October 2006 Archives

We'll be driving to Florida today. Honk if you live in Alabama.

MCO 2006

I realized there was nothing to stop me from going outside and snapping a pic of this cute little house I'm in that I keep going on about. So here it is.

Last night was our first night in this big double bed. I love my Tony, but boy, that man can sprawl. And when I try to nudge him back over to his side of the bed he thinks I'm trying to cuddle and just moves closer to me. Do have the best problems on the planet or what?

Speaking of the planet, elections in Congo went off reasonably well. Dare I hope that country can emerge from it's basket case status? What I can't bear is the math of suffering. I guess deprivation, slavery, illness, torture etc. etc. have been part of the human condition since the beginning of history itself, but even as man progresses, and the proportion of the population that lives terrible existences goes down (in principle at least), since the population goes up exponentially, even if a smaller percentage of people suffer, the resulting number get bigger and bigger. E.g., When the world had a population of say, 100 million (Roman times), and 1/3 of the population were slaves or desperately poor, that made for 30+ million (and frankly, I get the feeling few starved then, although all that rape and pillaging and dental pain must have been pretty horrible). Now, even if 20% of the world's population is desperately poor, imprisoned, engaged in war, a refugee, malnourished, dying of AIDS, TB or any number of diseases, abused, gay in a Muslim country or a woman in a country that practices female circumcision--to name just a few categories, that makes for over 1 billion people in a lot of suffering.

It really boggles the mind. If you are on the Internet, you are by definition part of the billion richest people on the planet, i.e the top 20% who have access. It doesn't feel that way, does it? It feels like we suffer just plenty, doesn't it? How do you measure emotional and spiritual unhappiness or dissatisfaction against physical privation?

Well, rest assured, though I write about this stuff, I'm not dragging my ass around moaning all day thinking about it. Still, I don't think there's near enough awareness that the standard of living we enjoy is way above the world median. I think that even if most Americans recognize we're a rich country, personally they don't think of themselves as being wealthy. But measured on a global scale, most of us are in the top 10% (which is 600 million after all) of the planet.

Now go tell your wife, husband or lover that you found out today that you're fabulously rich, and if she/he questions you, just say: "well richer than 90% of the planet, so rich enough!"

MCO 2006

P.S. God loved the birds and invented trees. Man loved the birds and invented

cages. -Jacques Deval, writer and director (1895-1972)

Here's a suggestion: when you're in a good mood, blog first, then read the newspaper.

I was all set to talk about how this looks to be one of those "lifestyle" vacations, you know, as if I'd walked in to some elaborate agency and plopped down $20,000, and said: "This is my fantasy. I want to be in an adorable little house that's 2 blocks down from one of my best friends and four blocks down from a really handsome affecionate boyfriend who I see every night for dinner, TV and sex. It should be autumn so I can enjoy the weather and the fall colors. And I want my main principal activities to be reading and writing." If my dog were here, the fantasy would be complete, but then again, I suppose it's a vacation for him as well with Kimber's 4 other dogs to hang out with, plus my thumb desperately needed a break from the repetitive motion of the trash-picker.

So while that is all still quite the scenario, I made the mistake of reading an article on the New York Times website on child labor--read slavery--in Africa. While I get to live in the lap of relatively unimaginable luxury, millions of children around the world are still sold into indentured servitude at ages as young as 5. Their parents choose this fate for their children often as the only alternative to starvation, but the fate to which they are consigned seems little better than death: 14 hours a day, 7 days a week, bailing out water from a fisherman's boat, on two bowls of gruel--this is a common fate for a 6-year old. Let's not forget the frequent beatings. [When I think of the opposition to family planning from the pro-lifers I could explode. Parents who have to sell their children to survive should not be having children, period.)

Yes, you're right, liberal guilt just makes me feel shitty and doesn't do them a bit of good. After all, am I supposed to live on 2 meals a day myself, work 3 jobs and send every extra penny to Unicef? YES, that's exactly what I should do! And I would if I was truly a good person. But I'm not. I'm only good enough to send what $ I can when I can, be thankful that the New York Times writes about it and pray that the Bill Gates etc. of the world add the end of child slavery to their list of philanthropic goals. (Obviously establishing prosperity where there is poverty would put a natural end to such practices...so I guess they're already on it, unless you conclude that their immense wealth is a major cause of the poverty in the first place, in which case, back to despair.)

One thing I won't do that I see others do so often is to think that I am somehow deserving of the life I lead because I lead it. I had nothing to do with it. I was born a white American male to a loving middle-class family--that's all I "did." In this world, you have to go out of your way to ever end up hungry with those cards stacked in your favor.

Tidbit of Nashville Local Color: The Knife and Fork diner, where Tony and I had breakfast, ran out of biscuits for the first time that Opal could ever remember, they were having such a busy Sunday morning. They also don't take credit cards, and while Tony was running to the ATM, I'm sitting in a booth and a 60ish man in a cowboy hat comes up to an 85ish man getting up from his meal and says: "I just wanted to say hello to you Sir. Your Daddy spoke at my Granddaddy's funeral in 1961, Mr. Joseph So-and-So. They were {I couldn't follow the relationship} and lived {something about a farm and an alley}, and they were great friends" Now the 85-year old seemed positively startled, but I think he managed to respond along the lines of "Your grandad was a good man" though I'm not sure he had the slightest idea who or what this stranger was talking about (1961!). Still, it was, to put it midly, a very Southern moment.

MCO 2006

It's a glorious Fall day, and I'm looking forward to getting back to Tony's parents and watching football, just because it's completely football weather, and,well, I get to watch it with Tony.

Last night we pulled some stuff from one of his parents' huge freezers in the garage and concocted a tasty dinner than proceeded to indulge all sorts of apetites, if you catch my drift.Then this morning we did some watch-shopping for Tony's ebay store--oh by the way I forgot to mention he gave me a really really nice Michael Kors watch as a belated b-day present, it was waiting on the car seat when he picked me up at the airport. At the mall I took advantage of Tower Records' going out of business to buy a CD of 150 sound effects--can you not see how cool that might be to make a one-man show decidedly more interesting?

