September 2006 Archives

Last night my friend Michael and I decided to do something different and catch some theater, which usually isn't too bad in L.A. because of the pool of talent here. Well, in principle it isn't. I chose something in previews, ergo cheap, thinking I don't always agree with reviews anyway and sometimes they spoil it for me. And I was in the mood for a musical.

Oh my God, I should have waited. We saw the dreadful "Batboy," which it seems was a big hit off-Broadway and in London. I can see, perhaps, if it was done really well, in a high camp, "Rocky Horror Picture" style, but this production was horrifically miscast, mistaged, and misdirected, just a terrible waste. We left at intermission.

Oddly, though, I found it very inspiring. If that dreck can get a run in a theater, my play sure as hell can. I've written a couple of good pages since.

Of course, I had to spend a few hours devising the "Axis of Evil" graphic, above. What can I say, I had this picture of three toilets I took at in a courtyard I passed, and it's what came to mind. (I'm not being disrespectful as some kneejerk reaction to those in authority. These goons think they have the right to wage unjust war and authorize torture, and need to be denounced loudly and often by any means possible.)

As for the other photos, the word above TORTOISE is "MISSING." And I took a picture of the spoon in the road to keep the fork in the road company.

MCO 2006

I discovered this photo, in my phone, of a painting I just loved in the hallway of my Mom's building in Sleepy Hollow. Then I checked what poems I had unarted, and discovered the short one I wrote to Tony when he told me it was rainng in Tennessee. So I put them together.

MCO 2006

I mean it, if you're one of my mother's friends, who occasionally reads the blog, skip this entry!

This is a photo I took while picking up trash on the periphery of Echo Park. It's of a Hollywood Hustler (that's a store) bag, full of empty packaging. Packaging of what you ask? Well of a black dildo and a strap on butt-plug, that's what!

So this is what I want to know. How did this bag get deposited on the street? The only scenario that makes sense is that somebody went shopping, then could not wait to get home to use his/her new toys.

Does that constitute Driving While Impaired?

Well, yes, Impaled, that would be the case, I guess.

If anyone wants to concoct a little story about the hour leading up to the moment someone opened the door and deposited this bag on the street, I'll blog it.

Who knew that my little trash whispering hobby could prove so full of surprises and, er, innuendo? (Well, in someone's end!)

MCO 2006

Make no doubt about it: September 11th was a grievous attack. Terrorism is a bad and frightening thing.

But even with the casualties and economic harm of that awful day, terrorism is best fought in two ways: a defensive response--in which we heighten security in practical ways like scanning luggage at airports; and a proactive response, in which we try to address the conditions that spawn in the hearts of so many a desire to wage "jihad" on "the Great Satan."

Our idiotic President doesn't like anything that requires the use of a critical intellectual mind because he doesn't have one. He has a black and white brain that sincerely believes sending the marines in to beat up the bad guys is option number 1, 2 and 3. The folly of this approach is so patent that I'm almost embarassed to join the outcry. Even his own analysts are clear about this.

What I am saying is that even post 9/11--but pre-Iraq--terrorism itself did not constitute a threat anywhere on the scale requiring the draining of the treasury and the mass fratricide of the Iraqi people. It is no more amenable to simple solutions than wiping out poverty in the world or finding a cure for AIDS. But our reaction to it has made it SO MUCH WORSE of a problem than it was in the first place.

The death of 3,000 was horrible, but it wasn't about to bring the Republic to its knees. But that's how many Iraqis are dying every two months, the equivalent of 75,000 Americans. Because we needed to find someone's ass to whup (and found the Taliban too difficult to pursue in remote mountain hideouts--as opposed to Hussein's convenient rubber-kneed army), we unleashed a Pandora's Box of sectarian hatred that for all of his faults, Hussein knew how to keep closed.

The Right in this country can't bear the complexities of the modern world. They insist on good guys and villains, and take it as an article of faith that Americans can never be the bad guys. They reduce a host of thorny problems to simplistic paradigms--immigration, welfare, "moral values." They ache for a 1955 world that was a relative paradise for wealthy white heterosexual Christian men--and miserable for the rest of us.

Why don't they all just move to Utah and secede from the Union. Go wait for the Rapture and leave us alone.

MCO 2006

P.S. Okay, we may have to give them Texas. We just need to airlift Austin and put it somewhere in Southern Colorado, I'd say.

Something very very intense is going on. I'm tempted to talk to a psychic.

Ever since my ex-Drama teacher contacted me for her birthday party, I've been awash in memories of my life 20 and 30 years ago. I have spoken to or emailed a host of old friends from that time, and embarked on a search for the friend that mattered the very most, my virtual comedic soul mate (and ex- roommate in New York for many years) Cheri. She's the beautiful woman on the roof you see a couple of entries down. She was also the star of many of our shows in high school, and cabaret shows I directed in NY in the 80s.

