June 2007 Archives

Here's the latest on Molly for a friend at the scene:

\\It's very positive news.

According to the surgeon - it couldn't have gone better.

It was Stage 3 cancer. It was contained. They think they removed it all.

Pathology reports are supposed to come in on Tuesday to confirm.

That's it for now. As we know more, we'll keep everyone informed.

In the meantime we'll continue to send our prayers & love Molly's way...\\

-----------------------------------------------------------

Last night I went to the cast party of The Beastly Bombing--this being their final weekend in LA after a year's run. This is how this alcoholic ingeniously found something to do that would allow him to talk and catch up with everybody without focusing on how much easier such flitting about it would be with some champagne down the gullet.

I took a program (that I was still on!) and I went to all the company players--on and offstage both-- and asked them to sign it.

Who doesn't love being asked for an autograph? And one of them could very well end up a big star--Lord knows there's not a one of them who isn't dripping with talent.

It's funny, being known as a stagehand (at least to the actors--the director knows otherwise from the blog.) Even if they sensed a fair amount of backstory with me, I was in a supporting role, so to speak. Not being the center of attention, or even trying to be, was a good experience for me. Everyone does NOT have to know what your story is. It's perfectly okay to be pointing the spotlight instead of its focus.

The show is off to NY for the Musical Theater Festival in October. All you Gothamites, keep your eyes peeled, and go see it! And don't hesitate to invest!

MCO 2007

The left I took--you guessed it--picking up trash in the park. The right I took on the roof of the parking lot of the Arclight cinema, after seeing "Mildred Pierce." I waved my camera phone over the night skyline.

Something about these two pictures just made me think of the difference between the way it was and the way it is.

MCO 2007

I'm asked to spread the word that "Steven Todd" is the name he uses for all things literary.

http://prisonsabitch.blogspot.com/

MCO 2007

P.S. Even if you don't have the time/interest to read it, I'd love for you to click on it, just so that is traffic stats reflect the visit. You have no idea the pleasure you get inside when you see good numbers! I remember when I hit 24! And then 40! And then 80!

This came from the woman, Lannie Garrett (a amazing person and fabulous entertainer, by the way) who introduced my friend Molly 17 years ago.

\\Dear Friend of Molly Secours,

My names is Lannie Garrett, I am one of Molly's best/oldest friends. I live in Denver--you can reach me at http://www.lannie.com if you are wary or want to check me out.

Here's the deal:

Seems our dear friend has had some trials these last few months--ending in a diagnosis of uterine cancer...

She's been unable to carry her full work load and fell behind in her mortgage payments and bills.

She is going into the hospital on Friday June 29th for surgery, and she may be facing a harrowing round of radiation and/or chemo--maybe not (hope!) In any case, she will most likely need a recovery time of from 4 to 6 weeks.

She called me desperate... She can't work so, she's very concerned about losing her house. I assured her that with all the folks who love her, there was a simple answer to her dilemma...

We could contribute a little bit of moolah to help ease her stress and help ensure her unstressed, speedy recovery.

She's embarrassed by all this, but I insisted that her friends would be happy to rally--So here I am to ask if you might dip in your pocket a bit and help Mol' out.

Please send a wee itty bit or a chunk to:

Molly Secours

P.O. Box 68534

Nashville, TN 37206

Or anonymously:

Molly Secours Benefit Fund

AmSouth Music-1600 Division #100

Nashville, TN. 37203

Sincerely, Lannie Garrett\\

Most of you are on a budget--of that I am pretty sure. And the few of you who aren't scrambling too badly to make it have, I'm sure, many charities and good causes that you give to generously. I can't say I have any good reason that you should help this total stranger more than the total strangers you already help, but I do have this blog, and it can't hurt to ask. Just so you know, Molly is a speaker/writer/activist who speaks on race relations and made the documentary (among others) that I plugged a month ago about the innocent death row prisoner who was executed. http://www.mollysecours.com/ She is, by any measure, deserving.

How could I not love a woman who writes this letter?

\\Dearest ones,

there are barely words for what i want to express. it is 10 pm and my sister anne and i have been moving at quite a pace most of the day preparing for the surgery tomorrow and as i have just popped two pain pills, sleep is nearby, and so this will be brief.

the last several days have been surreal, terrifying, edifying and filled with irony, clarity and a bittersweet joy that i have never known. each one of you has stepped up to meet me in a place i never expected to be and reflected back the kind of love that i only hoped i might ever experience. and i mean this, EVERY ONE of you.

in less than 48 hours i've come to understand that what has transpired is not 'wrong' or a mistake, punishment or unfair. it just is. and if it were only just to experience the love that overwhelms me as i write this, that would be enough. but there is more, much more that i couldn't even begin to grasp at this time. it is so clear that this is not just about me--imagine how shocking that must be (: --but it is about all of us. how each one of us is touched and moved and affected by friendship and love and what it means to be in each others lives--especially when it feels as though the

walls around us are crumbling.

i could go on and on but the buzz is descending and i fear that i might be tempted to wax eloquent rather than just utter what is closest to my heart.

so thank you for being there without question without hesitation or condition. thank you for rallying around me at a time when i have felt the most vulnerable. thank you for crying with me, sharing your fear and your hope and laughing til it hurts at the bizarre-ness of this wild ride of a life we all somehow managed to wangle a ticket for.

I know I will be in your hearts tomorrow but please know you too, are tucked away in mine. and as I fall asleep tomorrow it is because of your love that i am able to surrender peacefully to what is next. please know that.