Now I am settled in Garris's adorable house. I'm on Tony's laptop, which simply did not want to connect to the Internet via Garris' wireless router, until I sent Tony home, tried a bunch of things with about as much order or understanding as a blindfolded Mexican child swatting at a pinata, and somehow got on line. What I want to do, of course, is move the computer to the kitchen so I can watch TV in the bedroom from there, but that is what I do in LA and probably has a lot to do with the fact that I don't have 12 novels written by now. So I'm staying in the TV-less office, and from now on when I'm on the computer I'm going to enjoy the quiet and the view of the cute little street as my only distraction from the acts of creating and communicating.

I really need to think of the inside of my brain as a vast entertainment system powered by my imagination, allowing me to go anywhere I want anytime I want to. Furthermore I have a singular and undertapped ability to share the contents of that very same kaleidescopic wonderland with you via the written word. Maybe this trip can finally get me to alter my lazy-ass brain-draining couch-potato habits.

MCO 2006

So there I was in the line at Chili's To Go at LAX, and I geta tap on the shoulder from Leslie Jordan. He's the diminuitive guest star on Will and Grace and Boston Legal, who won an Emmy last year, and whose one-man show, Like a Dog on Linoleum, I waxed rhapsodic about in the blog a year and a half ago. We've gotten to know each other a bit in the past few years, but I wasn't sure I rose past the level of acquaintance, so I was happy that he initiated the conversation. He was on his way to St. Louis on a tour with Southern Baptist Sissies-though ticket sales are less than stellar because of the World Series. (If you're in St. Louis, go to the show!).

So in between telling me that , and that he was going to be in Nashville on the 9th, I told him I was writing a one-man show not entirely uninspired by his, and I got a free 10-minute mini-workshop on the do's and don'ts of a one-man show that were SO helpful, I cannot tell you. Again, another encounter that I would not have had had I driven instead of flown, pointing me to the theater. Leslie is an absolute treasure, as funny in person as he is in the roles he plays.

Oh and what was that other thing I was coming to Tennessee for? Don't tell me, just give me a hint...Okay, he's 6 ft 2, gorgeous, and speaks with a slight drawl...Hang on, hang on, I'll get it...Very funny, affectionate and amazing sex? Damn, it's on the tip of my tongue...tongue..ton...TONY! RIGHT!

Oh he's fine. Thanks for asking.

[INSERT HUGE SMILE]

MCO 20067

I have a good hour before I have to go to the airport, so I'm gonna pretend I'm in my own VIP waiting room, a.k.a my apartment.

What an agitated night of dreaming. In this particular mini-series, a recurring theme: the choice to return to drug dealing, which I avoid by a whisper. I think it's my disease making its occasional stab at resurfacing and taking over my life. When it makes no inroads on the conscious level, it waits for a vulnerable moment, like the night before a big trip, to pounce.

I forgot to note that yesterday would have been my father's 78th birthday, and my maternal grandmother's 100th--I think. Yup, my Mom married a man with the same birthday as her Mom. Oh, and both my parents were Scorpios. I know, tell me about it. Did I even have a chance?

I change planes in a hyphenated city in Texas, which reminds me of my very favorite drag-queen name: Whitney Dallas-Fort Worth. Tee-Hee.

Oh, by the way, if the Republicans defy all expectations and retain the Senate and/or House? TAKE A LOOK AT THE ELECTRONIC VOTING MACHINES. They are completely vulnerable to hackers, and no, I do not put it past Karl Rove for a second. Check out www.BradBlog.com if you want details. Yeah, yeah, I'm a left-wingnut blogger, and proud of it.

MCO 2006

Good Lord, you'd think the entire world was revolving around my trip to Tennessee. Well, my world is.

I have to take Gaza for a big run/walk in the park, because from 3:30-10 he'll be alone at the dogsitter's place and I want him to be tuckered out. I have to keep reminding myself that he is an incredibly mellow, well-adjusted and adaptable dog, and he will be just fine. Dogs are so amazing. They don't hold grudges, they live in the present, and Gaza, at 9, does a great job of lounging contentedly for hours. He doesn't seem the remotest bit bored.

In a little more than 24 hours I will be able to touch my precious Tony. How lucky am I! What a catch he is!

I saw "Running With Scissors" last night It was very faithful to the book, but without enough of the delicious asides of Augusten Burroughs' dry, sarcastic prose to frame the action. So it comes off as a series of wonderfully played vignettes of these bizarre characters, and enjoyable as such, but not really making for a coherent movie. There will be some Oscar nods for Bening and Clayburgh, and maybe the production design, but I doubt anything else. Still, a very respectable showing, if no cigar.

This is the website of my 76-year old French uncle (by marriage). I love that he "gets" the Internet--it's a great venue for his work as a composer and graphic artist (I have some of his work on my wall.)

http://www.tristanclais.com

MCO 2006

Indian Summer

There is something that occurs

If you’re very lucky

Once every third Indian summer

Or so

When you are walking in an urban park

That really should not be a pretty as it is

But the fountain in its center shoots high

As the ducks discuss fervently

Amongst themselves

Where the best pieces of bread

Are to be found.

Maybe it’s the perfect 72 degrees

Or the California sun

Or your most happy dog

But there is a long moment

Where all seems right in the world

Though it has no right to be.

And you know what that girl on the blanket feels

Reading her book

And you know what it is like to grow up in another country

Far to the south

And you know what it’s like to be in that house

On the hill

Cooking for a person you love.

What I mean is a long moment

If you are very lucky

When the wall between you and the world

Becomes a blur

And you know what is like

To be everyone.

MCO 2006

On a completely different, rather less serene note, I heard a wonderful-horrible report on NPR this morning that was both vindicating and disturbing. I've followed the recent publication of series of books on the Iraq war, among them, Fiasco, Imperial Hubris, Cobra II, State of Denial and Prince of the Martians--all of which were reviewed together by the author of yet another, Assassins at the Gate. He was entrusted with seeing if he could draw a coherent narrative from all of the books, and boy did he ever.

The incompetence, arrogance, political machinations and ideological blindness that come out with such blinding consistency no matter who is reporting is jaw-dropping. Nothing I didn't know, of course, but lined up in one report, buttressed by hair-raising anecdote after anecdote, it's devastating. (That Rumsfeld is one unbelievable egomaniac--and war criminal. Ditto Cheney.)