Oddly, a stamped letter I was sending to her mother in Nantucket disappeared, literally on the way to the Post Office. I retraced my steps to the car, looked there, and back at home. Nothing. I had no idea if someone found it and mailed it. I wondered if this was God trying to tell me Cheri didn't want to be found. Then I located her sister's email address via Google and wrote her. That was 10 days or so ago and I assumed she was no longer working there or something, or my email was deleted as unfamiliar.

But in fact, she gave Cheri my number and Cheri just called. It is exactly 10 years since I last saw her in New York, when my father was dying and we were both seeking daily solace in all sort of ambrosia. Boy, have we been places and done things. (Or to quote Mae West, "been things and done places.")

I was almost relieved she didn't have enough minutes on her phone to talk forever, because we would have. She is a comic and waitress in Austin Texas now, and as we played "can you top this?" going over the last decade, I won hands down with having gone to prison. (Thank God she couldn't beat that).

She still talks a mile a minute and is still funny as HELL. I think I may have to drive through Austin on the way to Tennessee after all. Otherwise, I may have to fly her to Nashville. Who knows? The important thing is that we are both alive and in touch again and we got a chance to say I love you. You have NO IDEA the history I have with this girl. You want talent? Think black Bette Midler, but really beautiful and able to do characters. Just a sampling: Tequila Mockingbird, Leontyne Pricetag, Connie Vendetta, Coretta Scott Lynn, and my favorite, Rhoda Dendron, who used to sing "The Way We Were" to tune of "Memories," (from Cats). That was my idea.

I was supposed to be Tony Kushner (the playwright) by now, she was supposed to be "The Rose" ---but with a happy ending. That's okay. I own my life, and choices and mistakes, and so does she I think. It's okay to have a past as long as you keep it tied up in the back seat, and keep your hands on the steering wheel instead of the rearview mirror while driving. We also have Futures, dammit.

Considering I was looking for her I don't suppose it's so odd she found me, what's odd is that I also got a call from my friend Jacqueline this morning. She was a very good friend in France 30 YEARS AGO, I saw her and her husband (now ex) and her kids when they visited the US in 1993 (right when I went into the hospital with my first AIDS pneumonia) but I hadn't heard from her since right after I got out of prison. This is why I wonder if some sort of planetary juncture is afoot.

So I am sort of an emotional wreck, in a good way. With both Cheri and Jacqueline, like with all good friends, it's amazing how we pick up right where we left off. My friend Andrea (another incredible one) was telling me that I was one of the wealthiest people she knew, as far as the quality of my friendships, and she is right.

I get the impression Cheri sort of wrestles with the computer, she doesn't even have an email address, but she said she'd find out a way check the blog out. If you're reading this, my dear, you remain a blinding light of humor and energy, even through the phone. And please take to heart the other stuff we talked about too, though the particulars of that conversation will have to remain between us.

Amazing. Amazing.

MCO 2006

I went to visit my friend Andrea on Sunday and we took a walk, and I just happened to have my trash picker in the car, so we took it along. And so our attentions were on what was on the ground as well as what we were talking about, and we came upon, quite literally, this Fork in the Road. We lafffffed.

I was accused this morning by someone who knows me hardly at all that my trash picking didn't "count" on some sort of spiritual level because I talked about it, that all good works should be anonymous. He is right, ideally, (which is why I did it for many months before bringing it up.) But it's a little bit hard to inspire people, not to mention get them to join in, when you are completely anonymous. I guess we should have the Bill and Melinda Anonymous Foundation, and the Anonymous Global Initiative, but if the world was made of such uniformly good and ego-free people in the first place we would probably not have the need for foundations and charities in the second place.

It's true that I enjoy the occasional approving nod or "it's cool what you're doing" for picking up trash. It's also true that I've had to deal with some contempt or incredulity, or condescension at my "little hobby." In writing the play, I've been puzzling out my motivations, and they turn out to be complex. Mostly I really have a need to be productive, and just walking the dog just doesn't feel like enough to do, not when I could be also making a positive impact on the world, even if a modest one, with minimal effort. It also turns out to be very meditative, and keeps my mind focused but not so much I can't work out a host of other creative and personal issues in my head. Above all, I just hate litter. It's ugly.

Still, the criticism stung, even though it came from someone who has proven his assholism on multiple occasions in a group setting. I am undecided on whether to defend myself, or just let it slide. He has a right to his opinion, and others have let it be known they have noticed on many occasions his tendency to judge others, in the most passive/agressive way imaginable.

Plus, this tongue of mine can be very very sharp. I can come up with some very potent and literate barbs when I put my mind to it. Perhaps I should save my powers for the good, instead of reacting personally to an attack that above all, reflected the speaker.

MCO 2006

I missed blogging this morning because me little sister, Erica, sent me an essay she wrote about her weekend that was just amazing. I spent a long time on an edit, because that's what I do, but it was so good that it took a lot of careful, subtle suggestions to help bring out the best in it without mucking it up.

I think the fact that she is recently separated is pretty much out of the bag. Actually, I'm sure it is because her essay was about how differently all the men she comes into contact with treat her now that they are aware of her new status. It's funny, because I operate in such a gay cocoon that I forget that the mating and dating rituals of the heterosexual is not this amusing little subculture, but a major preoccupation of the vast majority of people in the world.

