La Luna

It's a shadow casting, spell binding bright moon. It slips behind dark wet clouds and jumps back out. What a moon for a Saturday night. Mischief is out on a night like this. Titillating and giddy as cold champagne. Mischief and magic and perhaps a few things more with a big bright moon on such a night as this.

Leather, denim, sunglasses, boots, bulges go on a night like this. The hunt is on.

Stormy Weather

I'll be able to enjoy this storm. Everything that can possibly be done to secure the house and larder has been done. It will be a cold storm too, I know, people in Minnesota up to their cheeks in snow, don't understand how someone in Los Angeles can sparkle at a high of fifty-seven degrees. That, for us, is cold.

The tarragon is coming up from last year, a first and the thyme lived through the dark days. I have a neighbor with a huge evergreen tree. During the dark days, the vegetable garden gets little sunshine. Of course my neighbors could eat the leaves on their tree, but no. Why worry about someone giving you fresh vegetables if you fucking trim your fucking tree. That is, if my stupid fucking neighbor reads let alone blogs.

I digress, the storm is coming and I am prepared. I have stocked the cupboards and boarded up the hatches. The laundry is done, the fire, ready for the flick of a switch. My day will be spent writing and watching the torrents unleashed by Mother Nature. Perhaps, just perhaps, in the wisdom of natural law. The wind might topple or lean heavily in the direction away from my house, the tree that serves no purpose but to shade my onions, garlic, parsley, Swiss chard and prevent me from using one half of a beautiful organic garden. I would gladly give them gifts of gratitude. Presents of fresh organic eggs, wholesome sugar snap peas, carrots and maybe to sweeten it all, flowers fresh cut from the flower garden. But of course, that fucking-good for nothing, bitch of a tree that they have, that does only one thing only and that is to shade an active garden because my fucking neighbors can't get it together to have the god-damn thing trimmed, once in its miserable fucking life.

The storm is coming and I'm ready.

Dinner with Friends

Millie had her booster shot today. She did well and the office had a sign that said, Cats are tiny women dressed up in cheap fur coats. I really like that one. When we got home we had to hurry to collect the vegetables from the garden for our dinner. The misty rain was beginning to turn into the real thing. Ralph's had scallops on sale and who doesn't like a tasty dish of fresh giant sea scallops. We had a great garden salad, sauteed scallops with saffron rice and martinis. But the best part was having it with friends. Juan brought over T-shirts fresh off the silk screen for all of us. So Caryl, David, Wally and myself have the 2010 line of product. I can now run around this spring and summer in bright cottons. What a joy that must be to see.

Topanga's ghosts

There was a letter in the mail today from an old friend. When she was arrested for selling marijuana to undercover agents in Topanga, I cared for her infant son while she spent a few months in prison. The memorable thing I can remember about it all was how strong a baby's stream can be. I would no sooner have his diaper off when the kid would let go and piss right in my face. It was a signal, I think, for him to pee by undoing the flap of his nappy and bend over to change him. I should have sold him for her while she was in prison but didn't. I thought about it except the kid reminded me of "Little Red Chief", the brat that kidnappers had to sell back to the parents to take the little monster off their felonious hands and out of their hair.

He just had his thirty-seventh birthday and is still pissing on people. His mother was mugged in a home invasion robbery, Lyle, went into the same line of business as his dad, selling drugs. And because of being hit in the head with the butt of a gun, my friend Lee suffered brain damage. Lee was brought into selling drugs when she came up pregnant with Lyle by her new husband, and of course what father wouldn't want to do the best by his family, he gladly sat her up in the drug business. Before that, she was a bookkeeper for a book store in New York when they met and just before he swooped her up, took her to Topanga and impregnated her, leaving her pregnant and living in the back of a car. Her only luck was that she didn't take drugs herself, but it did pay the bills to sell it and she quickly got out of the car and into a house.

She was a neighbor when I lived in Topanga. Through her, I met the most unusual people, bank robbers, whores, film stars and every assortment in between. I have tried twice now to write a story about those years, and I think I still can get it just right one of these days. It is remarkable, I think.

