest about writing that needs a lot of work and still be as gentle as one probably needs to be with a population of tender sensitivities--even if they seemed to be appreciating it at the time.

MCO 2005

Several excuses are always less convincing than one. -Aldous Huxley,

novelist (1894-1963)

This Huxley character was a smart cookie. He understood human nature.

And his quote applies to lies as well as excuses, and I should know. Boy did I tell some whoppers, the fewer--but the bigger--the better.

Here's what so weird about that. That whole time, I thought of myself as a fundamentally honest person. I guess that's not entirely ridiculous if that refers to the person I was underneath the lies, or rather underneath the disease of addiction. Because, certainly, now that the addiction is inactive, I find I have very little occasion to lie.

Which kind of freaks me out--in a good way. I couldn't live--literally-- without lying before, and now I don't think it would be terribly hard if I had to survive without doing so.

MCO 2005

The more powerful and original a mind, the more it will incline towards the religion of solitude.

-Aldous Huxley, novelist (1894-1963)

Nothing so soothes our vanity as a display of greater vanity in others; it makes us vain, in fact, of our modesty. -Louis Kronenberger, writer (1904-1980)

It’s pure coincidence that these quotes appeared one day after the other, but I find it interesting to juxtapose them. The second would seem to apply to everybody, but it also makes me think about the first. Who, in fact, does not think they have a powerful and original mind? How accurate is that self-appraisal, and how often is it in fact a reflection of one’s vanity? Doesn’t everyone think of themselves as more alone than others perceive them to be?

I know that I often make assumptions about what other people think or feel, and I am actually projecting my own experience. For example, my ex, David, has been staying with me until he is recovered enough from (minor) surgery to drive up to San Francisco. Even though I know him very well, I am still surprised when he confirms to me that he still has no more ambition than he did when he and I were together over 10 years ago. He is perfectly unbothered at the idea of cutting hair for the next 20 years and then being uneventfully retired until death. He feels no urge to create art of any kind, or to give money away, or to better the planet in some significant way. He is also, it must be said, lovely to spend time with, very funny and thoroughly kind in his day-to-day dealings But he is content to impact only those with whom he comes into contact on a daily basis, and rather modestly at that. It doesn’t bother him in the least that there will be little beyond the memories of those who loved him to mark his time on this planet and nothing more.

And me, Mr. Grandiosity over here, can barely stand the idea that if I died tomorrow, I wouldn’t rate an unpaid obituary in the New York Times. The idea of leaving this earth with not so much as a library book penned by me is literally painful. Barring that, I would like to make a lot of money so I can give a lot of money away and in doing so, transform some lives.

My question is, do more people think of themselves and their future as I do, or as David does?

MCO 2005

Before I became exclusively covered by Medicare and ADAP, I spent my working years insured by a host of private companies, through whatever job I held, like most everybody else. Unlike most everybody else though, I was a frequent visitor to the doctor, it being the first decade of my living with HIV. I can’t begin to tell you the amount of man-hours I spent on the phone questioning benefit denials, or coordinating new and old coverage when I switched jobs, or arranging for COBRA and HIPP program extensions.

When I went on permanent disability, and was automatically covered by Medicare, the change was immediate and striking. I have not had to make one phone call about coverage in almost 10 years. Medicare pays my doctor and hospital bills promptly and with clear explanations when there is the odd denial, and my doctor tells me its reimbursements are competitive with and sometimes better than what he gets back from private insurance.

So I wasn’t the least bit surprised, when watching the recent “faux debate” between the fictional presidential candidates on “West Wing,” that I heard Jimmy Smits as Congressman Matt Santos assert that while average administrative costs for private health insurance range around 20-25%, for Medicare those costs add up to about 2%. That’s right, 2%.

Smits’ character proposed an aggrandizement of Medicare to cover the entire U.S. population, a backdoor approach to establishing national health insurance. While Congressman Santos is clearly a mouthpiece for the writers of West Wing, this does not diminish the accuracy of their facts, and the visionary importance of the idea espoused. And as I watched the wreckage of our current Governor’s over-ambitious efforts to reschwarzenegger the state to his liking, I got to thinking.

Arnold has to be acutely aware now that he needs to think smartly and act boldly if he is to resurrect his flagging administration, much less get re-elected. He needs to come up with a truly bipartisan initiative that can transform the state and restore it to its position as the country’s bellwether.

Why not aim to make California the nation’s first state with universal, single-payer health insurance for its citizens? This needn’t entail new taxes. If the money spent by business and employees on private health insurance was added to the monies currently spent by the state and the federal government in California, and it was run with the efficiency of Medicare, there is every reason to believe this idea is feasible.