Molly\\

MCO 2007

MCO 2007

The dispute I had with the person responsible for hiring me for one of my editing projects was pretty upsetting. Even though I felt absolutely clear that I had done nothing wrong, I was unable to keep the correspondence from degenerating into personal attacks. This is because I have a history with the person. When he was my boss 10 years ago, he exhibited exactly the same maladroit management skills that made my job there twice a difficult as it needed to be. I was not only my own secretary in a very understaffed office, but I often had to play his. This doesn't even begin to convey the frustration of having to manage a superior whose desk was perpetually piled high several inches thick with paper within two days of a morning I would spend clearing and organizing it so that we could once, just once, get the magazine out on time. (We never did, resulting in egregious penalties from the printer, which pretty much cost him my boss his job. I left when an outsider--as was tradition--was brought in to replace him. I was not going to spend another year make $20,000 and working harder than a first-year law firm associate.)

Anyway, all the pent-up resentment from that year came flooding back during our recent brouhaha, as I realized that in the intervening decade, nothing had changed, and I had to insist on getting paid now, instead of a some vague undetermined day down the road. Unpleasant things were said when, pressed, I finally unloaded what I actually thought of his competence as an administrator.

I don't like being angry with anyone, even righteously, and I certainly do not relish hurting anyone's feelings, even if I think it's the truth thats hurting them more than me. So I spent some time thinking about the positive aspects of our relationship, and I remembered that I would never have had that job if he hadn't taken a chance on me, and even though I felt unfairly burdened doing my job as well as much of his at half the salary, I also had tremendous leeway in making editorial decisions, and every issue had my fingers all over it. I would pen two and sometimes three articles as well as edit them all, and for a year I was on the masthead and could tell people I was a magazine editor. That was pretty cool, and I do actually have him to thank for that.

So I went back and looked at some of the articles, with never made it onto the internet (it was 1997-8). I'll be posting some from time to time, partially because I don't want them lost to the dustbin of history, but also to acknowledge the debt of gratitude I owe this person, even though his addiction to chaos makes him absolutely maddening to work for.

This one, I think, is pretty funny. Enjoy.

"Blow the Bone" at http://prisonsabitch.blogspot.com/

My mother's best friend--a shadow mother to the Olmsteds for years--is having a very difficult time with her first round of chemo for colon cancer. Not that anyone has an easy time with chemo--I've never heard of anything but it being real hell. Which of course, my mother tries to alleviate via empathy and worry. Which of course, just results in two miserable people instead of one.

Then last night I get a call from my very dear friend Molly, in Tennessee, reporting that some female troubles she went in the hospital for ended up revealing uterine cancer. She going in Friday for surgery and a determination of how extensive it is.

These two unpleasant bits of news bookended a truly gruesome exchange of emails with the person responsible for getting me paid for one of the writing jobs I did last month. As of this morning, a check was deposited in my account and a professional relationship that probably should never have been revived has ended. As tedious as it's been dealing with someone who is, how shall I put this, administratively challenged, I don't regret it. Not only because I desperately need the money--especially now so I can help Molly out--but because I was reminded of some valuable lessons. ALWAYS GET A WRITER'S AGREEMENT/CONTRACT. I had no business proceeding without one and I have to own that. I also am far less likely to ignore my inner instinct, the one that tell me this person has changed and this person has not. That sense of people is almost never wrong. I need to trust it.

This extremely stressful day occurred against the backdrop of my brother's birthday, as you know, which engendered so many other contemplations. Of mortality, of the unfairness of disease. I suppose having survived AIDS but lost scores of friends, not to mention my brother, I feel like my quota has been filled, thank you very much. I am not happy with the cancer business, not one bit. I am pissed, actually.

Enough is enough, illness and death. And poverty too. You all suck, big time.

MCO 2007

My brother would have been 51 today. Rather than write a self-centered entry on how his death affected me, I decided to find the eulogy I wrote for him right after he died. It's the closest thing I can thing of to bring him alive again, for a least a little while, in the minds of you readers.

He would have LOVED the Internet. Man, LOVED it. (In fact he predicted it, back in 1990!)

In fact, it's entirely possible he's reading this from wherever, so I better say Hi, Luke. (I've already apologized to him in private for all I did with his identity. This is HIS day, I'm gonna keep the focus on him.)

MCO 2007

MCO 2007

WHITE HOUSE TO BUILD FENCE AROUND CHENEY

The Bush Administration proposed today to build a 1.2 billion dollar border fence around Vice-President Dick Cheney. “It’s too important that no classified information held by the Vice-President ever comes too light,” argued Dana Perino, White House spokeswoman. Pressed on details, Perino said specific designs were still being debated. Fueled by Rush Limbaugh, rumors swirled that a special entrance for gay daughters and their babies would compromise the “airtight” security. Cheney’s attorney, however, was quoted off the record as claiming that “lesbians are not considered part of the executive branch, last time we checked.”

(Reported by www.marcolmsted.com/blog Copyright 2007)

MCO 2007

NOTE: ON JULY 4th, this from comic ANDY BOROWITZ.. (His fake press release inspired the above stylistically, but I made this particular joke first!)

Winner Of The First-Ever National Press Club Award For Humor July 2, 2007

Breaking News

Cheney Declares Himself National Monument

Latest Attempt to Dodge Subpoena

In a bold new strategy to avoid a congressional subpoena, Vice President Dick Cheney today declared himself a national monument.

Mr. Cheney took the unorthodox step only after failing in his attempt to invoke a little-known legal principle called the separation of Cheney and state.

Aides to Mr. Cheney confirmed that being a national monument gives the vice president not only immunity from subpoenas, but also a draft deferment in perpetuity.