Men--straight and gay--seem to be on the hunt about 90% of the time. Even when we are not, the way in which most of us divide the world is between those we find sexually attractive and those we do not. We may treat both kinds of people in much the same way as a practical matter, but in our mind, we put those we would would like to "do," have "done," or are "doing" in a separate section of the brain from those we have no desire to "do" nor have "done" nor are "doing."

I don't think women think this way, but single women get used to men thinking this way, and then when they are married for a long time, tend to forget it. From what my sister writes, it's rather a re-adjustment when men stop concealing their interest because you are technically (even if only technically) no longer off-limits.

Frankly, as far as I'm concerned, every marriage between a man and a woman constitutes a mixed marriage. It's almost like you're both from different species, it's a miracle any couple stays together at all! Not that we gays do a better job of it, but at least our culture takes a healthier perspective on longevity. As I was saying to to my sister, if you're a 45-year old woman who's been married twice for 10 years, then divorced, you are considered to have 2 "failed" marriages. A gay men who's had 2 lovers for 10 years each? You're considered a "relationship" type, a paragon of propriety, a serial monogamist.

I think the way we look at it makes a lot more sense.

MCO 2006

To prepare them for kindergarten? KINDERGARTEN?

Saw sneak preview of "School for Scoundrels" last night. Loved it.

Also saw a gallery in movie theater lobby of this guy's work. He takes completely average women and turns them into 40's movie stars. You've GOT to take a look: http://www.rogerganiajames.com/

I'm off to Santa Monica to breakfast with a good friend. Happy Sunday.

MCO 2006

1. Top Left: Echo Park, a new discovery.

2. Top Right: Found there, a invitation to "Obdulia's" birthday party. Obdulia?

3. Bottom Left: A plastic bouquet, on a trash can.

4. Bottom Right: Me trying to show a friend how to work the camera phone. Artistique, no?

I might have another Frequent Flyer offer for New York. Will keep you posted.

MCO 2006

On my way way to my roommate's hair salon to get the grey taken out (okay, get a dye job), and a cut, I realized that I was feeling uncomfortable at the way I had wangled the frequent flyer miles out of him. There are many ways to justify this: I have been very generous with him in the (distant) past, and the bulk of his present comfortable circumstance is inherited wealth, especially his Frequent Flyer miles, earned from trips around the world with his late lover. But still, it is not mine to take, it is his to give. When I have really needed help, for example, a major car repair, he has been there for me. Though I would dearly love to join my old Drama Society buddies, a trip to New York for one dinner can only be described as a luxury. And I am about to go to Tennessee, and in so doing double David's rent. It suddenly seemed very manipulative to get him to gift me this trip. Hell, it didn't seem, it was.

So I basically owned up to it, as David gave swabbed on Dark Brown #43. Unfortunately, he agreed with me. The nerve! He didn't let me off the hook by insisting that I go, that he wanted me to go. He told me instead that he would be more than happy to spread the wealth if the salon and the tanning booth he has just invested a lot of money in were paying off. This is not the case yet, and he is afraid, afraid of the economy, of the future, of going through the money he has inherited. Just because I know the math and consider this fear completely irrational does not make a shred of difference. It's his money.

I have chosen to not to work and live on disability because I like the life it allows me to lead. But the price one pays is to forgo certain luxuries, and God knows there is not much of any real importance that I don't get to do. But I want to go to Tennessee with money for gas and any unexpected expenses like car repairs. I can't spend that money on a night strolling down memory lane, as much I'd like to. I'm almost 48, for crying out loud (in 3 weeks). If I haven't learned a minimal amount of responsiblity by now, particularly with my history, I'm a lost cause.

The good thing is that I've reconnected with some long lost friends from high school as well as Miss Dennis (as she will always remain in my head). They will also come to see The Trash Whisperer, one day, and we'll go out to dinner afterwards.

MCO 2006

Well, I got totally distracted yesterday, tracking down old high school buddies on the Internet, and Big Daddy (that's Tony to you) told me to get to writing, now!

But I have to go downtown to get my haircut, and also to use my roommate's FFlyer info to book a flight to NY. So I'm gonna sign off and whisper some trash, as I obey my superior officer. (Oh, by the way, he loved a gift I got him. I sent him a cap and t-shirt from the LA Coroner's office. He's a big fan of those reality shows like "LA Forensics" -- he calls them his "murders." Boy I miss that lug.)

MCO 2006

These are pictures I just found that are 25 or so years old. I found them when I finally opened a box that had been in my mother's basement, that I had mailed to myself a year ago when she moved. I opened it because I am helping arrange the party for my ex-Drama teacher in New York on September 30, and I was pretty sure there was some interesting memorabilia in the box. Sure enough, there was plenty. Old programs, scripts and photos from high school and some of our truly amazing original productions. Hell, we did a show called "Revelation," based on the book in the Bible, written by Amy Schacter, who later ended up producing "Hoop Dreams."