But here's the kicker. In the last book cited, Prince of the Martians, the conclusion is that the most enlightened, prepared, apolitical and competent occupation force would probably have eventually faltered in the face of Iraq's entrenched tribalism and religious culture. We do not speak the same language, literally and figuratively. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Saddam was a monster, but he understood his people. A brutal dictatorship is of course not the "solution" I would advocate under any circumstances, but clearly an India-style democracy is not feasible there (or might be only after the sort of horrific bloodshed undergone by India in 1947-48). I don't know what the solution will be, but it won't be imposed by us. Tragically, it will probably emerge after many more deaths in a civil war, but it will, eventually, be a homegrown solution. We need to get out ASAP, before one more brave American soldier loses his life or limbs.

My one suggestion would be that would increase Iraqi immigration quotas as much as possible--with widows, orphans and disabled getting priority. We could resettle thousands upons thousands with what is costs us to remain in Iraq for one week--$2 billion. It's the very least we can do. (Teach them democracy here--then let them send it back.)

MCO 2006

Okay, so maybe he overdid it a little.

Actually, it was still wet, and ultra-dark, and should lighten up by tomorrow. Still, I don't think I'll wear that turban to the airport on Thursday.

In other news, perhaps you remember that article I was interviewed for months ago about Gays in Prison on Planet Out? Well the series landed 3rd place for a 2006 Excellence in Journalism prize for its author Patrick Letellier, from The National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association.

Congrats, Pat. (And I helped!)

MCO 2006

I am so infuriated with Time Warner and my inability to get my Outlook Express back on line (and call volumes that are through the roof as thousands of other are also going through the same thing) that there is only one thing to do. Go downtown to my roommate's hair salon and get a free, full-body spray on tan so I can be completely California gorgeous in time for the Tennessee November. (Thiis is one of the ways he is paying me for alot of work I did on his brochure)

How lucky am I to have the luxury of superficial comfort in the face of technological change designed to make anyone crazy. It's all too fast. Blackberrys, IPODS, Voice recognition commands, Bluetooth, Wireless, WI-FI, and on and on and on. I feel positively inadequate, overwhelmed, frustrated.

But prayer and meditation is way too real a way to react to all this, way too healthy, don't you think? Mmmhhh, maybe I can fit in a teeth whitening...

MCO 2006

P.S. Friends--email me at Makemarc@aol.com">Makemarc@aol.com

MCO 2006

My last night as a stagehand was sweet and surprising.

First was an introduction to a friend of the director's in the lobby who said "I know you. You're the guy who picks up trash in my neighborhood!" Recognized! How cool! He even added, "You actually get talked about! We're like: 'have you seen that guy who picks up the trash?'" Which I loved to hear, of course. (The lowest form of celebrity is still a celebrity).

Then one of the cast members gave me a belated birthday card from having read about it last week in the blog. Is that sweet or what?

But the best was seeing an ex-colleague during intermssion. Jessica Kubzansky was the copy editor at Genre when I was managing editor. It was her 9-5 job while she directed plays on the side, after she left Genre (right about when I did) she went on the direct full time, and is now a resident artistic director at the Boston Court Theater in Pasadena. Anyway, I haven't seen her in almost 10 years, but did email her about the show, and of course she knew Julien (the director) and had worked with several cast members on other projects.

It was great to catch up with her. She's one of the most talented people I've ever met, both as a copy editor and director. She also knew me and my writing very well, in the last period in my life when I worked in an office and was still keeping the bad behavior to a dull roar. After I left there the slow descent began.

But if I had driven to Tennessee as originally planned, I would have left this weekend, and not been stagehanding last night. I am quite certain seeing Jessica was on more sign that the universe is telling me I'm on the right track writing a play and rediscovering the theater as where I belong artististically.

Meanwhile I'm coming down to the wire as far a preparations for departure to Nashville on Thursday. I wish I didn't have such a horror of logisitcs, preparation and arrangement-making. The next few days are going to be completely anxiety-filled. I won't relax until I'm laying next to Tony.

MCO 2006

Your new email address isn't much different from your old one - only the last part of it is changing. For example, if your email address was JSmith@comcast.net">JSmith@comcast.net, your new email address is now JSmith@ca.rr">JSmith@ca.rr.com. And, to help keep things easy, your email password will remain the same.

Your Comcast email account - including your emails, folders and address book - will be transferred to Road Runner. It may take a day or two for your old emails to be transferred into your new inbox.

Your Comcast email will continue to be forwarded to your Road Runner account for one year, but be sure to let your friends and family know that your email address has changed as soon as possible.

THIS IS ALL SIMPLY NOT TRUE. I AM IN EMAIL HELL AND VERY VERY PISSED OFF.

First, let me welcome new readers from "The Beastly Bombing" cast to the blog. Two of them let me know they had checked me out last night, and I am tickled.

Time Warner has all these slick commercials on TV describing a glitch-free takeover of Comcast, but I fail to see how it's anything but majorly fucked up to wake up and find yourself unable to get your email because overnight your address has been changed for you. So after turning everything on and off 8 times, you finally call your provider, and are on hold for 48 minutes because of "unusually heavy call volume" (ya think?), after which finally a tech support provider walks you though the change--none of which is signaled on the website support pages. Perhaps there was a notice in the mail I dismissed as promotional junkmail, but I guarantee you I would have noticed if they sent me a warning via email. Doesn't that sound like the logical way to do it?

How frigging annoying can you get?

I haven't figured out exactly what I'm gonna do about email addresses.

MCO 2006

On and after September 11, 2001, I wrote a series of columns examining who these people were who had attacked the Twin Towers and the Pentagon, and why they were determined to battle the power and influence of the United States in the Mideast—particularly in Saudi Arabia, Osama bin Laden's home, and location of the Islamic holy places.

They were religious radicals and also utopians, having no chance of success in recreating in our day their (largely imaginary) vision of the Arab world during the years when the followers of the Prophet Muhammad came out of Arabia into present-day Iraq, seized Syria and Jerusalem from the Byzantine Eastern Roman Empire, then conquered Egypt and Persia, and created a Mediterranean empire eventually reaching the Pyrenees and Vienna.