Well Lee can't speak very well, after the brain damage, but she can write very well and the letter proved she was still around. I wrote back today, after reading her letter and hope to catch up through our letters. It should be interesting.

Her son is living with her in the back of her house, he is into numerous cats, which he keeps in his room. Good thing too because the last time he was here, I caught him in my garage having my dog lick his penis. He was seventeen at the time, the dog four. Cat's tongues are pretty rough, not that I would know what it would feel like on my penis, just letting Millie lick my forehead and hand feels like having a file go across the skin. I think dogs tongues are softer, perhaps Lyle is jaded with dog tongue and has moved on to a more brash form of bestiality.

That's what I love about heterosexuals, they can marry, fuck each other in a variety of ways and it's all okay. But if a gay man wants to marry another gay man, well, the public seems to have issues with that. It is, after all, a Christian Nation.

Winter Wear

Like Camelot, for a brief moment there was joy but now the weather has once again turned cold. Sunny but cold and everything is on hold until, in a few weeks, Spring, once again, warms the days and makes them longer.

For me, it means I can keep the backdoor open and Betty can come and go as she please. She's an old dog and if the door is shut she just does her business next to it. I keep the carpet cleaner out, it's easier that way. It will be nice when I can come and go as well. Always was a barefoot boy, and putting on shoes means you can't feel the cool blades of grass under you or balance with your toes in the soft soil of the vegetable garden.

The garlic is sprouted. The peas are climbing and the primrose are brilliant around the birdbath, but it's hard to enjoy with a jacket and shoes. More rain is coming, spurts and spits of it, I think the deluge for us has past. And, like Camelot, it should only rain at night which it seems to do more often in Los Angeles than anywhere else. Could it be that all along I have been living in Camelot?

My friend

When I first saw Millie on a web site for pound animals she was a tiny skinny little thing. For some reason my heart went to her and the next day I drove over to the city shelter and looked for the cat in the picture.

She wasn't in the section of cats up for adoption and I asked about where I could find the one I saw on their web site. She was in quarantine, some kind of lung infection had kept her un-adopted while the rest of her litter mates found homes. They put her on the web site hoping someone like me would take her in. She needed medication and love and they just didn't have the time for her. Skin and bones, I talked with the vet on duty, she had no contagious cough, just weak and vulnerable, if she lived long enough, her immune system would kick in but she would need medicine to do that for her until it did.

All this time of waiting for the doctor and holding her she had fell asleep in the palm of my hands and I asked why there was blood on her nose. It was from sneezing so much. Once the cough was over she wouldn't sneeze. Her cage was stacked on other cages and as I looked at all the other cats in need of care I could see where this little one wouldn't get much attention.

I had to sign papers that I would take care of the cat. Give her the medicine and get her fixed once she was old enough. I did and took her straight to my veterinary not far away. He prescribed the same drops and said to bring her back in a month.

From that day forward, Millie got better. Every day the little girl turned from a sickly, lackluster kitten into a loving, purring feline. Me and Millie are pretty damn close. She sits with me, sleeps with me, we watch the chickens in their pen, she plays with Buster the chihuahua and naps. When people come over she greets them, lets them pat her head and then goes on to the next person. She's there when I come back from someplace and nearby where ever I am. It's me and Mill against the world.

Cold tears

We went for a bike ride today, it was real cold, especially when the sun went behind a cloud. Caryl is on a quest to loose some weight, I'm not sure from where she plans to loose it, she has a terrific body. But after the breakup with her boyfriend, she has determined that she now has extra pounds. She gets these 'extra pounds' either before finding a boyfriend or after breaking up with them. In either case, to me, she looks the same.

I suggested chilled vodka martinis, actually it's vodka kept in the freezer poured into a martini glass with an olive. We built a fire in the outdoor pit. I put a pork butt, not my own, but from a once real live pig on the barbie and we proceeded to get drunk.