But the pictures above are from later, from that glorious period in the early 80s when I lived on East Third Street in the East Village, next to the Hells Angels, in New York City. This was my posse. Eric and Alan (first two top left) were lovers; Eric, the tall blond, was one of my very best friends. He and Alan died one after the other of AIDS in the mid-90's. Michael, in the black tee-shirt, is alive and well in New York, we still see each other when I visit. The beautiful woman is Cheri Spriggs, who I used to direct in cabaret shows, live with and drink with. She is one of the most talented people on the planet. I know she is living in Austin Texas, but don't have her coordinates and would love for her to contact me. The pretty young thing with the shirt off in the lower left corner is yours truly. (Top left middle one was Bobby, Cheri's boyfriend at the time). All together we were, for at least one glorious summer, The Brunch Brigade. We loved getting drunk on Sundays and then hanging out on the roof, probably Eric and Michael's on 18th and 8th in Chelsea. Ah, the days they were.

It looks like my roommate might let go of some of a huge cache of frequent flyer miles to make possible my joining the celebration in New York. So I have been drumming up interest, contacting some old compadres via the miracle of Google. Boy, talk about successful and interesting lives. Doctors, lawyers, consultants, executives. I was supposed to be a bigass successful writer by now, not an ex-con with a blog. Of course who could even imagine a blog in 1973, must less HIV or the crystal-meth epidemic. Well, my past is what it is. I'm sure I won't be the only one with skeletons. Mine are just for all to see.

I am somewhat reeling from going through all of this old stuff, and I barely looked at a smattering of it. Hundreds of letters alone, to and from me. And some that I neither wrote nor received, that came into my possession in a way that is completely lost to me. A trove of love letters written in French, from Morocco, to Princess Charles Murat (I assume they were from the Prince to his wife, using his name) in 1933. I am hoping somehow his desendants, of which they are several according to ThePeerage.com, will google him, find me and then let me know where I can send them. And/or perhaps one of you has some idea what cancelled Moroccan stamps from 1933 might be worth.

And I found this poem I wrote WAY back when, that seems rather apropos:

The wrinkle of a moment

the tinkle of a glass

a knowing wink

between old friends

a drink to old times past;

to common sense

to letters sent

a toast to things that last,

a lover's kiss

a come true wish

my God, it's gone by fast.

MCO 2006

Well, once again, they've bypassed me for the MacArthur "Genius" Awards.

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/09/19/arts/19geni.html?ref=arts

I suppose I better do something genius-like, eh?

A propos, I started "The Trash Whisperer." So far, so good. And since I only have a few hours before my daily afternoon blues descend, I better get cracking.

But I did want to share that yesterday I took the roommate to get his tooth pulled in Pasadena, and spend 2 hours walking the streets of San Marino/South Pasadena with Gaza. My God, what a gorgeous, gorgeous neighborhood. Stunning craftsman houses and discreet manses, with glorious detail like rock chimneys and gilded doorknobs, stained glass windows and angled roofs. This is where L.A.'s old, classy money resides, where college boys going to Stanford and UCLA come home to Katharine Hepburn mothers, and rich inventor Dads. Oh don't forget the large, clear curtain-free bay windows through which book-lined living rooms and stone fireplaces can be seen, like Maine's upper-crust landed here en masse, cabins and all, to escape the harsh New England winter.

It was a delightful walk. I actually felt honored to pick up trash there, as if I had to somehow pay admission to catch the ultimate street theater.

MCO 2006

And then look what happens when I "Watercolor" the geese, and "Fresco" the glass. Cool, hunh?

I really enjoy this kind of playing at being a photographer/graphic artist very enjoyable, but I confess I wonder if it isn't a form of procrastination from starting on the play.

MCO 2006

It is a beautiful day, the first hint of autumn in the air. It is tragic to have to turn on the TV and see Bush's National Security Advisor try to pretend Bush only wants to "clarify" article 3 of the Geneva convention, the paragraph prohibiting cruel and degrading treatment.

Like any deaf, dumb and blind 6-year old couldn't tell you what torture is.

Torture is NEVER okay, although, yeah, it's a little more palatable when and if you know for certain the person getting tortured has been brutal to others. The desire for revenge and retribution in some cases is just plain human. I wouldn't shed a tear if, for example, Mengele spent some time on the rack. But one of the traits that makes the American justice system-SUPPOSEDLY-the envy of the world, is that it is based on the precept of presumed innocence. And haven't we learned by now that some of these "terrorists" turn out to be cabdrivers? Even the "proven" guilty are often proven innocent (hello DNA/Death Row exonerations). Look at John McCain, he flew bombers over North Vietnam, don't you think the Vietcong felt completely justified waterboarding him?

Torture is WRONG. PERIOD. ALWAYS. And we doing it only reinforces the conception on the Arab street that we are the Great Satan, worth breeding terrorists and martyrs to slay us. It helps produce the very syndrome--terror--we are supposedly doing it to prevent. And I don't believe for a minute that the CIA has successfully uncovered terror plots from its use. This administration lies to us as a matter of course, they say whatever they want to be true or want us to believe with no compunction, all the time.