Men with box cutters and bombs were not going to rebuild this empire, nor were Osama bin Laden's militants in their Afghan caves (although to judge from President George W. Bush's "Islamo-fascist" speeches of recent days, he thinks they can do it, unless the Republican Congress is reelected this November).

These new Islamists were not focused on Israel, but on Islam: its integrity, its purity, its future—and its enemies. Their beliefs came from the Wahhabi Muslim reform movement of the eighteenth century, which held that all changes or accretions to Islam since the third Islamic century (the ninth century AD) are illegitimate and must be eliminated.

One of my readers (in The Chicago Tribune) angrily e-mailed me in September 2001 to demand why I was going on about the historical and cultural background. "Are you trying to rationalize the murder of 6,000 innocent civilians?" he asked (the actual number of casualties was still unclear). He said he didn't care who the terrorists were or why they did what they did. He just wanted revenge. If I tried to explain who they were, I must be on their side.

This was a comprehensible, but destructive, reaction, because it was the White House reaction as well, sending the government off on the course that five years later has produced wars the United States is losing in Iraq and Afghanistan, and soon, it may be, in Iran and even Syria.

My correspondent in Chicago did not want to know who these people were, and to judge from their actions, neither did the Bush White House. Yet the United States government knew a great deal about al-Qaeda—which, after all, was the offshoot of a CIA initiative in Af-ghanistan during the Soviet occupation.

The CIA and the Department of State knew all about the rise and influence of Islamic fundamentalist currents in the Middle East and elsewhere, as did the police and security services of several European countries, as well as academic specialists in the United States and Europe.

This knowledge was apparently of no interest to the White House. Richard Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld, for their part, already knew that they wanted to seize Iraq, for reasons yet to be acknowledged. A realistic assessment of the terrorism threat, which had nothing to do with Iraq (as Bush and Cheney in the last few days have both assured us, five years late), would have presented it as of modest and potentially containable scale, as has proven to be the case.

President Bush and Karl Rove, his propaganda packager, preferred the global cold war model—the "long war" —capable of being presented to the American public as a communism-like "struggle for the world," so as to mobilize Americans around George Bush, wearing his flight jacket.

Iraq now seems all but certain to be left broken as a state, immersed in sectarian violence and terrorism, in far worse condition than it was under Saddam Hussein's secular dictatorship (which would have come to an end when Saddam died, or when he was overturned by a coup, or a revolt, as has happened to all of modern Iraq's previous leaders).

Afghanistan already is once again the world's principal producer of opium poppies, dominated by regional warlords, with the Taliban back and in control of a large part of the country beyond Kabul; the central government is feeble and American and NATO forces are struggling to enforce Kabul's authority.

For those who like conspiratorial explanations, involving oil and Israel, consider that now Iraq will produce little or no oil for the United States, or anyone else, for years to come, and the Saudi monarchy and the Gulf oil-producer governments are newly threatened by fundamentalist militants.

Saddam Hussein has been eliminated as a distant threat to Israel, and a ring of aggressive Shiite states and movements has been substituted, with Hezbollah having already brought Israel under rocket fire, and humiliated the Israeli army. Iran's influence in the world has grown larger than ever.

These results are due in part to the amateur geopoliticians of the neoconservative New American Century initiative, and their Washington allies. Israel needed no such friends, nor does George W. Bush, who with their help, on the fifth anniversary of the September 11 attacks, looked more than ever as though he'll finish his term as the most disastrous president in American history.

WIlliam Pfaff

The New York Review of Books

Today I find it hard to relocate the joy button. My sinuses are just one unholy stopped up drain, and it's given me a headache. I hate the way sinus medication makes me feel, so I just have to live with it.

This is also one of those days that I am so disgusted and saddened by the state of the world and the role of my government in making it a worse place that I experience waves of despair and powerlessness. How can it be that we legalized torture two days ago? That's right, this dry drunk president who has never seen a day of combat in his life gets to define what torture is. It's a travesty. Does it even cross their mind that possibly, just possibly, a detainee could be innocent? This is a security apparatus that won't let anyone named Robert Johnson on a plane because there is one Robert Johnson listed on the Terrorist Watch List. Do you think just maybe they might make a mistake here and there?

I'm also have logistical problems with my dogwalker. The place I found her is on the far side of Beverly Hills, and she doesn't have a car. She's spending her life on the bus and it's a problem. ARRRGGHHH!

I am so lucky I get to lay down.

MCO 2006

There are some benefits to having a cold, if you take some time to look at it in perspective. It can make you appreciate what a wonderful and magical, even physically pleasurable thing breathing is. Just breathing. Of course the way to get to this appreciation involves not being able to breathe normally, like from 3-7 am. But after a few hours upright today, my nasal passages are sufficiently clear that I can breathe fairly well. This is wonderful.

Walking is wonderful. Hearing is wonderful. Using your hands is wonderful. Language, the ability to communicate is fan-fucking-tastic. Eating is stunning--how incredibly blessed we are in the developed world to rarely if ever have to experience any hunger? (Isn't it interesting that anorexia--correct me if I'm wrong--is unheard of in a poor country?)

Being warm when it's cold is the bomb. Being cool when it's hot is stupendous. A shower--especially when you need it--is a great thing. Seeing--oh my god, I forgot seeing--put on a blindfold for 20 minutes just in case you need reinforcement on this one.

Reading, reading! How amazing is it that someone figured out these symbols could represent sounds. Taking reading for granted? Try solitary confinement with nothing to read for a week--and no TV. (Been there, done that, NO FUN.) You wanna get super basic? Think about the last time you were stuck in a car and thought your bladder would burst. Not to mention #2. Hooray for indoor plumbing!

Laughter. My personal favorite. You don't find something funny? Keep chanting "A" over and over--I saw this on TV--and you will start laughing in spite of yourself. Dancing around your living room to old disco. Having a living room! A couch to lay on! A BED TO SLEEP ON!

I don't know what's come over me today, but I really really think its helpful, and important, to occasionally remind ourselves that indeed, the best things in life are free. For those of us lucky enough to live how we live (and I know you're one of them because you're reading me on this superb invention called a computer via this marvelous internet), it is definitely true.