It worked out just fine until I had to walk to the store to get a few items like more vodka and when I came back, Juan and David had Caryl in tears. I don't know what they said, probably something like, "A woman your age should be lucky they have a date, let alone a boyfriend who dumped you," probably from David. Juan isn't any better, convincing her earlier that the two tickets she bought to the Eagles concert for a grand total of five hundred and fifty dollars would have been better spent on a boy toy.

So we had more vodka, that nobody wanted, a smoked pork butt, not mine, Boston baked beans from last weekend, corn and tortillas.

And cold tears.

It's the Tax Man

Every year I dread getting all the info ready to have the taxes done. I'm not sure why, the tax lady does the work really, I just get all the stuff in order and added up. But each year when I face her she seems to ask a new question.
"What does this mean?" she'll say pointing to a number.
"Well it means...let's see. You know I'm not sure what it means. I must have forgot to write down what it means. When I get home I can e-mail you what it means. Is that okay?"

Then she looks at me, as if I was going to prison. As if I was doing a Ponzi scheme or selling orphans.

It's over though, the figures and the big fat folder that ripped this year bulging with receipts. It is over and I'm on to my next folder for this year. Where I shove my bank statements and OSH receipts and rotor rooter receipts and all the crap I think I can take off my taxes until the tax lady says to me "What does this mean?"

God do I hate that question

Dinner Out

Wally and myself walked to an India restaurant tonight for dinner. The walk was a bit more than a mile there. We have talked about it before. I could drink beer and not worry about driving and we both needed the extra exercise. It worked out fine to some extent except when we had to break into a trot on the way back. Wally needed to piss or shit, I'm not sure what it was with the pace picking up steadily, he yelled something about bathroom-bathroom.

It's called the Taj Mahal. There must be three million Taj Mahals in Los Angeles alone. Taj Mahal, Star of India, they don't drift too far away from those two names. Anyway, while at dinner, a group began to gather at a table near us. Encino is a very strange place. The Jews of Encino call Beverly Hills, "The old country." It is filled with Hollywood types, Michael Jackson's family for one and it is famous for a number of older stars that lived there as well. Now there is this hodgepodge of the middle east and a good smattering of Hollywood hype type. This English bloke was trying to schmooze with a couple who were evidently in the "biz". Something about a film, a documentary and in his conversation I picked up a smattering of cockney. He had, at first, that fine upper crust, sharpness in his words but some of the words later on came out a bit gamy when he had relaxed a bit. I wondered if he was convincing them. I think not, he didn't convince me either.

Giggling girls floated by reeking in perfume. I could still smell it well after they went by. They were joined later by older women, with more sedate smells. I hear them begin to order. None of them like spicy food, they don't like this, they don't like that, they want what is not on the menu and while the waitress waited, argued among themselves what would work for them all.
NOTHING on the menu would work for them, why the fuck did they decide on India food? I suppose to go over their eating disorders of what they can and cannot eat.

In India, they will pretty much eat anything they can. There is no argument about food when you're starving. Locust? Bring them on, I'm famished.

Wally and I have all the vegetarian dishes. The people of India know how to make okra taste good. It is a delight to taste the cauliflower, and peas. Potatoes and lentils. The vegetable stews and the sauces and condiments. And even better with a couple of bottles of beer.

He Cuts Himself

Another perfect day. Mid-seventies, some wind but clear and that fresh smell of the outdoors made it a rare treat for a bike ride on President's Day. We are all trying to get back in shape after the monsoon and before the next storm is suppose to hit some time next week. Caryl, myself and Christine, who's real name is Juan, but I have to many Juans now in my life and luckily Latins come with a litany of names to choose from.

Christian is a real nice guy. He plays soccer for a team called Nepali, although the players are all Hispanic. He doesn't smoke or drink, he doesn't swear or talk bad about people. Nothing at all like me.

He also cuts himself.

I didn't know it, someone two days ago asked him why he had all these cuts on his arms. Either I need my lenses checked or I'm just happy to look at the whole picture, but because his English is very basic, his friend told us he cuts himself. One of those people who need that to feel something.
He comes from a city about two hours from Mexico City in the mountains. He loves his mother very much, but I get the idea, he is not close to his father, a retired civil servant. The best pay he can make in his home town is thirty dollars a week. That's why he and his two brothers came here. He is not the brightest light bulb but what shines is very warm.