Though I love seeing the Republicans rip each other up over this, kudos to McCain, Warner and even Graham for taking a stand. Bush is a incompetent man, too stupid to be truly evil. He really doesn't know any better, that is his saving grace.

You know what I love so much about picking up trash? It's something that NO ONE objects to. It's something I could have done under Mao, Stalin, even in North Korea is there was any trash to pick up. Red staters don't object, nor do Blue Staters. Mexicans approve, Phillipinos approve, even Armenians--even if the men scowl a bit because they don't quite understand why I do not find it humiliating.

I mean, really, how many things in life can Fred Phelps and Larry Kramer agree on? (Well, I guess if Phelps knew it was a fag picking up the trash, he might want me shot, but probably after I cleaned his street.)

MCO 2006

See, I wasn't gonna leave you with just one little ole picture from my trip!

Most are self-explanatory, but I will point out that Shelby Lake is where I cleared about 20 bags of trash from the shore over a week's time. And then the Julie Barnes pic is for all you old farts who remember the opening of The Mod Squad. Remember how Linc, Pete and Julie would all be running down various dark alleys from some unseen menace? And Julie (played by Peggy Lipton) stopped to catch her breath against a wall, before continuing on to find her way over to her cool partners, whereupon the three of them ran arm and arm to the oh-so-exciting climactic music? (I can't tell you how many times I've replayed that run with my siblings or friends.) Well that's exactly the expression Julie had when she took a breath against the wall. I should have asked for a close-up.

I have been listening over the Internet to Tony's (gorgeous) nephew's first game as a quarterback for the University of Richmond. Levi has just helped lead his team to a 58-7 win over V.M.I! A recordbreaker no one expected. Everybody is proud as punch.

Tony will turn me into a jock yet.

MCO 2006

At first glance this trashure is a simple reminder list, with directions, but then I took a more careful look and saw "Marriage License," "2 IDS," and "Witnesses." It's as if whoever wrote it was jotting down what her fiance was telling her they needed to get married that afternoon. (In Norwalk, no less, which is a bit of an armpit of a city.) It just seems bizarrely casual on that sprightly green stationery, like she was remembering to pick up the dry cleaning instead of planning to enter into a sacred commitment.

I haven't started on "The Trash Whisperer" yet. So sue me. I've got to finish a synopsis of my nephew Keir's latest cinematic endeavor for his press kit, and I've been downloading and resizing all the photos of the Tennessee trip. Little by little I'll share some of the better ones, starting with a pic of me and Tony the adorable, aka "Big Daddy."

I realize that underlying my desire to move is enjoying the stimulation that results from being in an unfamiliar environment, meeting new people and seeing new places. I love L.A, I really do, but I KNOW it well, just as I knew NY (too) well before moving here. I don't necessarily believe in change for change's sake, but I do believe periodic change of a dramatic variety is almost always good, even necessary. It leads to new relationships that once you have, you can't imagine your life without. It spices up the resume and freshens up the soul.

MCO 2006

Well, the neighborhood is finally starting to look decent again, and above, a little collage of found trashures (that's treasure + trash). First there's the note found in a parking lot: "I love you more than you'll ever know," and considering where I found it, I hastened to imagine its recipient thinking "and more than I'll ever care." (It was on some MGM Grand stationery, from one of those hotel-room notepads, so maybe what happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas). Then there was this Polaroid with one face burnt out of it outside of the Thai Karoake restaurant on the corner, which I thought contrasted nicely with the Happy Anniversary photo in the local "Siam Media" paper. It's all rounded off by a "Bad Ass" magicmarker label on a CD that was laying on the street.

I had an epiphany of sorts, in the middle of the night, as Gaza woke me up in an agitated manner that told me he HAD to go out. Sure enough, the poor baby had some urgent business, probably a little nervous tummy accompanying his return home after "vacation." But somehow during this walk around the block at 2 am the idea buzzing around in my head finally congealed, and this morning it was clear as a bell.

I'm going to write a one-man show, "The Trash Whisperer." I'm gonna perform it and tour with it. It's all in my head, it just needs writing down and shaping. My goal is to write it all before I get to Nashville, then hopefully put it on there in workshop form, and develop it into something that can go on the road. I'm completely and absolutely clear about this.

It's overcast today, and I love it. It's writing weather. Although the sunny California weather is addictive, there's a relentlessness to it that is eventually depressing. It makes it very hard to stay inside when you need to, you keep hearing your Mom's voice saying: "Go outside and play! It's a beautiful day!" In my case, that has resulted in the major trash removal, but much less pen to paper than I need to. I ache for seasons again. Another plus forTennessee.

MCO 2006

I flew back last night and find myself overwhelmed today.

Not so much emotionally, it's just the To Do list one comes back to after a trip is long. And the apartment needs a deep, thorough cleaning, and there's nothing I hate to do more. And of course, I miss Tony.