Most of all, kindness is free. Affection is free. This is all so painfully obvious as to approach banality. But how often, say, when you're driving, do you say to yourself: "Wow! What a cool thing to drive?!I remember when driving across town gave me an orgasm!" And then you start to enjoy how turning that wheel to the left makes the car go to the left. And isn't it remarkably nice and cooperative of that guy to stop? Of all these people to agree to go everywhere and generally follow the rules to do so? How marvelous is a civic society! Schools! Taxes! ELECTIONS!!!

There are so many people across the planet who cannot exercise any of these perogatives we take so much for granted on a daily basis without difficulty or serious consequences--even death. We can, and need to extend ourselves so that everyone else can. But it's really worth remembering that we can. Spend five minutes thinking about it, and Get Your Joy On.

YAY.

MCO 2006

I wrote a letter to the New York Times, but it didn't get in, so I'm "publishing" it myself. So THERE New York Times (as Stephen Colbert would say.)

To the Editor:

I can't help but notice the convergence of two concerns in recent articles: 1) the depopulation of Russia; 2) the fear of an influx of North Korean refugees into China should that regime falter.

Russia also borders North Korea. As difficult there as conditions are, it's hard to believe any North Korean would prefer continued starvation in a mass gulag to repopulating abandoned villages in a land starved for hard but docile workers--particularly those unravaged by alcoholism and disappointed expectations.

Between Russian oil revenues and the largesse of South Korea unable to absorb a mass influx from their North, even financially this doesn't seem a completely farfetched option.

Marc Olmsted

Once again, only you lucky few are privy to my solutions to all of the world's problems.

Today the doctor told me my cold was just a cold and my prostate may be a tad enlarged. Too much information? That's what I told the doctor.

I spent most of the day editing the narration to my nephew's lastest documentary. Which I was delighted to do, but again, how is it that I perpetually find the time to make someone else's work an immediate priority, while days go by on my own?

I know, I've sung that lament before, and I know the answer. The expectations of others are a powerful motivator, just like a paycheck and deadlines. That's the way human beings work. At least this very human being.

MCO 2006

My decision to leave Gaza here for my trip to Tennessee provided a modest but crucial job as a daily dogwalker to someone in need, and a phone call also led to a place for her to stay, ironically with the same woman who took care of Gaza when I was gone the last time. Most of today is being eaten up by retrieving her from the hotel where she was staying, showing her the ropes with Gaza, and then taking her to her new temporary digs which are being paid for by the dogwalking money. She's also gonna takeover the stagehanding for me. Sometimes it's all about connecting the dots.

"Doubt" was fabulous, Cherry Jones spectacular. Then there was a lovely birthday dinner at my friend Angelo's. I got home in time to walk the dog and watch the last half of "Brother's and Sisters" which I love. All in all a very nice birthday even though I am still miserably congested.

When I woke up from a noon nap, I had that eerie sensation of the way it felt growing up, when you were old enough to stay home alone sick but not sick enough for your mom to take the day off work. It's also a rare gray day, evoking a New York suburban winter circa 1970, with nothing on TV but soaps.

It's actually a bleak feeling all around. Maybe it's the grey day, maye it's the Dayquil, or maybe it's the Day After Syndrome--you know, your birthday may seem like just another day when you're going through it, but secretly you feel just a little special and the day after--not so much.

Oh well, it is Oscar Wilde's birthday.

MCO 2006

A good one from Conan O'Brien. "Bush says we have no plans to invade North Korea. Of course not. We can't invade North Korea. They have weapons of mass destruction."

I know you're expecting some sort of philosophical pearls of wisdom on my birthday, but this cold is kicking my ass. I am going back to bed so I can at least be human for the theater matinee at two and dinner with friends at 7.

I should write a gratitude list, but believe me, I carry it around in my head on a daily basis and it is very very long. Today, #1 is that I'm not celebrating this birthday in prison. The rest you can pretty much guess, including of course friends, family and the incomparable Tony.

MCO 2006

Today is all about having a cold and napping as much as possible.

I did stagehand for The Beastly Bombings last night and will do so again tonight. LAers, go see the show! www.thebeastlybombing.com.

Tomorrow I turn 48.

MCO 2006

I have this awful, brain-numbing cold that is infuriating. I just went through this in late August, right before I went back East, I wasn't due for another one for 8 months. That's my schedule for colds, once every 8 months. How dare this one ignore my schedule?

I get plenty of sleep and eat well, so if there was an element of immune-vulnerability involved, it would probably have to have been all the stress I was experiencing over the prospect of 4 days on the road with the dog, driving alone, to Nashville, and then another 4 days back in a month's time. I finally bit the bullet and did the math, and discovered it would cost me way more than flying. Let's not even talk about all the stress of all that unshared driving on me, the car and the dog.

So I made some decisions, to fly instead and shorten my stay, to be able to afford a dogwalker for Gaza. I'm not crazy about spending less time with Tony, but every decision has its downsides, and overall this one is just more doable, and factors in the reality of my limited resources. For his part, Tony wasn't crazy about the way I made the decision unilaterally, and I guess that wasn't the most diplomatic way for me to proceed.

We talked it through though and everything's okay. I wouldn't say it rose to the level of our "first fight," but even the whisper of disagreement was pretty uncomfortable for me. Luckily Tony knows how to communicate, to listen, and to acknowledge it when you make a valid point. He's a mensch, that one.

Hell, I could have real problems, I could be picking up trash in Baghdad.

http://www.nytimes.com/2006/10/13/world/middleeast/13trash.html?_r=1&th&emc=th&oref=slogin

This cold is sending me right back to bed. Aren't I lucky to be able to do that?

MCO 2006

The photo on the left doesn't really do the scene justice as I saw it around the corner. The windshield looks like it belongs to a motorcycle, the gloves to a rider. Then there was the photo of an angry blonde ripped from a magazine laying right in the center. The tableau just completely evokes the image of some rocker chick throwing out her biker boyfriend, who has yet to come back for his things. (He's probably doing 30 days in County Lock-Up.)