President George W. Bush presided over a solemn White House ceremony this morning in which a plaque documenting Mr. Cheney’s status as a national monument was affixed to the vice president’s midsection.

Joining the ranks of the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial, Mr. Cheney is believed to be the only landmark in the nation’s capital not made at least partially out of marble.

But even as his attempt to evade a subpoena appeared to have succeeded, the vice president’s new status as a national monument created unexpected problems, as Independence Day tourists lined up around the block to get a glimpse of Washington’s latest historic attraction.

Perhaps in an effort to control the crowds, Mr. Cheney announced today that the admission price for seeing him would be set at $75,000.

White House spokesman Tony Snow defended the $75,000 price tag, saying that it was an appropriate price to see a national monument of Dick Cheney’s stature.

“Seventy-five thousand dollars is what it costs to see Dick Cheney,” Mr. Snow said. “Just ask any lobbyist.”

Elsewhere, Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff said that everyone in the U.S. should go about their normal activities, “except you terrorists.”

Andy in Seattle Labor Day Weekend

The Borowitz Report: Waste Someone's Time: Forward to a Friend.

Well, on Craig's List I found a listing for a missing Maltese, and the "Dad" came by to see and helas, "Sunset " (my name) was not the missing "Rocco." But this nice man clearly was taken by the little guy, and agreed to take care of the dog while I searched for the real parents. So I'm still gonna go back to where I found him and put up posters.

Meanwhile there's a new post from Steven at www.prisonsabitch.blogspot.com

And I discovered this rad site that coordinate blogging prisoners and people who are willing to faciliate their blogs. Seems like my sister wasn't the very first one to think of it! Some of the blogs are quite good, please patronize the site if you are interested, and spread the word.

http://prisonblogs.net/drupal/

I'm off to play Pet Detective.

MCO 2007

Well, I find this cute little thing in TRAFFIC on Sunset Blvd. this morning. I jumped out the car and chased it around like a madman--I was VERY lucky.

I'm gonna go back to put up this poster now. I guess that's what the universe intended, cause the other do-gooders chasing him couldn't get him!

MCO 2007

P.S. I realize google-wise the text wouldn't show up in the picture, in case the owners actually try to find him this way, so:

Found, White Maltese on Sunset in Sliverlake Monday Morning June 25th

This is going to be short, cause I got things to do.

This morning I removed over 55 "Amigo Seguros" flyers from the windshields of neighborhood cars. Because, if I didn't, they would have all ended up like the center photo. When I encountered the poor schlub who had just finished placing them all, I had to remind myself he was just doing his job, and told him it was nothing personal, but get out of the hood. (Okay, so this is deja vu for anyone who's read this blog for a while. So sue me, I'm getting repetitive. Trash is my life.)

I did get a kick out of the flyer on the right, i.e the help in finding a "sole" mate. At first, one thinks of a rather fish-faced spouse, but I suppose if one thinks in terms of "only," it's not such a bad typo. Funnier is the "97%" accurate, right there at the bottom.

I am tempted to walk in and ask "Genna" for documentation proving this statistic. Is she sure it's not 96%? 98%? What is the 3% she's a generally wrong about? Can we safely ignore, for example, any predictions about next years hemlines? The likelihood of Hamas prevailing over Fatah? Whether or not Fred Thompson will run for President?

Inquiring minds wanna know.

MCO 2007

The only person you should ever compete with is yourself. You can't hope for a fairer match. -Todd Ruthman

I took this picture at the lake in Echo Park, taking inspiration from this "hareless" turtle. He had tried to get up this steep concrete wall, and then just decided to keep swimming until he found a less difficult route to the shore. He seemed like the perfect embodiment of this quote. Does he care about how the other turtles are doing it? No!

If I compare myself to myself, I'm doing fine. If I compare myself to Dan Futterman (A Mighty Heart, Screenwriter of Capote), Paddy Chayevsky (Screenwriter of "Network"), David Sedaris, or Somerset Maugham, I feel hopelessly inadequate. Compare and despair as they say. I'm happy to say, I don't do that too often. What I do tend to do is compare myself with who I feel I should have been, or rather where I think I should have been by now in this life.

Good luck with not doing that, eh? I read enough blogs to know we almost all spend time in that taxi. Especially recovering addicts, who tend to feel the "lost" years more acutely. At the same time, those years are indispensable to who we are now, and the experience, strength, and hope garnered from all that experience is indispensable to helping others stay sober on a daily basis. And about 700 people a day from around the world seem to be intrigued enough to keep tuning into this blog. When I do "magical math" and count you all as separate individuals, I'm read by tens of thousands a year. (Do you do that too, other bloggers? Don't answer that! I'm not competing with you!)

I'm afraid I'll never achieve the complete serenity of this turtle, as I would know damn well when a stranger was taking my photo. Let's face it--Meryl Streep as Miranda Priestly was right in "The Devil Wears Prada." She turns to her assistant in the cab, having just flashed a bored and worldly smile to the paparazzi seconds before, and intones, "Everyone wants to live this way."

Of course, once you make yourself vulnerable and open to change, to success, to fame, to fortune, once you put yourself really out there, engaged in the world, good luck withdrawing back into your shell.

And now, I think I've flogged the turtle analogy enough to death.

MCO 2007

Q. Why is this birdcage beautiful?

A. Because it's empty.

Isn't that a nice thought? (I had what I call a "Maya Angelou Moment.")

That's the kind of morning it's been. I've been finding grace everywhere, and it's been finding me. In fact, right after I took this photo, I found two bags of children's books, right in front of a dumpster.