He has already sent many emails and we've called several times. The bond between us is strong and wonderful. I also reread some of the blog and realized I didn't quite make clear how tremendously fun our rapport is. The details would just sound squishy, suffice to say we laugh A LOT together. We PLAY. It's the only word that adequate expresses it. We PLAY.

It is a great joy, and a new experience, for me to be 100% present in and to a relationship. This is a gift of sobriety, make no doubt about it. I used to think alcohol and drugs enhanced my experience. Maybe for the first 10 years or so, this was arguably the case, but it sure did not remain that way. By the end, the drugs became my experience.

All through the trip I was reading Julia Glass's book "The Whole World Over." I can't begin to convey how good it is, how inspiring it was for me as a writer. (My friend Ellen had sent me her first book "Three Junes," when I was in prison, and I loved that one just has much.) I highly recommend it for anyone looking for an engrossing, insightful read.

The trash buildup since I left is, not surprisingly, gruesome. It'll take me a good week to get things back to where I left them. On the one hand, it's depressing. On the other hand, it completely feeds my sense of martyrdom and self-importance, both of which, as a grandiose person, I enjoy immensely. Now that I've added Shelby Lake to my list of clean-ups, I'm aiming to become the Johnny Appleseed of garbage. I want to singlehandedly clean up America.

And while doing so, write 5 novels, 4 plays, 3 movies, 2 musicals and overthrow at least one dictator.

MCO 2006

I kinda need to defer to Tony, computer-wise, as he needs to check his Ebay store consistently. so this will be short.

Yesterday I had a delightful time with my friend Claudia, in Nashville doing research for a biography she's writing. We are both big history buffs, and visiting the touristless Nashville City cemetery. As you may remember, I LOVE cemeteries.

Then Tony took me out to a lovely restaurant and also showed me a smattering of gay Nashville. We are feeling very very close and in love. I am completely excited to be returning at the end of October to my adorable little sublet house.

Now it is raining--a joy to see for this dried out Desert prune--and tonight I fly back to LA. It's been wonderful but it is time. When Tony and I next see each other it'll be on more equal footing.

Keep your eyes open for reviews of "Bonneville," a film screenwritten by my friend Dan, that just premiered at the Toronto Film Festival, with Jesssica Lange, Kathy Bates and Joan Allen. And when it comes to your town, go see it! I am very excited for him.

MCO 2006

Well, after our conversation yesterday. Tony felt much much better. Bascially he wanted to know that no matter what happened down the line between us, he wasn't going to find himself in the position of hearing: "I can't believe you got me to move to Nashville and then it doesn't work out between us!...BLAH BLAH BLAH." There is zero chance of that. I'm not asking or expecting any commitment beyond a willingness to keep exploring as the time spent together already warrants.

The reassurances brought back that unanxious man that had taken a 24-hour sabbatical of sorts, and we decided to get a room. Literally. Crestwood Suites is not some charming B&B, it was more like a hotel off the interstate where married lovers meet to tryst and bleary-eyed salesman crash for the night. But it gave us our completely own space, and since the computer lost the reservation, it was also comped! How cool is that? We watched the U.S. Open Woman's Finals, Football, and engaged in our own Horizontal Olympics. We had a BLAST.

Then this morning Molly made Garis and I breakfast, and two friends of hers. cancer researchers from Vanderbilt, also came by. Fun, stimulating, intelligent, educated people all, and Garis is as adorable as his house, just on the next block, with a fence and completely dog friendly as well. Even though he will be working on a cruise ship (he produces and directs show) he will be splitting the rent with me for the month of November if I stay there. Which, I very much think I will do. Tony made it clear he absolutely wanted me to come back out, and at the very least it will shake me out of my rut. Garis is an ex-New Yorker who moved back after 10+ years with a fair amount of success in the New York theater, and he says it's the best move he ever made. Just the idea of taking a month-long vacation in a cute house with a yard for Gaza, a best friend and a boyfriend right down the road--what's not to love? And something tells me there is something else here for me, creatively, that is going to bump it up to the next level. I think I'm going to write a play or a screenplay or a novel and get it produced, because of a collaboration that will occur as a result of coming here.

Anyway, the I first will return to LA and make sure something completely unexpected and big does not happen to keep me there, but mostly I think I have to smooth the ruffled feathers of the roommate and then just get my ducks in a row and drive on out at the end of next month.

One thing I'd like to do is find a national booking agent for Molly. She (and any agent) could do very well getting her on the lecture circuit on race relations, which she already does a fair amount but not nearly as much as she could and should. If this is you, check out what she does at www.mollysecours.com.

Now, the Men's Finals of the US Open.

MCO 2006

How do I convey an intimate conversation without feeling I am being exhibitionistic and indiscreet?

At the same time, anyone with a nickel of sense would have had to be expecting something like this.