The photo on the right I snapped when I opened the dumpster to throw in a bagful. There was this piece of wood on which defintions for various words were written-Can you make out "re*a*li*ty" there? I guess the writer needed a reminder! I didn't even notice the "girls kick ass" caption until I downloaded the photo.

Yesterday I spoke to my friend Michael in New York, who remains one of lifelong best buds. We can not talk for a year, but when we do pick up again, the rapport is remarkable again, and remarkably intact. It's a long story why, but it's not impossible that he could have an affordable NYC apartment at his disposal in the coming months. He asked me if I would consider moving back if he could offer it to me, and I found myself saying yes, yes, yes. I've been saying how I believe Nashville was part of a larger siren call eastward...could this be what I was sensing? (I can imagine a long distance relationship between NY-Nashvlle far more feasibly than LA-Nashville).

It's a challenge to stay in Life-as-Adventure mode. Fear-of-Change rears its ugly head on a daily basis.

MCO 2006

-FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE-

NEW YORK, NY – October 8, 2006

Necessary Nomad Films is excited to announce the theatrical debut of its latest documentary film, “As the Call, So the Echo,” at the Pioneer Theater in New York City.

The film opens at 7:00 pm on November 1, 2006, and will continue for its weeklong run at 9:00 pm nightly from November 2, 2006 through November 7, 2006.

A special additional screening will be held Saturday, November 4, 2006 at 5:00 pm with director Keir Moreano and his father, Dr. Alex Moreano, who will participate in a Q & A session immediately following the film.

Tickets are available at www.asthecall.com

“As the Call, So the Echo” documents the transformative experience of an American ear, nose, and throat surgeon, Dr. Alex Moreano, during several weeks he spent as a volunteer physician in a Vietnamese hospital in 2003.

Faced with a mass of patients with conditions he has rarely - if ever - encountered,

Dr. Moreano finds himself in a position of responsibility he has never encountered in his home country. “It’s not like these people can seek a second opinion,” he notes in the film. “What do I say if my honest opinion is there is not a damn thing I can do to help this person, that they may have to go home and die?’

Filmmaker and son, Keir Moreano mentions a similar level of pressure he felt while shooting a film about his father. “It’s incredibly unnerving to meet people who are in critical conditions to begin with, but to know that they could be killed on a operating table at the hands of your father was just overwhelming.” Keeping in time with the film’s roots of volunteerism, Keir has pledged to donate a portion of ticket sale proceeds to MEDRIX, the Seattle-based organization that made Dr. Moreano's trip possible.

“As the Call, So the Echo” has received critical acclaim from critics as well as many organizations that work in the field of volunteer medicine. It has been slated to broadcast on PBS next May, and is an official selection at this year’s Black Earth Film Festival.

The film continues to fulfill Necessary Nomad Films' mission of creating films that expose viewers to life outside the United States and to inspire them to donate their time, energies, and expertise to underserved populations across the globe. We hope you will join in spreading this message.

For more information on the film, to inquire about tickets, or to view

the trailer, please visit www.asthecall.com or contact Maria Sandoval

via email at m.sandoval@yahoo.com">sandoval@yahoo.com or via telephone at 646-226-3163

I discovered as many people find the blog by googling images I've posted and saved under a certain name (like "monk" or "nightsky") as by putting in a search string of words like "Jean Harris" and "Rumania." So I doublechecked if you could see a pic of me by googling my name under the images option, and found out the other Marc Olmsted comes up.

SO, I've saved this pic under my name, so the curious can see what the hell I look like and find the blog.

It is, after all, all about me. Me Me Me.

Which rhymes with Tennessee.

MCO 2006

P.S. And thanks again E.D.D.!

Yesterday I cleaned out the rest of my bank account to repair the back brakes on my car. Thank God for manna from Mama on the way, though I forgot all about Columbus Day and no mail. The repair occasioned 2 separate walks from and to the mechanic, trash picker in hand, on a typical Hollywood block, i.e. a horror story of litter mixed in with short pristine stretches--if the once-a-month gardeners hired by an apartment building owner happened to have mowed the lawn and cleaned directly in front of that building in the last few days. If viewed from the sky, the street would look like morse code, dashes and dots of trash with brief little blank spaces in between.

I had that concurrent experience of fury at the very existence of the garbage--evidence of such inconsiderate laziness--and the intense satisfaction of doing something about it, 6 bags worth later. It's just so depressing to know how incredibly temporary the relief is, as this block lies outside of my regular route. But it did yield the above photo--talk about dichotomy, hunh?

True Confession #186: I can be a terrible procrastinator. Why oh why is it easier for me to pick up trash, some days, than pick up the pen? And that damned Google! Any question that comes to you can readily be asked, inevitably leading you to completely unexpected places. In the past day, I've discovered the ranking of the University of Richmond, (34), learned about the career of the actor Marco Hofschneider, and found out some women have orgasms while giving childbirth.

Lest you think I haven't thought of putting all this mastery of trivia to good use, yes, I have auditioned for Jeopardy. True story: They gave us a test, after which the tester came out and announced: "I have some good news and some bad news. The bad news is that nobody passed the test. The good news is that in 20 years of giving Jeopardy tests, never once has it been so hard that not one person passed. We apologize. Please come back another day."

I didn't. I should.

MCO 2006

From Tony:

The only time I make the damn blog anymore is when I'm mentioned in the caption under a picture of some alien, non-green-card-having hustler wearing last year's denim jacket. You are a PUNK!

He passed the test! (Read: fell right into my trap). Of course I immediately told him what happens to "punks" in prison! (Sorry, the specifics are censored, but you can be damn sure the same fate awaits me within hours of my driving into Nashville!)

Here and there I've been hearing stories from people telling me about their long-distance relationships that started via the Internet, and I have to say I am damn lucky. Tony turned out to be every bit as funny, sexy, smart and cocky as he seemed to be, and from what I hear, this is not a common occurence. In fact, it's downright rare. This is why I am refusing to let geography get in the way of further investigation. I've had too many ex-future lovers and not enough future ex-lovers, dammit.