I thought, how sad is that, when there are so many kids from disadvantaged homes who have few if no books to read. So I put the bags in the trunk of my car, and on the way back from my morning meeting, I just kept my eyes open.

Even I was surprised at how quickly the planets aligned. I almost immediately spied a group of three women wearing the same shirts walking a huge, six-child stroller. I pulled over, jumped out, and asked if they were from a pre-school or day care center. Indeed, they were from the "Salvation Army-Alegria Center," and sure enough, they thought the books would be a very nice addition to their little library.

So I did a U-turn, found the center a few blocks away, and left the books with a very thankful receptionist.

Boy it felt good. Now all I have to do is cure the refugee problem in Iraq, Afghanistan, the Congo and Sudan, and my work will be finished. (Unfortunately, Anderson Cooper doesn't seem to be interested in interviewing me just quite yet. No points for good intentions, I guess.)

MCO 2007

P.S. My friend Chris has this extremely amusing feature on his blog, Random Journal, called Mugshot Monday. Check it out.

http://jormo.blogspot.com/2007/06/mug-shot-monday-june-18-2007.html#links

at

www.prisonsabitch.blogspot.com

Slamdance

So three days ago, I'm doing my trash thing in Elysian Park, and I pick up--for the third time in three weeks-- an almost full pack of cigarettes. I think, great, another chance to help my smoker friend Craig out, who's sort of struggling to make it to his first paycheck. (No indignant comments about facilitating a toxic habit. Trust me on this: quitting smoking in your first year of sobriety is a really dangerous idea. And I've saved him $15.)

Anyway, he thanked me and put this pack aside until he finished his usual brand. Then he calls me last night. "Dude, guess what I found in the pack of cigarettes you gave me." Of course, good alcoholic/addict I am, I knew immediately it had to be a glassine envelope of something white and illegal.

(It was. Of course he immediately threw it out.)

Holy frigging heart attack. Craig is on parole. If he'd been pulled over for whatever reason, that parolee status alone would have made a search more likely than not. And a drug find would mean a return to the slammer.

So of course I have spent the last 12 hours in nightmare/fantasy court, pleading from the stand to the judge: "But it was my FAULT! I found the cigarettes! You see, I pick up TRASH! There are blog entries to prove it! I can get neighbors to testify! IN ARMENIAN!" And then I hear the judge saying, "aha! So the cocaine was yours!" and sending ME to the slammer.

It's pretty funny, I guess, but my stomach hasn't been laughing. It's been churning.

It didn't help matters when this morning an email from my sister tells me she poked herself just below the eye while gardening. Twenty stitches! She could have so easily hit higher and blinded herself!

eyelid_stichesemail

Suddenly the world that has felt fairly friendly of late seems a terribly dangerous place, of disasters lurking around every corner and barely averted, if at all. I'm telling you, if Craig had gone back to prison because of my trashpicking, I would have not only lost all faith in God, but decided Satan is master of the universe and started worshipping him. I'm not even kidding.

This bothers me. Is my faith in God purely condtional, to be withdrawn if I don't like the way things turn out?

I live this daily contradiction of thinking intellectually like an atheist and yet completely advocating living along spiritual lines as the only sane way to go. In this ambivalence, I know I am not alone. But there are days when it seems harder to live the contradiction than others.

I have to remember that experience is all about contrast. If nothing bad ever happened, we wouldn't recognize the good. We would live on a plateau of blandness, a treeless plain of fairly bountiful harvests and existential ennui. All starch and no spice. Craft and no art.

It's okay to suffer from some "agitivity."

The fact is, nothing bad actually happened. I am okay. Craig is okay. My sister is okay. If I dwell too long in the "what if," I could be there all day. I've got things to do.

MCO 2007

Okay, if you know anyone who has any doubts lefts as to what we should do about climate change--especially any of those who still wonder if it's even real--please watch this video and then send it to them.

http://www.break.com/index/tough-to-argue.html

MCO 2007

So this morning I find a lipstick labeled "Fairy," and I opened it up because I was curious to see what color would inspire such a name. I started to think about all of the billions of finished lipsticks that lie at the bottoms of landfills, with several millimeters of stick left inaccessible that are never recycled. All that unused color, never to be applied, never to beautify. I could hardly call myself a poet if I left that inspiration unexplored, now could I?

Still, it's a frothy wisp of a poem. With some real work, I could spin quite an epic ode, (there are so much ammo in color names alone) but I really have to exercise some self-discipline when it comes to how much time I spend doing what creatively. Your amusement is of great importance to me, but I've GOT to keep going on projects that will result in pay and/or publish, and/or being of service.

Shades

Where does lipstick go?

When it dips below the line?

To where does Hot Kiss flow?

Does Scarlett stay Divine?

How can Watermelon languish?

In the dregs of a dump?

Do Electric Lips go unkissed?

Is Sumptuous no longer Sump?

I sing the song

Of lipsticks gone

Lost palettes I lament.

The question hangs

Like errant bangs

Was beauty bought or rent?

MCO 2007

P.S. J. called me this morning, before going home. It was all about him, of course, but suddenly it seemed quite harmless. I listened, gave my best advice, and then said I had to get back to what I was doing. A nice enough conversation, and no need for me to vent, really. I can set some honest boundaries if necessary in the future.

"Restraint of pen and tongue" (if not blog) turned out to be a wise rule to follow.

So I got a call from "Semaj," but I let it go to voicemail. He thanked me for my hospitality and threw in a few playful insults--evidently quite clueless that I am no longer remotely charmed. I am not quite sure what to do. Do I call someone on their bad behavior when no actual harm was done to me and they choose to live in a pleasant enough state of denial? I don't know. In AA we learn to keep our side of the street clean and let God handle everything else. It's not really my place to take his inventory. Though it's not really my style to duck phone calls, either.