Let me put it this way. There been a recalibrating conversation covering our mutual expectations and not about where Tony and I are headed. We both seem to be recognizing certain incompatibilities on the level of interests, background, intellectual and artistic aspirations, which may or not be dealbreakers in the long-term, but which definitely merited discussion before major moves are contemplated.

This is tough. Even though our brains recognized we were going from 0 to 60 in 2 months, and that it was inevitable that we go back to 10, 20, 30 etc. in a dating process that we have skipped, there was that unrealistic hope/fantasy that we could just magically sail into the sunset. So I volunteered that we toss all expectations and pressure for things to be or end up any certain way, but continue to look at ways to build on the very clear chemistry and affection that has undeniably sprouted.

Certainly if I come out here and have my own place for a month we'll have the chance to get to know each other in a much more comfortable way than the pressure cooker honeymoon-before-marriage situation of the last week, exacerbated by the presence of a moody roommate I frankly find a little strange and not very welcoming. (Unfortunately, it's his house.)

The pull of my life back in LA is also considerable. I forget how many good friends I have until they start calling and emailing.

Still, tomorrow breakfast with the possible sublet guy. I will continue to be open to everything, and honest about what going's on with Tony. I also confirmed that my stomach never lies. It felt something was going on yesterday with him, and I was right. (He initiated this morning's conversation).

So much for discretion. It's an odd relationship I have with all of you. So near yet so far.

MCO 2006

I am loving every second of being with Tony. Of that, I am certain.

At the same time, with every passing day I am somehow less sure of what the right thing is to do about coming out here or not.

I have a feeling I will not know until I'm back in LA. I will either be unable to stand the idea of not being close to him or not.

MCO 2006

I have the best time with Tony just doing little things. Going to the Post Office. Watching the U.S. Open. Having mind-blowing sex. (Did I just say that?)

Still, if I come out here, I am intent on remembering that even if he's the catalyst who gets me here, he cannot be the center of my life. That will always mean my spiritual life, but as far as what I spend my time doing, focuses on my creative endeavors.

So I went back to see Molly and just watched her busy, stimulating life for an hour. She reconfirmed that this town is chockful of refugess from both coasts who got tired of swimming with and after the sharks, not to mention not having the remotest realistic chance of buying property. She assured me she knows more "500-pound brains" than you can shake a stick at. This, for me, is the most important quality any place can have for me long-term satisfaction.

And though I try to respect the 11th tradition as much as possible, there is one thing I must share. The quality of 12-step programs in LA is phenomenal. And the choice of meetings is huge. This, I would miss a great deal.

MCO 2006

In today's encore excerpt, psychotherapist Deborah Luepnitz introduces her book by recounting and amplifying on Schopenhauer's famous fable and metaphor of the porcupines:

"I [mention] Arthur Schopenhauer's well-known fable, a story Freud liked enough to cite in his book on group psychology [and] I paraphrase the fable as follows:

" 'A troop of porcupines is milling about on a cold winter's day. In order to keep from freezing, the animals move closer together. Just as they are close enough to huddle, however, they start to poke each other with their quills. In order to stop the pain, they spread out, lose the advantage of commingling, and begin to shiver. This sends them back in search of each other, and the cycle repeats as they struggle to find a comfortable distance between entanglement and freezing.'

"The story spoke to Freud as a lesson about boundaries. ("No one can tolerate a too intimate approach to his neighbor.") It also spoke to his belief that love is everywhere a thorny affair. Freud wrote: 'The evidence ... shows that almost every intimate emotional relation between two people which lasts for some time--marriage, friendship, the relations between parents and children--contains a sediment of feelings of aversion and hostility, which only escapes perception as a result of repression' ...

"All relationships ... require us to contain contradictory feelings for the same person. As the poet Molly Peacock observed: "There must be room in love for hate."

Deborah Anna Luepnitz, Schopenhauer's Porcupines, Basic Books, 2002, pp. 2-3.

MCO 2006

I snapped this of the grizzled old guy with whom I had the exchange yesterday about picking up trash. I collected four bags worth today, and think I actually made a dent on the first half of the perimeter of Shelby Lake, Tomorrow I will start on the second half. But I really need a trashpicker. It's way gross by hand--particular the plastic bags that have been gathering green goop in the water for God knows how long

By the way Tony and I had a heart-to-heart about me moving out here. We are on the same page that coming out first for a one-month sublet is plenty enough to start. Anything more would create way too much pressure on any incipient relationship. And certainly moving in with each other at this early stage would be a sheer folly.

At the same time, neither of us can imagine me returning to LA and then just letting the whole affair fade into memory. It's way too intense. But it was a bit of a relief to find out he had many of the same trepidations I had and on his part does not expect from me or from himself a unrealistic certainty already that this is IT. It may be. It may not be. It may be for just a few years. We can't know yet--and shouldn't. Too much too soon is inherently suspect.