They're filming an episode of "Monk" in my street. I'm not above altering my trash-picking routine just a little to see if it gets noticed. I mean really, what would be a better activity for them to work into a show about a neurotic detective with OCD? (In this case, standing for Off-Camera Distraction, hopefully!) Besides Tony Shalhoub is an old friend of Tennessee Molly, no kidding.

MCO 2006

Last night, the director gave me a T-Shirt for "The Beastly Bombings" that I shall wear proudly today. He invited me to a cast party after the show, but I declined because I just don't do parties anymore. And although each of the cast members thanked me for helping out and certainly enjoyed my very sincere compliments on their wonderful performances, we really don't know each other. There is something that happens in a cast who rehearses, hangs out backstage, and performs together over a period of months. A very intimate chemistry develops, inside references, and running jokes.

Instead, I came home and walked the dog and hit the sack, grateful this morning not to have woken up hungover wondering who I came on to the night before (the guy who plays Jesus would have been a very likely candidate--ai yai yai!).

I read the first part The Trash Whisperer to my philistine roommate, who didn't get it at ALL. Thank God I sent in to my sister, who thought it was "brilliant." NOTE TO SELF: Make sure whoever you're showing it to isn't expecting a Chris Rock/Ellen de Generes Laff Riot instead of a meditation on the secret life of inanimate objects.

MCO 2006

This is a photo I took at the opening of a boutique. Xin, on Melrose and Crescent Heights at which the designs of my friend Sheryl can be found. One of her creations is this denim jacket, and it is the only reason I took the photo. It has nothing to do with the man wearing it, who just happens to be named Maurizio. I didn't even notice him, or his six-pack abs and charming Brazilian accent.

I am not testing to see if Tony reads the blog by posting the picture of a gorgeous man! How dare you accuse me of such blatant manipulation! I'm not like that! I'm just trying to support my friend Sheryl!

I did my first night of stagehanding last night. It was fun, fairly uneventful, except for a late entrance by some actors in the second act, but that had nothing to do with me. I'll be doing it again tonight, and staying late to break down the set.

MCO 2006

I actually always thought that the expression "ducks in a row" referred to a mother duck being followed by her little ducklings, but this picture I took at Echo Park Lake would imply that the adults line up too. I thought it a tad startling, but certainly reminded me of the tasks at hand in my own life, as my road trip to Nashville involves, indeed, my getting ducks in a row.

I was honest with my mother about the free-floating anxiety my tight budget for the trip provoked, but initially refused more of her help. Then she called me back several hours later, and had clearly imported and internalized my anxiety, so that we were both tormented by nightmarish visions of me sleeping in my broken down car by a rest-stop somewhere near Oklahoma City, as dog-hating gaybashers from a radical right-wing Christian supremacist cult surrounded the car chanting "Kill the Fag! Kill the Fag!" (Okay, the elaboration is mine, but I know my mother, and we both think fundamentally the same way).

Obviously, when your mother is framing a gift or a loan as a something you need to accept so she can get to sleep that night, it makes it very easy to say yes. But wth the relief it brought, it also churned up feelings of guilt and doubt. Did I actually manipulate the money out of her, under the guise of being honest about what was going on with me? Should I have just told her everything was okay and continue pursuing other avenues to raise the necessary cushion? Should I just have given up on the whole idea as unrealistic? I am so uncomfortably aware of my history--any recovering drug addict who's tried to leave old behavior behind will understand.

What I decided was the obligation, if any, this put me under, is to take the finishing of the play very very seriously. If it's good--and I think it really is--and I perform it as hoped and it is well-received (or even if it isn't but I give it my all) then I will have honored her support by making full use of my talents. And if that project leads to additional income, that will be great; if not, it'll be time once and for all for me to get a job.

So, pursuant to that, I've been writing 5-10 minutes worth of the play a day, and I think I will indeed have a first draft ready by the time I leave for Tennessee in a few weeks. And it feels really good. I've had all these thoughts over the years about what drug addiction was and meant in my life, and in my not so humble opinion, some of my observations are pretty damn insightful and original. (The first act is all about picking up trash and dealing drugs, the second act will mostly be about prison and getting sober.)

I gotta run, as I have a lot to do today and not so much time to do it. I'm due for stagehand apprenticeship for "The Beastly Bombing" today at 4, and then the real thing tonight at 8, and plenty to do before. At least my anxiety level about my trip has been reduced considerably. It's back under the Big Adventure slot, simply because there is room for the bumps that will inevitably crop up along the way.

Thanks Mom. (Thank God she told me out of her 5 births, mine was the best. Not because of me, simply because that one time the doctors respected her wishes and didn't force drugs on her, as was the usual practice of the day.)

MCO 2006

This is the kind of trash that maddens me. This sorry excuse for a flyer was under every windshield in the neighborhood. Can you imagine anyone sending $5 to this con man for product he just made up? Of course every single person tosses the piece of paper from their windshield onto the street, where yours truly has to pick it up.

Although an elderly Armenian man did say "Bravo!" from across the street this morning, raising his cane in salute. That made me feel pretty good.

MCO 2006

Last night I took the roommate to see Beehive, the 60s musical, for his birthday. It was a blast. Five very very talented actresses, all with wonderful voices, dancing and singing the best music of the female vocalists of that decade, from the Girl Groups through to Janis Joplin. Of the very strong ensemble though, one to me stood out, a young woman by the name of Lesli Margherita. She has a comic flair and talent for mimicry that gave her a star quality. I'm noting it here because it'll be interesting to see in a few years if I spotted a future star early on. Plus, she might google herself one day, read this entry, and want to be my best friend.

Like Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie might want to be in a movie I write because of a conversation we didn't have in the park when I didn't see them incognito with their kids, just yesterday. It didn't go like this:

Brad: Excuse me, are you doing that for the city?

Me: No, on my own. I just hate trash.

Brad: Wow, that's really cool of you. Maddox, play nice! Honey, we oughta get us one of these. (points to my trashpicker)

Angelina: Yeah where can you buy one?

Me: Osh or Home Depot. But really, don't you already have all the attention you can handle?

(Brad smiles sheepishly. I sense that he appreciates how I acknowledge their celebrity indirectly).

Brad: I guess you're right.

Me: So, tell me, are you really gonna live in Paris? Do you guys need a French Tutor for the kids? A nanny maybe?