Not to mention sometimes God works through you. Sometimes positive change happens because you simply tell the truth as you see it. It's a dicey thing--it's so easy to be misperceived as coming from a place of fingerwagging or moralizing. As if I would ever or could ever have a leg to stand on in those departments.

For example, there's a friend who's gone AWOL from his sober routine, and some of us are quite concerned about him. Normally, I'm very much the type who believes someone who chooses to re-use needs to be given the space to find out for himself that it doesn't work anymore. Most of the time they come to that conclusion pretty fast without prompting from me or anyone else--especially with meth. But sometimes the twin demons of shame and pride will construct a wall of fear. The relapser projects the judgment they have for themselves onto everyone that cares about them. This can literally be deadly if they don't get help again.

I think that might be the case with this person. So for the first time ever, I am going to show up, unasked, (with another concerned friend), to let this person know there is only unconditional love and understanding for him over here.

MCO 2007

P.S. By the way, I finally got my printer cartridges. Through nothing more miraculous intervention than asking my Mom for some help. Although what could be more miraculous that having a Mom like mine?

So I found this note in Armenian while putting (P.U.T = Picking Up Trash), and I thought I'd hazard an imagined translation. Maybe the creative exercise will spawn imitators, like it did with "Nine Lives."

\\Dear Semaj:

A few months ago when you finally "found" me, supposedly after years of trying, I was so happy. I'd thought you were dead, frankly. In fact, that was the first time you evn tried to find me, I was the one who'd looked for you fruitlessly over the years. It only occurred to you to revive our "friendship," when you knew you were coming to Los Angeles to meet one of the men you met on DaddyHunt. You figured it would be great to have a free place to crash in case that relationship audition didn't pan out, or even if it did, to take a few days off for a sex-spree while pretending to him you were just catching up with me. God forbid you should only be with the man you came to L.A. to see, or actually spend some time with the "friend" you haven't seen in ten years. What you did, basically, was use me, parlaying a brief history we shared years ago into several hundred dollars savings on a hotel room.

I actually have to thank you: it was good to have a brief snapshot of the insanity, the compulsive behavior, the prioritizing of the pursuit of gratification over the ethical and honest treatment of people who you supposedly care for.

Trust me, I'm not hurt--I would have to take it personally for that. This was about you, not me. Although it did remind me of me--20 years ago. I told myself I was the perfect houseguest too--drop my bag off and disappear--I even got a trip to the airport out of it a few times!\\

Any one else care to imagine a translation?

MCO 2007

This is the masthead from the Pride 07 magazine that I consult edited last month--with my name enlarged via photoshop.

This is the paragraph that came from my pen in an article on gays and racism:

The simple reality is that Gays live in the same society as everybody else, and while the adjective of “racist” doesn’t always apply, it certainly does more often than “colorblind.” We are as vulnerable as anyone else to seeing race first and the individual second. We may attach various degrees of importance to the color we see or accent we hear, but most of us are no where near apprising the human being first and everything else—including sexual orientation—after.

Interestingly enough, yesterday I went to a "Black and White" party, in Santa Monica. It was FA-BU-LOUS. Let me tell you, themes can be just what party needs. The hostess gave Truman Capote a run for his money.

MCO 2007

On top is a partial view of from the fabulous Hollywood Hills home where I spent the early afternoon yesterday, visiting my friend J., who in turn was visiting his "friend" (read potential new boyfriend) B.

That's B's dog, Zoe, auditioning for Stupid Pet Tricks, evidently.

J.is visiting me now, although he hasn't been here since he met someone on line last night. The good news is that my initial heart-flutters at having been reunited with someone with whom I was in love with 10 years ago did not last long, in fact that dissipated over a series of IMs over the past 2 months in which it was clear the gap between what we cared and thought about has grown into a chasm.

He doesn't read the blog, so I am free to say anything, but I don't need to say much. Sometimes a friend grows into a stranger, or rather, doesn't seem to grow at all, and you become the stranger.

MCO 2007

These loose ladies (or loose lady I guess) donned different months of a calendar from 1999 that never made it quite into the trash can across the street,

There's something special about found art, isn't there?

MCO 2007

P.S. Isn't "The Lounging Sluts" a great name for a band? Right up there with "The Flaming Turtles"

I used to thank God for AA. Now I thank AA for God – Heard in the rooms

I was born alcoholic. But the gay thing? I was sucked into it – Jim C.

Do not commit the error, common among the young, of assuming that if you

cannot save the whole of mankind, you have failed. -Jan de Hartog,

playwright and novelist (1914-2002)

Calif. Assembly panel OKs pos-friendly baby bill

Thursday, June 14, 2007 / 02:57 PM

A bill to allow women to conceive safely with an HIV-positive partner through medical technology passed the California Assembly Health Committee on Tuesday on an 11-0 bipartisan vote.

Modern reproductive technology is able to strip sperm of the HIV virus, but current state law prevents couples where the father is HIV-positive from taking advantage of these advances.

California and Delaware are the only states that bar the procedure, which has been available for 10 years.

Assisted reproduction processes significantly reduce the risk of HIV transmission. According to Migden's office, studies in New York, Spain and Italy report no instance of transmission from donor to recipient when the newest methods are employed. According to the University of California, San Francisco's Dr. Deborah Cohan, there have been over 4,000 assisted reproductive procedures involving HIV-infected men and uninfected women and 700 births without a single case of HIV transmission to child or mother.

(The Advocate)

-----------------------------

Frankly, I was totally unprepared for my reaction to this article. All I could think of is I want to have a child.