Imagine if the Governor, who has proven his talent for prodigious fundraising, devoted the same time and energy to developing a consensus and finding the money to make this work. In fact, it can be argued that a Republican governor might have an easier job of it than a Democratic governor perceived as hostile to business. I would even contend that New York’s Republican Governor Pataki, New York City’s Mayor Bloomberg, and New York Senators Clinton and Schumer would jump at the chance to coalesce behind a competitive New York effort to do the same. We could even join forces--national health insurance could be built on the foundation of the nation’s two most populous states.

Perhaps the Terminator is not up to the job, but like his indestructible character, I think he has a fair amount of fight left in him. I think more than anything else that he has a huge ego, and is smarting big time over the debacle of the failed initiatives. And I would bet that he can’t bear the idea of being a ½ term Governor who history treats less kindly than Jesse Ventura.

What about it, Governor? Can you pronounce “legacy” better than Cali-four-nia?

MCO 2005

Last night I went to a lecture on gay life in the Middle East, given by a personable and well-spoken young man, Mr. George Aziz. He operates a small office in Beirut, "Helem," which means "dream" in Arabic, and it is the first and only gay rights/social organization of its kind in the Arab world.

This is one courageous young man. Frankly so is anyone who walks into the Helem office, which has sprouted in a region that is unimaginably hostile to homosexuality. Helem puts out a magazine, sponsors social activities, disseminates information on HIV and sexual health, and has created a network of supporters trying to change laws that oppress both gays and women in Lebanon. George also illuminated the audience to the degree to which the homophobia and misogyny are intextricably linked in a culture which devalues women and anything that can be associated with the female/passive role.

It was an honor to hear about the work of a real hero in this world, at least to me. I remember how nervewracked I was to staff the offices of the Gay Student Union at Stony Brook in 1977, and I sure didn't have to worry about being followed by the police, arrested or firebombed. I can't imagine being as brave as George is And he is relatively lucky, Beirut being the most open and cosmopolitan city in the Middle East. It is that much harder to be gay in Egypt or Jordan, and categorically hellish in Saudia Arabia or Iran. Iraq, as we know, is hell for anybody now, gay or straight.

Of course what the overwhelming majority of gay people all over the world still do is get married and lie their entire life--those that don't bury their true desires entirely.

I feel both very lucky and very sad. This awareness of the plight of most of the world is a constant weight on my shoulders--as, I think, it should be, for any human being who feels like part of humanity. Today, what I'm going to do about it is visit www.helem.net, and contribute $20. It seems they are usually rather behind on rent.

Whether you chose to do the same, I do hope you visit the site. Awareness helps.

MCO 2005

Interpretation is the revenge of the intellect upon art.

-Susan Sontag, author and critic (1933-2004)

This amuses me, only because it's a direct riff on Oscar Wilde, who wrote:

"Sarcasm is the revenge of the intelligent on the beautiful."

Now, given the fact that it was Susan Sontag, I guarantee you she was aware of the Wilde quote, which, I have to say, I think has far more zing to it.

I feel such an affinity to Oscar Wilde--and his birthday, by the way, is one day off from mine. I feel like my whole life has been an echo of his, with the volume turned way down. I certainly never experienced the success that he did (or haven't yet-cross your fingers), and fell from much lower heights to much higher depths (American minimum security prison in 2004 being a somewhat kinder experience than Hard Labor at Reading Gaol in 1895.) And I doubt my blog, if, er when, published, will soar like Wilde's De Profundis, written in prison.

On the other hand, Wilde died penniless, in a cheap Paris hotel at the age of 46. I just turned 47. So at least I have broken through that parallel.

And though I am not quite as intelligent or talented as Wilde, I am better-looking. So I guess that means I get to be mildly sarcastic to myself.

MCO 2005

This photo on the cover of the New York Times today shocked me awake. And I can only pray that it moves the conscience of the world, or at least some in power who can do something about it, now.

Conditions like this are mass torture, nothing more. And as the article describes, many of these men have lived like this for YEARS, subsisting on one bowl of porridge a day. Some of them have never been seen by a judge, for the simple reason that they're FILES HAVE BEEN LOST. Worst of all, many of these men are unquestionably innocent, the vicitims of mistaken identity, or false accusations, or just plain bad luck.

This is ALWAYS the case with incarceration, even in the United States. Look how many men have been freed in the past 10 years because DNA evidence cleared them. I don't care how much of a hardass you might be on the issue of crime, does ANYONE deserve this sort of treatment? Even if, by some definitions of justice, one could claim it is deserved by rapists and murderers, can the sure punishment of the guilty ever be worth the the unjust "punishment" of the innocent? Guilty or innocent, everyone deserves to get seen by a judge, to be in touch with their families, to have access to a toilet for crying out loud. Compared to what these men are going through, my incarceration was like a 4-star hotel.

