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My friend, Craig, is due to return Saturday from his second tour of duty in Iraq. A wonderful reunion is in store for Craig, his wife Aviva and daughter, Mia, whose Daddy has missed nearly half of her young life, stuck thousands of miles away under the unforgiving Iraqi sun. I'm excited about possibly meeting up with them in L.A. in a few weeks.
For me to describe the emotional tornado that has been the past week would be an undertaking of gargantuan proportions. Suffice it to say, I have been deeply shaken by twin dramas, each involving a handful of people I love dearly. Ever the Libra, I have exhausted myself in my attempts to be supportive to all parties, encouraging optimism and lending both ear and shoulder. However much my faith in lasting love relationships has been crushed these past few years, it has been shaken nearly irrevocably in just one week. It may not directly involve myself this time, but that makes it no less troubling.
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Now, onto the snoozefest that was last night's Oscars. Having seen a good number of the nominated films, I can say I was not surprised by or particularly happy for any of the winners (likely the reason for so much yawning). Indifference ruled for those watching at my house!
The exceptions were Charlie Kaufman and Michel Gondry, who created the most original, stirring film of the year. I was also glad for The Sea Inside, which I found incredibly moving. Where the hell was the stunning Javier Bardem among the Best Actor nominees? (Not that any of them had a chance against Jamie Foxx, who made me forget from Ray's first moments that he was J.F. and not Ray himself.)
I would like to put forth an official invitation to any of the following men to appear on my doorstep under a full moon and have their way with me:
1. Antonio Banderas, in spite of his being badly in need of haircut and married to the only woman who's had more Botox than Joan Rivers (unless you count Meg Ryan)
2. Johnny Depp, in spite of his questionable facial hair choices
3. Javier Bardem, who managed to be sexy even as a bed-ridden, 50-something quadriplegic
4. Leonardo diCaprio, far more beautiful than most of the women in the room
5. Gael Garcia Bernal, far more beautiful than Leonardo diCaprio
6. Clive Owen, even though Closer kind of sucked
7. Liam Neeson, because he was wonderful in Kinsey (and just about everything else he's done)
8. George Clooney, always at the top of my list, even moreso because he chose to sit out the ridiculous Oscar circus
One more thing: Johnny Depp made some incisive remarks about Hunter S. Thompson in a print article whose origins I've since forgotten. Can anyone help?
It's coming up on 15 years since my sweet grandfather passed away. Living near us in L.A. at the time, Saba was laid to rest on a green, shady hillside at a scenic cemetery alongside an empty plot intended for his wife. When Safta died last month, my parents decided it would be too great an undertaking (no pun intended) to move her to L.A. and instead planned to bury her in their adopted home of Reno. That is, when the ground saw fit to thaw itself (when we all gathered there for the memorial, there remained a good foot and a half of snow and ice on the ground and no man would be fool enough to try and dig a grave through that shit).
After some careful consideration, the decision was made to move Saba to Reno as well, and earlier this week, he and Safta were reunited at last. We're not by any means a religious family, but anyone with half a beating heart can derive some comfort in knowing that two people who were so devoted to one another in life will spend the rest of eternity just a few feet from each other.
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Late last night, a local radio DJ played Jeff Buckley and Elliott Smith back to back (for anyone who wasn't suicidal enough, I suppose). He then attempted to compare the two, his basis for comparison limited to "they both died young, tragically, under mysterious circumstances." Oh yeah, and they both wrote "moody pop songs," as Mr. DJ somewhat simplistically noted.
Buckley's drug of choice was life-sucking alcohol, while Smith's close, personal relationship with heroin was, shall we say, less than discreet. Yet both succeeded countless times in moving me to tears, long before I was disheartened by their deaths. For that, and for the immeasurable other works likewise enhanced, I must tip my hat in appreciation of the various intoxicants that so influence the creative world. That's not to say great works of art aren't possible without the aid of artificial stimulants, but... that list is (curiously) considerably shorter, isn't it?
I always knew toddlers were smarter than the rest of us. Now, if only some mad scientist would uncover the hidden nutritional value of Playdoh, the teething masses would really be on to something.
It appears life has gotten in the way of my blog of late, and that's just fine with me. I don't know exactly how long this mini-hiatus will last, but I hope y'all will be patient with me while I go about my life. There have been some wonderful things happening within the warm cocoon of my circle of friends, a welcome reprieve from the neverending flow of nauseating news regarding the unspeakable transgressions of our government. I'll leave reporting on that to Brett for now; he does it best.
Oh, and happy day of mourning for pilfered rose bushes around the world. As you all know, I exist purely to spread the love.
It appears life has gotten in the way of my blog of late, and that's just fine with me. I don't know exactly how long this mini-hiatus will last, but I hope y'all will be patient with me while I go about my life. There have been some wonderful things happening within the warm confines of my circle of friends, a welcome reprieve from the never-ending flow of nauseating news regarding the unspeakable transgressions of our government. I'll leave reporting on that to Brett for now; he does it best.
Oh, and happy day of mourning for pilfered rose bushes around the world.
Despite the glorious sunshine pouring in my window (compliments of a mini winter heatwave kind enough to propel the mercury 'round these parts to near 60 degrees this week), the dark cloud over my head persists, rendering me entirely unfit to write today.
I will, however, throw out a joke lovingly bestowed upon me by a like-minded friend:
The President, the First Lady and Dick Cheney are flying on Air Force One. Dubya looks at Laura, chuckles and says, "You know, I could throw a $1,000 bill out the window right now and make somebody very happy."
Laura shrugs her shoulders and says, "Well, I could throw ten $100 bills out the window and make 10 people very happy."
Dick says, "Of course, I could throw one hundred $10 bills out the window and make one hundred people very happy."
The pilot rolls his eyes and says to his co-pilot, "Hell, I could throw all of them out the window and make 56 million people very happy."