A friend of mine who is now married and trying wanted my sperm years ago. We were obviously thwarted by the HIV thing, (didn't even know about this procedure), now, of course, I imagine her husband would have something to say about it.

More recently, I had come to the conclusion that intentionally putting a new life into this world bordered on the irresponsible. What's the point if they're doomed to globally warmed world, an adulthood of refugeedom or bodyguards? And then I watch Supernanny 911 and I know, I know what a great dad I would be. {My mother's big secret: "Take it all in stride!") And these genes of mine are very interesting. Of course I'd have to sperm donate to someone with NO alcoholism in the family, I certainly wouldn't worry about the gay thing.

Anyway, I have my fabulous nieces and nephews to carry on the legacy--one nephew is actually a filmmaker-talk about taking after his uncle!

Still, if asked, no way could I resist. Holy kick in the pants.

MCO 2007

Okay, I've created a blog for Steven, typed up and posted his first entry!

Please check it out! And don't be afraid to comment, I'll send them along to him. I know how much I enjoyed getting them when my sister did the same thing for me.

http://prisonsabitch.blogspot.com/

1steve

MCO 2007

A friend of mine commented that he thought my poetry was of a quallity that deserved greater recognition. Unfortunately, there are about 12 poets alive that make any money off of it, and I would bet they make far more from their academic careers or their prose/screenwriting ventures than from their poetry. In fact, I smiled when he compared me to Dorothy Parker and Ogden Nash. The only prosperous poet, it seems, is a dead one.

Of course, this ignores all the lyricists in the world, who are what if not poets? This is one of my poems that I think screams to be made into a song. Unfortunately, I used a less than easy-to-read font, I think, so I typed it out for easy legibility. (It's been wallowing unnoticed on my website for years.)

Posting it is part of my new strategy to look into the archives of my work and see if I am sitting on any treasures that might be marketable, I'm asking any of you tunesmiths out there to feel free to take a crack at it. Who knows, maybe Bonnie Raitt is one of my secret readers. Bonnie, I ADORE YOU. I swear, we'd be such good friends. I CAN make you love me.

Preamble

The pursuit of happiness

And the happiness of pursuit

Are not the same

And though each amuse

They’re often confused--

They are quite different games.

And though the song says

You can’t always get what you want

Truer yet

You can’t always want what you get.

The laws of love

Are understood but unspoken.

Rules, like hearts

Are meant to be broken.

But it’s hard

To be the guard

When the prisoner is you.

Whether or not

It’s constitutional

My constitution can’t take it--

This cell was built for two.

It’s time for revolution

A bloodless coup d’etat.

Empty the jails

And pass around the hat.

Put some esprit de corps

In your habeas corpus,

Banish all shame

There’s no recourse in remorse.

Dance til dawn

With the righteous and the whores

Lay down your arms

And I’ll lay down in yours.

Surrender

To your gender

And always remember

Smokey’s great line:

Ain’t no exception to the rule

Everybody plays the fool

Sometime.

MCO 2007

I'm actually conflating two found trashures - this children's drawing, and another one from which only a shred survived. It reads:

\\3 Tounge

A Frog tounge is long, sticky, and fastened to the front of the mouth.\\

Me being half-Frog on my mother's side, and quite a talker, I feel like this caption was meant for me.

I want to thank James for offering to print out what I needed to send to Steve. And double thanks to Mary for offering to pay for a printer cartridge to send to me.

It's so nice when people offer to put their money where my money isn't. If things don't lighten up in a week or so, financially, I will take you up on it Mary.

MCO 2007

I tried to make light of my middle class poverty a few entries ago by bemoaning my inabilty to spring for a new printer cartridge, but I need to share why that in particular was actually a big deal. Steve, my prisoner buddy, had written me at length requesting me to do research for him on the Internet to support his fight to keep taking Neurontin for his HIV and Lupus-related neuropathy. Those bozos in the Bureau of Prisons have put him on two other drugs with tons of unpleasant side effects when the Neurontin was working marvelously. As far as we can tell, it's completely a financial decision, which Steven is doing everything he can to fight, as it has an enormous impact on his daily well-being.

So after doing some research at length, I started to print out reams of info, and the ink immediately started to fade. Consequently, I couldn't send him the info that he needed to make his case. It fed my frustration at waiting to get paid for work done, and my anger at the Barry Dillers of the world.

I'm also wrestling with judgement of someone close to me who seems to be devoid of any sense of social conscience. (He grew up working class, but came into a l lot of money a few years ago). I've come to accept that he's just built differently than me, that the fear of losing what he has trumps any sense of momentary distress he may feel at seeing so much poverty and suffering in the world (when he lets himself see it). But when he was suddenly willing to loosen the purse strings to treat me to a a cosmetic procedure that would slightly reduce the facial wasting I have due to HIV, I just lost it.

There's nothing wrong with wanting to look good and even spending money on it--dermatologists have to feed their kids too. But for crying out loud, give 1/10 of that to Doctors Without Borders or SaveDarfur or SOMETHING, anything! I've plugged about 10 worthy organizations on these pages alone! And if you really want to be generous with me, specifically, I won't argue, but let me spend it at the dentist or on car insurance or on a trip home, and don't judge me because I spend some of it helping out a friend who's even farther up the creek than me!

It doesn't reduce my deep affection for this person, but boy, we just have completely different ideas of what money is for. Or maybe I should say money stresses us out in different ways. I only stress out when I don't actually have it. He stresses out when he thinks about not having it.

