Welcome!

Back in LA. It seems that NYC always puts on a show when I’m there, bringing the balmy in February and the shops on sale. Good thing I’m on a spending fast. Friends friends friends. Sometimes here in LA I forget that I am much loved. That people get me. That there are others in the world who contemplate plan b and c (aka soup or slave). Plus I learned to ski!

But then I landed here, and it was bright and sunny and so beautiful that I almost couldn’t stand it.

Still, if T finds me a rent-stabilized apt downtown, I’m gone.

The sister of a very dear person in my life is going through some major health issues. It’s very difficult and sad, and often the worst part seems to be the uncertainty. What is giving me faith at the moment are the James Herriot books. You know, the vet. Most of the books take place in an age before antibiotics and steriods, and most of the time the most sophisticated thing he did was boil the knife before surgery. And yet the animals recovered. They recovered from broken bones, infections, cancer, and various mysterious disorders. Sometimes Herriot knew why and sometimes he had no idea.

On another note, I joined the library today. They didn’t care that I only had a PO box as an address and a NY driver’s license. They were happy to hand me a card. I love libraries. And this one was super nice–very modern, but with lots of local and personal touches.

There are many amazing things about Amir, and everyone that knows me has heard about them again and again. One of the most unusual, which tends to go unmentioned, is that if you look closely, you can usually find glitter on his face or body. Where it comes from is a mystery–I believe he just generates it, one piece at a time, to share and enjoy.

I’m excited about having proper b-cards. I wish I had some design chops. I’d love to go to design school, or at least take some classes. I feel so very chop-less.

I’m enjoying being neat and organized. I’ve been putting things away. I finally went through most of the papers that I brought out here and that had arrived since. Most everything is squared away. Now I just have to decide if I’m staying. Love is the only reason not to stay. Love is the only reason to do most anything.

I had a party last night. It was the first real party I’ve had for myself in years. Nancy Buivid was super generous with her space and Ellen cooked up a storm. It was great to look around and see a bunch of people that I really liked, people that I’m glad exist. Most of whom I see rarely, and some of them new friends (my oldest friend in New York failed to show up, which made me really sad), all of them wonderful.

I’m rather melancholy starting out on this journey. I can’t stay in New York, but I’m having a hard time imagining settling in LA. It’s the place that seems to make sense–feasible re: work, therapy and recovery, and there are lots of friends of friends and etc., but I’m leaving some real love behind.

But I need time and space and breathing room. I need to feel mobility and possibility. New York is my hometown, but it has no love for me. I’m off tomorrow AM.

Anyway, this is the playlist I put together for the CD party favor–Enjoy!

California Dreaming–Mamas and the Papas
I’d Rather Go With Friends than Go Alone–Kimya Dawson
Cloud–Fischerspooner
Let Me Get What I Want–Morrissey
California Stars–Billy Bragg and Wilco
Fire–Kimya Dawson
A Kick in the Teeth–Fischerspooner
LA–Elliot Smith
Why Don’t You Find Out for Yourself–Morrissey
Wandering Daughter–Kimya Dawson
I’m Not Sorry–Morrissey
Kids in America–Kim Wilde
Los Angeles I’m Yours–Decemberists
All We Are–Fischerspooner
California–Joni Mitchell
(Swimming Against the Tide of) Reason–Len Bright Combo
Los Angeles–X
True Faith ‘94–New Order

I hate doing this alone. I hate packing alone, putting stuff into storage alone, looking for a place to live alone, planning for a future alone. Today I’m really feeling it, a future stretching out before me in which the phone doesn’t ring, in which I eat alone, in which I take care of business alone, in which no matter where I call home I am always a stranger. I think one of the reasons I’m leaving New York is that I can’t bear to feel this way in my home town. I shouldn’t live in a small box in my city. I stayed here because I didn’t want to lose the connections I had, but it turns out, after 10 years, that I’m not that connected. There’s alot of love, but no connection. No ties that bind. So I’m moving on, alone, to face being alone in a strange town, in a place where I don’t have expectations of community or care.

In just a couple of weeks I’m moving West of the Hudson. My own personal Rubicon as it were. I’ve lived east of the Hudson plenty (tho never in the East)–different states (mostly Massachusetts) and countries (mostly England), but the America beyond the River is something I’ve only visited–passed through as an observer.

I saw a Caddy pick up truck today. One of those Escalade ones. I’m not sure if it offends me more than the Hummer (which at least originally was built for a purpose that purported to call for such a hulking monstrosity), but i think it might. There is a certain beauty in the horror of it. All Gleaming White and Big Grilled. Uselessness. The beauty of those old American finned cars with their lush colors and cruisiness. But there’s just no excuse. There’s different beauty today. Or should be. Especially today. And especially in New York City. I feel like a crotchety old woman alot these days. Wanting people to have better civic manners and what not.