This photo reminds me of the conditions on the galleys that brought slaves from Africa to the Americas three centuries ago. And western whites may not be the direct perpetrators of this kind of injustice, but our wealth is in direct correlation to the intense poverty in places like Malawi that leave the governments paltry resources to attempt to administer justice. I know this is the most unfashionable of causes in a world beset by so many horrors in which all the victims are unquestionably innocent of any crime, but this is unconscionable. Even the poorest of the poor don't have to sleep like sardines.

This not only horrifies me, but really depresses me. And even though I can't imagine the world without my nieces and nephews, I am really glad I don't have any kids. Sometimes I think every man in the world should get a vasectomy and every woman should get her tubes tied and we should just let humanity die out in a couple of generations.

We've botched the job terribly. I say let the rain forest take over the planet again, and hope that something better than homo sapiens eventual evolves--from the dolphins this time.

Reverend Neil has his work cut out for him at church today.

MCO 2005

My

Today is a perfectly lovely day, and I have good productive things to do, including my writing class.

But I don't feel particularly observant or inspired. I did hear one thing of interest this morning: "confusion is a state of grace."

Mmmnnh. Food for thought, at the very least.

Happy Birthday, Andrea.

MCO 2005

The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another, and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to make it.

-J.M. Barrie, novelist and playwright (1860-1937)

Since it's damn hard to find worthwhile stuff to recount 365 days a year, I'm going to use these daily quotes as starting off points when it strikes me.

Boy, is my life ever an illustration of a volume produced rather different than the one intended. Thank God there is really no proof that you could have done anything differently--but rather a lot of proof (reality) that what happened was always going to happen.

Still, it can be quite a task to avoid going down What-If lane, much less spending entire vacations in Regret City. Not that I really regret anything, as much as acknowledge that if I had it to do all over again, I clearly would not make many of the same choices again. There are even some friends that I would avoid meeting in the first place, and less because of what our relationship did to me, then what it did to them.

Of course, a different set of choices would have just led to an entire other series of mistakes. In the alternate reality that may well exist in another dimension, one that resulted from those other choices, it could well be that I'm writing exactly the same blog entry about an entirely different history.

Although, I wonder how different that history would really be. In the who's, what's, and where's, yes. But in the emotional content of the journey, probably not much. Different faces, the same heartbreaks. Life comes in so many different packages, but what's inside each package varies rather less than we imagine, I think.

MCO 2005

Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.

-Ernest Hemingway, author and journalist, Nobel laureate (1899-1961)

I started out today with the above quote (it comes with my Word-a-Day). And I've been wondering how true that is. Let's say that it is. What if you pair it with another saying: "The unexamined life is not worth living." Isn't that what separates the intelligent from the not so intelligent? The level of awareness with which life is experienced? And isn't it hard to be happy when one is aware of all the suffering and tragedy in the world, not to mention one's own shortcomings?

I think happiness, as classically defined, may be too much to ask for in life. Or not enough to ask for, because it seems to involve a fair amount of ignorance or denial. I'm personally (at least today) aiming instead for a goal of being 100% present to my life. Good and bad.

And if I get hit by a bus later today, I'd want this epitaph. "He was THERE."

MCO 2005

Time is on my mind a lot. Mainly, how I don't seem to be spending it quite the way I should.

I should be writing gads and gads, and instead I write in dribs and drabs. This is all the more distressing because I'm actually starting to think there's a perfectly good chance I'm going to be dead soon enough from the Great Avian Flu Pandemic of 2006, or the Ginourmous Earthquake of '07 that swallows Los Angeles. (And to think I worried about HIV. How last century.)

Just because I'm not longer worried about surviving long enough to have lung cancer doesn't mean I'll resume smoking anytime soon. The benefits of shucking that noxious habit occur to the tune of about an extra $7 daily in my pocket. That's more than most people in the world live on, and plenty enough to make for a substantial raise for me.

I went to the Senior Center to retrieve the homework my students turned in on Saturday. I shall go over it at the dentist's office, to where I am bringing one of my two Davids.

MCO 2005

I saw my Parole Officer this morning--barely. That man moves us through at super speed. He asked about my income while handing me a small canister to pee in, and when I handed it back full, told me he was working on my discharge papers. This is very good news. It means that despite last month's contretemps, I should be off parole as hoped for, next month. I may even be able to travel somewhere at Christmas without a pass.

I also got an email from the gals who put together Word-a-Rama that they loved the piece I sent them and they want me to read it at their January show. I'm very jazzed about that prospect.

Happy Birthday to my nephew, Sammy. He's 4!

MCO 2005