Angelina: Actually I speak French and so does the Nanny, but thanks for the offer.

Me: Actually, what I really want to do is pitch my screenplay, but I swear it'll take less than 10 seconds, and I swear you'll like it.

(Brad kind of rolls his eyes, but smiles "O.K.", realizing that he brought this on himself by talking to me first.)

Me: It's a stalker movie with a twist. The celebrity is the stalker. She's completely obsessed with a non-descript average joe cabdriver who's not interested at all. But of course no one will believe him!

(Angelina laughs out loud).

Angelina: You know, that is actually pretty funny.

Brad: Really...we could both be in it couldn't we?

Me: I actually thought you were great in Mr. and Mrs. Smith--and I didn't think I'd like it , to be honest.

(Brad pulls out a card).

Brad: This is my agent. Call his office and tell Rita you have a script for {he gives me a name} That's our little code so she knows I want to read it. She'll tell you where to send it.

Me: Gee thanks. I have some polishing to do, but I should have it there in week or two.

Just then, up Ferndell cruises a Blue Ford Explorer.

Brad: Anj! (Brad gestures. It's the dreaded paparazzi.)

Angie: Les enfants! On y va!

Brad: (scooping up Maddox) We have to go. Send me that script. Oh, what's your name?

Me: Marc, Marc Olmsted. I obviously know who you are.

They clearly have this evacuation drill down fast, because they got the kids in the back of a Lexus SUV in no time flat. I decide here's my chance to seal the deal.

Me: Go! I'll stall him!

The Ford Explorer has turned around. As the Jolie-Pitts pull out, I simply stand in the middle of the road, conveniently plucking some fast food wrappers from the yellow line. The Explorer is forced to stop, the loudmouth paparazzo leans out of his window.

L.M.P.: Hey!

I take my time, smile, get oh-so-conveniently tangled up in Gaza's leash, then finally move aside. By the time he speeds past me, I think--I hope--his prey has gotten away.

Now, don't bother me. I have a screenplay to write. Or not.

MCO 2006

I need to inject some perspective into this Foley scandal.

There is a HUGE difference between a 16 or 17-year old and a pre-pubescent kid. One is a young adult, one is a child. Trying to flirt with, pick up or molest an 11-year old is pedophilia. Being attracted to a young person--male or female--who would have been considered a marriageable adult up until releatively recently in human history, is not pedophilia. It may be inappropriate, an abuse of power, even illegal, but in and of itself it is not "disgusting." And for a young man who happens to be straight, to be the object of unwanted attention from an older man might be annoying, but hardly traumatic. For a young man who happens to be gay, it could very well be flattering and completely mutual. God knows at 17 I was in they gay bars of New York City, picking up older men left and right. It may have not been the greatest idea for many reasons, but it did not scar me for life and none of those men deserved to go to jail for it. I may have not been of age, but I was no child.

If I was 16 or 17 now, in the age of the Internet, I'm sure I'd be having sex on line left and right. It would be much better if I could date guys my own age I could meet in high school, just like straight kids do. (No one thinks it's "sick" that they are terribly horny or wanting to fall in love.) Even with how much things have changed, I doubt there are many high schools where this is still a viable option for a gay student. So they don't get to flirt and experiment like all of their straight peers?

There is plenty of reason to believe that some of these "teens" were not at all upset with Foley's interest, and returned it. Some of the IMs even indicate this. This does not make the prospect of acting on it a good idea, for the age difference alone. But it is fundamentally no harder to understand than Clinton and Monica Lewinsky. All this throwing up of the hands at these poor victimized teens at the mercy of a predator just because he sent some sexual emails is a load of crap. Especially from pundits that think nothing of these same teens spending hours at video games mock-murdering people, or going into the marines and murdering them for real. THAT'S SICK.

That said, I am delighted that Foley was a conservative Republican because I think the hypocrisy of his moral grandstanding not only deserved to be exposed but is completely typical of the disconnect between what many of the right-wingers profess to believe and how the operate for real in their own lives. At the same time, I feel sorry for any man whose internalized homophobia has caused such wreckage. But he is a victim as well, just as McGreevey was. Both only listened to what society told them about being gay. At least the result of Foley's folly might be a return to a Democratic Congress--YAY!

Complete change of subject. I am in ferment. I'm very uncomfortable with the budget I have for my trip to Tennessee. It's just not enough, and it makes me nervous as hell, and I don't know what to do about it. I can't keep going to the Mommy trough--I'm almost 48 for crying out loud.

The irony is that if I had the money because of I had a job, I would not very likely be able to even contemplate the trip, and be consigned to the purgatory of a long-distance relationship.

This country is too damn big.

MCO 2006

Sometimes I just have these chunks of time I pass hypercreatively. Last night I played on Photoshop for an hour, and produced the above. It's something I do when I notice that my art folders are bulging with pix and scans, and I let serendipity be my guide. There's little intent behind each element I lay in, but what it ended up being is a bit like a snapshot of a dream, isn't it?

I followed that up with a few hours of sustained writing, adding about 10 very interesting minutes to the play all about the nature of temporary insanity. Speaking of plays, I also got an email from the stage manager of The Beastly Bombings, taking me up on my offer to volunteer stagehand. I'll be doing it for the next two weekends, before I leave for Nashville. How cool is that? I get to meet the cast and the director and composer and maybe even make some new friends. Hell, maybe I'll help bring the show to Nashville.

Speaking of Nashville, my boyfriend is such a catch. He has this way of mock barking at me "Get over here!" that is that perfect combo of playful and urgent, tender and tough. I miss him bad. I'm a little nervous about the drive out there, as it looks like Molly may not be driving out with me after all. Logistics have always made me nervous. They always will, I'm afraid.

MCO 2006

I didn't mention that the Steve Allen Theater where I saw The Beastly Bombings is in a place called the Center for Inquiry, which is basically a Think Tank for secular humanists.

Their mission statement reads, in part: The Center is also interested in providing rational ethical alternatives to the reigning paranormal and religious systems of belief, and in developing communities where like-minded individuals can meet and share experiences. More specifically, according to what I read at the bottom of mailing list form, was a sentence ending "...without resorting to be