By the way, I finally decided to cut and paste the website info for Steve into Word, and then printed it out in red. There was just enough to cover the 10 or so pages before the color ink started running out. (I'm nothing if not resourceful.)

MCO 2007

P.S. Just so you know, when I say "broke" that only means for the non-necessities. I'm NEVER without money for rent and food--I will ask for help before thing get that bad. (And my friend, to his credit, always brings the food when he come for dinner. And not crap either--steaks. He'll feed a hungry friend, but a hungry stranger seems to leave him completely indifferent.)

I don't know a thing, I mean really KNOW a thing. Sometimes I know I don't know a thing, but mostly I forget it. That's when I get into trouble.

The thing about those times when you know that you don't know anything is to embrace them. That uncertainty, in my opinon, that willingness to be unsure, that acceptance of mystery and wonder, that's where God is most likely to manifest.

For a born know-it-all such as I, it can be very uncomfortable to be in the I-don't-know. But I find when I bring a willingness to not know into my relationships, what comes out of my mouth is a lot more helfpul.

So, what do I think I do know? A lot of things, but this poem is a good start.

Hail the Tail

of the wagging dog

There's God in them thar hails

There's a brand of happy

That's fun and snappy

A magic divine

That's purely canine

Wish I could bottle

The bounce in his waddle

Inspiring

puppy

o' mine.

MCO 2007

Yesterday, in the New York Times magazine, in an article about the Edwards campaign:

While poverty itself may little resemble what it was in 1929 or even in 1964, however, the distance between what poor and wealthy Americans earn has widened considerably in recent decades. Since the 1970s, the portion of national income attributed to the superrich — that is, the top one-tenth of 1 percent of earners — has essentially tripled. In fact, in recent years, the richest 1 percent of Americans have controlled the largest share of national income — currently 19 percent — since Franklin Roosevelt took the oath of office. If you’re in high demand as, say, a cosmetics C.E.O. or a basketball player, you’re making exponentially more than you would have made 30 years ago, while the lowest-earning Americans who buy your lipstick or watch your games on TV have barely seen their wages budge. It’s not that the poor are getting poorer, or that more Americans are falling below the poverty line, so much as it is that poor Americans are falling further and further behind those who succeed.

Now I am sorry, but it is just WRONG that 1 percent of the Americans control 19 % of the money, particularly as America controls a disproportionate share of the world's wealth as it is. It amazes me that in a day and age where no one can claim to be unaware of the excruciating, crushing, murderous poverty that afflicts the poorest billion or so of the world's population, someone like Barry Diller can appear on 60 Minutes last night, and assert that he "created", therefore "deserves" the $400 million he made last year. I kept waiting for Leslie Stahl to spotlight some sort of philanthropic efforts that would at least begin to redeem Diller's rapaciousness--wouldn't you think he made sure she made that part of the story? She didn't, and I bet it's because a) he only gives away a couple of million a year and b) he doesn't feel the need. There is no SHAME attached to obscene wealth in the country, no article in the New York Times the next morning pointing out that he gives away a smaller percentage of his money than your Aunt Ida living on Social Security. (They did call his marriage to Diane Von Furstenburg a platonic "merger." Diller is well known to be gay--not mentioned in the story. Way to go, Barry, on Gay Pride Day, no less.)

I'm not a Maoist, I don't think no one should be allowed to be richer than anybody else. I just believe that the great poverty of the many is a direct function of the great wealth of the few ...it's sheer math when 10% of the people take 40% of the pie and 40% of the people are forced to live on 10% of the pie. And I just don't understand how anyone can enjoy such obscene wealth (the top .1%) and sleep at night without giving 90% of it away or supporting a system that won't allow them to accumulate so much in the first place. People say "money can't buy happiness" but they sure don't act like they believe it.

God forbid anyone should have to manage on less than $1 billion so that the poorest 1 billion get to have two meals a day and the chance to live past 40.

And I was going to write about my distress about not being able to efficiently install a DONATE NOW Paypal button on this site, as certain unnamed bloggers are pulling their hair out over slow-arriving checks that result in the brand of poverty where cable bills go unpaid and printer cartridges unreplaced.

MCO 2007

Today is the Gay Pride Parade/Festival in Los Angeles, and in its honor I'm blogging this gay pride essay written by my friend Steven Lange, doing the last year and a half of his sentence at the Federal Correctional Institution in Pekin, Illinois--which he refers to as BOP (Bureau or Prisons) He previously did 8 years at the CDC (California Dept. of Corrections. )

I am at present setting up a blog for him, and when it ready I'll let you know. I've had to ask him to write me some shorter entries, because I do not have the time to re-type entries as long as this. What I've done is scan each page and make it all one document, which I might keep doing unless one of you kind souls out there wants to get in touch with Steve and offer your typing/blog maintenance services (I would give you all the the password info to whatever I've set up, of course). He is a very good writer with incredible stories to tell. (He has a wordprocesser inside which you can mail order--prisoners do NOT, I repeat, do NOT have internet access.)

Or maybe you just want a penpal-- prisoners can NEVER get enough mail. I'll let Steve tell you in his own words (via his blog) why he is there, but just so you know he is fairly emblemmatic of a screwy system where someone with a drug problem does crazy things and gets punished instead of treated--costing ye taxpaper hundreds of thousands of dollars when things could have been righted with some treatment, and in his case, separation from an abusive lover (who also did time but Steven bore of the consequences of their illegal misadventures.)