I look at him, still not seeing the scars on his arms and wonder, will he survive?

Opposite Sides of the World

Valentine's Day. An early third century saint sends, while in prison for marrying people illegally in love, a note to his love, the daughter of his jailer and signs it, Your Valentine. He was murdered on this day for doing so.

In the New York Times today were two articles. One comment section of the New York Times I follow is Modern Love and the editor of Modern Love wrote today's story.

In the headlines was a story about two men in Africa, one a transsexual and the other, very much in love with her. He said, "I have never been happier in my life." They had a traditional wedding, and it was that wedding that sent them to prison. There was a picture of the two of them handcuffed in the back of a pickup truck. There was a crowd around the truck taunting them. The husband said he didn't know what he was doing after being sent to prison and the transexual said he knows he is a woman and doesn't understand why others can't see that.

Did they hurt anyone? did they steal or kill or were child molesters? Did they cause the world to go flat or the heavens to fall? Nope, they just loved each other and in their way, gave comfort and companionship to each other. They were a family. Husband and wife in their own special way.

Modern Love's editor ended his article with a heart warming story that was placed in the New York Times on Mother's Day. A couple wanted to adopt a girl from China with only a picture of her to cherish while they waited for the adoption. When they finally were able to unite with the child. They discovered she had a botched spinal operation and would live a life of torment. But it didn't quite turn out that way. When asked if they wanted another child instead they said, no, our child is the one in that crib. That is our child. After years of heart-rending care, that child grew up to be healthy and normal.

The Beatles had it right. What if there was no religion?

The Things That You Discover In Friends

I managed to stay sober Friday, the trick is to do your drinking early, have the hangover and then by the next day, your right as rain. A great bike ride, mainly because the weather and conditions were about as perfect as you can get. Juanster and Caryl joined me. We decided to do a short ride, all of us being out of shape and that way have enough umph left to rearrange the patio. We had shade screen put around the patio area, it extended the area and gives you perfect shade by ten in the morning. Earlier actually, enough not to shine in your eyes. Ferns needed new locations, hanging this and hanging that needed moving and when we finished, the patio was ready for a party.

Earlier in the day, before we left for our ride, I had prepared Boston baked beans for the crock-pot. Slow roasted ribs in the oven with garden greens for our salad and Swiss chard that is coming in very well right now done in a wok, Asian style. The beer was on ice from the day before, icy cold and quenching.

Christian came over, a friend of Juan who is cute as a twenty-six year old can get. He looks much younger, great body, good athlete, soccer and cycling and he loves attention.

Now get this, he is not gay, but you can touch him. Not the dick, not the ass, but he likes to be stroked and told how good he looks, which isn't hard to do. He is a very sweet guy, watches Wally for me, making sure he has a drink or a jacket if he should get cold. Always wanting to help and he did by fixing the screening in the corners where the carpenter didn't do such a good job.

We're laughing and drinking and snacking , listening to soft jazz and having a gay old time. Christian loves hanging with the gays, in fact, the only ones he lets wax his entire body are some drag queens. Now these queens love drag, they are part of a drag bar in downtown Los Angeles called the Silver Platter. Straight guys, or let us be serious here, guys that like dick but in a dress go there to pick up drags. Christian doesn't pick up drags, or guys but he loves the attention. His job is to announce each of the drags when they come out on stage, and if needed, is involved in a skit or two on stage. So who else would know how to wax someone from top to bottom better than a drag queen?

He pulled up his shirt, not wearing underwear, and when he did, his jeans dropped slightly. Oh what a lovely sight, young flesh taunting the tongue to explore and not a feather on him. He was in a Mohawk cut today. Last time he was here he was a spike blond haircut. Nice thing about hair when you have it.

So, Christian has a nine year old son, and dad's birthday is on Valentine's day. Dad's going to his ex for a birthday party and spend time with his son. They all get along great, one of those teen pregnancy issues.