MCO 2006

We're settling in, already, to a bit of routine, which is require a little bit of diplomatic maneuvering because Tony has a roommate, Phil, who is a bit older and has his "ways"---some of which are a tad eccentric, like storing bread and chips in the microwave and keeping all the appliances unplugged. Tony has a few "ways" of his own, like having to have the fan on him while we sleep (drive me nuts) and the two of them have their mutual roommate routines, like watching TV in the morning from Phil's bed, that is not really amenable to a 3rd. So I'm reasserting my routine of waking up, doing email and blogging, and then I'll turn it over to Tony and go out for a walk and to pick up trash.

Last night I did cook for them, creating, as is my wont to do, a completely improvised meal with the elements at hand. Here's the recipe for Marc's Chicken Surprise (all my recipes end in "surprise," by the way), as I have but the vaguest idea when I start where it will end up.

4 strips of boneless breast of chicken

1 can of cream of mushroom soup

1 can of meatless spaghetti sauce

1 can of diced tomatoes with green peppers

2 tablespoon of raspberry vinagrette

1 can of pineapple chunks

1 box of pasta

So you saute the chicken in salt, pepper, onions and garlic (or onion and garlic salt as the case was yesterday) AND the rasberry vinagrette. For about 5 minutes each side. Then you pour in the can of soup, the two cans of tomato sauce and you let simmer for 1/2 hour, throwing in the pineapple chunks about halfway through.

Cook the pasta, pour on the sauce (draining a little if it's too watery) and laying the chicken on top. Grated parmesan to taste.

It was delish. The sweetness of the vinagrette and pineapples was balanced by the green peppers.

I really enjoy improvising in the kitchen. Almost as much as improvising in the bedroom.

Tony remains incredibly loving and affectionate. He calls me his "mouthy concubine."

MCO 2006

Okay, so I'm exaggerating. It's not paradise, but it's pretty damn close at the moment. I love this man and it's just so nice to be able to express that and have it expressed back, verbally and, a-hem, non-verbally. We also laugh ALOT. He is very affectionate as well. How have I gone so long with this part of my life on the shelf?

Yesterday I had a marvelous breakfast with Molly, who took me out to a coffeeshop and showed me her life in Nashville. She has always been an incredible networker and with one phone call set up a very possible sublet for the month of November here. A cute little house with a yard. This location is dog heaven, it's right next to Shelby Park, a lovely oasis with some great trails, tennis courts and a nice big dog park right in its center. It feels odd to this big city boy that it's not more crowded.

This morning while Tony got some work done I took a walk around Shelby Lake and of course I couldn't stop myself from picking up trash. I happened upon two grizzled Applachian types fishing, and one of them spoke up. "I did the exact same thing just a month ago. Filled up six bags, took me a whole afternoon." We proceeded to discuss trashpickers, but it was a lovely moment.

I confess the prospect of actually moving out here is a tad overwhelming. Part of me thinks I am nuts, the other part of me thinks I would be nuts not to investigate this relationship to its fullest. So I think I'm taking a third route. Arrange to come out here for a month or two to start, keep my digs in LA with the roommate paying the rent, scope out opportunities and the way the relationship with Tony proceeds, and then if I'm sure sure I'll take the final plunge.

Meanhwhile, for the next 8 days, I get to enjoy myself, enjoy him, and get a sense of the city.

MCO 2006

It's a heady experience to experience the nexus of fantasy and reality, to hope for an ideal and discover no disappointment in what you find.

I am madly in love for the first time in 30 years, period. There were many overwhelming and painful infatuations in the intervening years, some that marked me for several years, and I don't mean to minimize their intensity by calling them infatuations. But the role of alcohol and drugs in "enhancing"--but really medicating--each situation cannot be underestimated.

If love is a drug than I am definitely under the influence. But if God is Love than I am in a spiritual bath that I intend to remain in as long as the Wombat wants me to. (Oh, Tony is Wombat and I am the Werewolf. I'll try not to inflict our endearing nicknames on you too often, dear reader, but cut me some slack. I'VE BEEN WAITING A LONG TIME FOR THIS.)

I'm seeing my old roommate Molly for breakfast. I gotta soften her up for the potential of having a roommate soon...

MCO 2006

Okay, I've been there 4 hours, and Tony is very simply, everything I hope he would be, and the feeling is mutual.

He is gorgeous, sweet, funny, masculine and the sexual chemistry is through the roof.

And, I might add, unless he's the best actor and cruelest liar on the planet, the feeling seems to be completely mutual.

Excuse me I have to go watch some football right now, (Is that hot or what?)

MCO 2006

Hi everybody.

I miss you.

Having a fairly uneventful time with the Maman, in the sense that we like to sit around and read a lot together, watch a little TV and engage in the elaborate, slow dance around boundaries, judgment, and intimacy between adult children and aging parents. She is very much 80, increasingly forgetful and prone to anxiety, and the most minor of choices often seems fraught with implications and dark consequences.

She also can go on a walk and find two four leaf clovers effortlessly.

I'm in the Sleepy Hollow Library, and have stuff to check and mail to answer in just 30 minutes, so off I go.

Sunday I'm off to see "TT"--as my Mother has dubbed "Tennessee Tony." I can barely wait.

MCO 2006