His coordinates:

Steven Lange

48481-019

FCI Pekin

P.O. Box 5000

Pekin, Illinois 61555

STEVEN LANGE

MCO 2007

A squirrel, a flower...they need no explanation. The FAIL note was written on a Post-It, on the ground next to a broken meter. I thought it amusing that the writer felt compelled to proclaim the loss of a quarter. To my knowledge, there in no parking fairy (stop snickering, I am the TRASH FAIRY) that will tape a reimbursing 25 cents on her windshield. (Something tells me the shape of the exclamation point belongs to a woman's hand, no?)

The last quarter panel is a mini-short story. It's the two surviving segments of an INTERNAL INCIDENT [REPORT] from the JUNIOR BLIND OF A[MERICA]. I surmise it was a field trip on which something went awry, revealed by the second surviving shred which reads:

\\..bridge of nose, applied

bleeding p approx

stopped\\

At first glance, I thought it was another piece of evidence of violence amidst our juvenile population. Then when I noticed the blind part, I figured it's not the hardest thing to imagine that a visually-impaired child might be a little more prone than a sighted one to injuries. (Then again, I used to get a bloody nose every 20 minutes as a kid, and that was just from staring at me too long.)

I've become familiar with a kickass site www.kiva.org, which permits Joe and Josephine Developed-Country-Resident to make microloans to individuals in developing countries so they can do small, practical things to transform their lives. This strikes me as the most elegant use of the Internet yet (aside from the creation of MY BLOG, of course) and absolutely in line with the philosophy--to which I am subscribing more and more-- that individuals helping individuals might the very best way to alleviate poverty and suffering in the world.

Let face it, most institutions, organizations, religions and philosophies start with great premises and ideals. Their implementation, unfortunately, is always subject to man's need to dominate and control other men, to have more, to fight, to be right. Look at the U.N. Talk about a fabulously-conceived organization. Have they stopped one genocide since their inception? (Unicef does some great work, but I wonder what portion of every $ spent gets eaten up in bureaucratic expenses.)

Unfortunately, waiting for 2 checks, I have zero extra cash right now--my "good works" have to be confined at present to picking up trash and writing to prisoners. But I hope to get some microloans going soon, and I can certainly use this platform to promote KIVA's cool work. (Their loan repayment record is something north of 95%, so you'll even get your money back!)

MCO 2007

P.S. Wouldn't it be cool if the richest 1 Billion people in the world each loaned $50 to the poorest 1 billion? For less than the cost of what the U.S. spends in Iraq every month, we could probably eliminate poverty in the world.

P.P.S.: PARIS, read a few good books, for crying out loud! You don't even have to share a cell, do you realize how frigging lucky you are?

No, you don't, evidently. When I was in lockdown/suicide watch, they wouldn't allow me any reading material. I had NOTHING to do for an entire week (they took my glasses so I couldn't see the TV-but I couldn't hear it in any case.) I was so starved for the printed word, that the first thing I did when I got put into GEN POP was steal a newspaper. It got me shoved up against a wall with my arm halfway up my back. No one could believe I would risk getting sent to the hole just because I wanted to find out who'd won the Iowa caucuses!

This morning, I did that thing men do. I tried to "fix" a situation with a my idea of a practical solution, and ended up making someone feel as if I was ignoring and minimizing what a recent trauma was putting them though. I made a suggestion that could have been conceivably valid or therapeutic down the line, but right after the event in question, exhibited at best, egregiously bad timing.

The thing is, I pretty much "got" how stupid I'd been very soon after, but several people told me trying to apologize now would only be making it worse. I did talk at length to one friend, who suggested I take a look at what was going on in me that permitted such a lapse in judgement, and we came to the conclusion that I skipped the empathy and acknowledgement she needed because of MY discomfort. By trying to make her feel better, I was trying to make me feel better--as far as I was letting myself feel it at all. I can't discuss what her situation was, but a parallel to what I did would be similar to telling a woman who'd just miscarried she could have another child. I've always been appalled by such "well-meaning" idiots, but my suggesting the caustive event would "make a good screenplay," was unhelpful in the extreme--and she told me so.

She doesn't read the blog, but I'm sending my heartfelt apology out there into the internet anyway. I'm hoping someone who needs an apology from some other oaf might at least take this for their own. And please, don't try to make me feel better. That would just be doing for/to me, what I tried to do to/for her. It's okay to feel bad about something, to be there with the discomfort. It's precisely my desire to avoid it that caused me to create more of it.

MCO 2007

A reader sent me this:

http://www.foundmagazine.com/

It's an online magazine that posts exactly the sort of found treasures that I post all the time! So of course I immediately sent them Henry's note. Boy, they have no idea what they're in for.

It reminded me of the idea I had for an online magazine that I think I've mentioned, but since I have a lot of new readers, it's worth mentioning again. "ALMOST" would be for all the people who almost made it big, a place to share their heartbreaking stories about getting very close to huge success and then...not. The inaugural issue would of course be about my having lost two directors in a row--one to lung cancer and one to AIDS--when my screenplay was being shopped around and that was the last part of the deal needed to get a greenlight.

Since www.almost.com and www.almostmagazine.com have been taken by squatters, I'd have to use www.olmost.com, which would obviously work well because, let's face it, this would be a vehicle for me to acheive the fame and fortune that has so far eluded me. Once a year, I'd give out the "OLMIES" - to the person with the closest-but-no-cigar story submitted that year.

And of course the press would love the idea, and the winner--not to mention me--would finally "make it" precisely because once they didn't. See how that works?

MCO 2007

P.S. RE: Paris Hilton

You know what? A little nervous breakdown is the most natural reaction to have when you're first in jail. But it won't kill you. It's actually an opportunity to find out that the worst thing you think that ever happened to you is in fact, not the end of the world, and something you can survive.

Others call it a bottom.

Paris may just have to keep digging.