It was a really special day. One of those rare moments when everything lines up and comes out smelling like ribs and beans with a bottle of ice-cold beer to wash them down with.

The Primrose are as high as a gopher's eye

Great day! Of course it helped after I lost the hangover from the other day. Amazing what you can accomplish sober. I'll have to try it more often.

Friends are coming over tomorrow, a bike ride, a crew to work in the gardens with light refreshment, beer, music and warm weather. What could be better? I'm hoping to get the synopsis done soon for Jawbone. It's moving well and I'm happy with it.

It's interesting what's playing out in D.C. What can the Republicans say about cutting pork and special interest out of the jobs bill before the Senate. It's amazing how they lie so easily. In just about every administration, Republicans have caused more spending and less revenue. They're amazing fuck ups. Stupid as a post, Sarah Palin is their heart's treasure. I really, really want her to run for President.

When the snow melts in Washington, perhaps it will cleanse us of the right wing, the evil emperor Rush Limbaugh frosted in his Florida mansion with a Demerol stuck in his throat, his face contorted trying to eat an entire frozen chicken.

Dinner was popcorn with a beer. Pretty good too, after looking at the cupboard and finding it stocked with things you need to prepare or defrost. The popcorn, however was ready and while I waited for the kernels to explode in the popcorn popper, it gave me time to pop the cap on a beer bottle. I read recently that beer is good for the bones. Makes me happy that I care for my body by eating roughage and drinking booze and it's so easy to maintain a diet like this. I figure, my trips to the recycling can to clear the counter of beer bottles and picking out kernels of corn caught in my T-shirt, gives me enough exercise to keep my heart in shape. Gives me an idea about a book for writers, 'Stay in Shape, Look Great Without Much Effort'.

There could be a whole section on the benefit of beer and wine and how important they are to counter the effects of strong coffee.

Easy to fix meals, to stay fit and slim down. I find that if I use cheese whiz on a Ritz cracker, one at a time, I eat less rather than arranging the crackers on a plate and spraying the plate with cheeze whiz. Especially if I keep a few bottles of beer nearby to wash down the crackers, and at the same time, strengthening my bones. Cheese whiz has all your basic food groups. I know because the list of ingredients on the side of a can of cheeze whiz is larger than any of the stupid multi-vitamins I've bought in the past.

Then there are the kernels of unpopped corn. Oily, salty but quite chewy. I figure the amount of energy to mash the kernel into the crevices of my teeth is probably more than the calories in the beer I needed to wash the bits down.

Caryl didn't come over after all. She is still feeling weak from a month of illness. It's her obsession with grandchildren that caused the illness. Last month it was head lice. This month some plague that kiddies get. Take them to the zoo and then go home, they will be happier there and you, Caryl will be healthy. Once they find their way into one of the exhibits, no one will notice the difference.

Spring is taking root.
The sun came today after weeks of rain. It warmed the soaked earth, brightened the primrose in bloom with robust crayola colors. They're bedded under the birdbath full of fresh rainwater. The lettuces are bright greens, tender and the oak leaf is a wonderful old rust.

I'll make our first meal from the garden tomorrow when Caryl comes over. The Swiss chard will be in a pasta of bacon, red pepper from last year's crop and fresh garlic from this year. We'll start with a tender salad of fresh, baby lettuce while the pasta cooks.

Spring is taking root. The sun warmed the soaked earth and made it shine with nature's pleasures today. It was a good day.

Six hours later

I was going to spend a rainy day writing a synopsis but here I am, fooling around on the net again. It's not that it is all I did, there was putting a compost bin together and twirling it. Pushed one of the chickens off her nest so she would roost with the other girls. I don't know what it is with this one stupid bird. She sleeps in her nest box where she poops. You don't shit where you nest, everyone knows that. So, I have to go out after dark, open the nest lid and shove her royal highness out of the nest and onto a perch. And I bet you she's the one that lays the last damn egg of the day. Not like the other girls. First thing in the morning, plop. But not her, nope she's got to wait until noon or after. An extra trip to pick up her one damn egg. Lesbians.

I'll get into trouble for that one I'm sure.