Welcome!

B–for beginning and re-boot.

Began dating. Again. Every time I fire up the dating machine it is like square one. I’m a believer, but I also know it is more about taking the action, putting wheels in motion. Sometimes you have to kick start the bike.

Began going to a few more meetings. I may have even found one or two I like. I still miss my 7AM roll out of bed around the corner hollywood meetings, but it’s just not the same if you have to drive.

Began cooking more. Partly it’s the unemployment, partially the Pollen Manifesto: Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.

Began eating more chocolate.

Began the hair cure. Again. See dating, above.

Began picking up trash from the beach in the AM. Except when it rains. And I only pick up one little plastic bag, so it’s virtuous, but not saintly.

Began working on Realwraps full time. As Todd points out, regularly, no gig is ever going to pay me what I’m worth (particularly in a recession), and my best bet is my own thing. Or our own thing, anyway.

Began looking at houses again. Like a stab in the heart it is, but sometimes hope hurts.

Began Mr. Alex’s program again. See dating, above.

Began reminding myself that you have to exhale to inhale, that you need to create the vacuum.

And I began thinking about C.

I’m looking for a new bike. So that i have a bike that really suits me, and a guest bike. A friend recommended a Giant Suede. The new ones have auto shifters, so I went on the ebay machine:

giant suede, Cultures, Ethnicities, Weird Stuff items on eBay.com

And that’s a whole other kind of ride.

B is also for blood, blowout and bullshit.

For a couple of days I bled and bled. So much that I was light headed. I kept waiting for someone to show up with orange juice and a cookie, but it was like godot.

Then today, which began by going to the dentist, ended with blowing out one of my tires. Started sensing something weird on the freeway, got off, went to the coop parking lot, and found a shredded tire. I didn’t cry, which I kind of wish I had. This whole car thing does me in. It’s my area of least competence (not including dating). So banal, so defeating.

Then, of course, the topper is hearing from an ex, who tells me that I should follow his solution to dealing with turning 40–marry a 28 year old! Postpone thinking about growing up for another 12 years! Not helpful. In fact, rather hurtful. I’m all for advise, as the direction of others is often at least as good as my own, but in this case, I wasn’t sure whose eye I wanted to stab more with a fork, his or mine.

Some days the best I can do is get into bed, sleep, get up, and eat chocolate malt powder straight from the tin.

It may be an exaggeration. But I love shit like this. But I love it even more when it’s brought home. A few years ago, I opened up my wallet, and pulled out a ticket for aconcert in London in the early 80s. Not one I had been to. Not one I even could have been to. Yet there it was, someone else’s memory, right in my wallet. Dave, never one to drop the ball, remarked “You’ve been patch-pocketed". And so I had been.

I hadn’t intended to be quite this much at square one, but I had intended to do an LA-Reboot in the first part of 2008, so here goes. So what, exactly, am I Beginning? Dating, again, for sure, no matter how Broken that seems. And therapy. The twin of dating. And going Back to meetings. Today I got up, made a coffee, and went for a walk on the beach. Always seems like something that I won’t want to do on my own, but when I am out there, it’s so great. So Big. I think, however, I should always carry a plastic bag for scooping up garbage. In a way, I’m surprised that there’s not more trash, given the trashiness of the city, but there’s enough. And I can make a little Bitty difference.

“The capacity to blunder slightly is the real marvel of DNA. Without this special attribute, we would still be anaerobic bacteria and there would be no music.”
- Lewis Thomas, *Lives of a Cell*

Quoted in Free Will Astrology

Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel Better about the Blunders of today.

January 15th. On awakening, all I could think is B is for Boobs. As in premenstral achy ones. Or B is for Boob, as in what a Boob I’ve Been. B could also be for Boyfriend, one of the many areas in which I’ve been a complete Boob. B is also for Boredom, Books, and Boldness. This year, one of my few resolutions was to do something scary everyday. To take one action, every day, despite the fear. To Be Bold, at least for one moment in each 24 hours. Belonging is another of the most resonant B words–I long to Belong. But in this context, B is for Beginning. Of late, the fears that grip me are all of endings–from the mundane ending of a job, and the attendant fears of destitution, to the ending of a non-relationship and all the pain of rejection, to the looming end of fertility, and the opportunity to be a parent. To dwell on endings, however, is to live in fear. And in some sense, there really isn’t a difference between an ending and a beginning. The one Begets the other. And so I resolve to look for the Beginnings, to exult in every Beginning.

Oddly enough, it never really occurred to me before last night that the number of letters in the alphabet is exactly half the number of weeks in the year. I’ve double checked my math a few times, and I’m pretty sure that it is accurate. So I’m thinking that I should make use of that, right? Inspiring this brainwave was attending a screening last night of an interview with Deleuze–M is for Malady, part of a cycle of 26 interviews based on, you guessed it, the alphabet. Albeit in French. So here we are, January 14th, reaching the end of 2008’s “A". A is for apple, arrogance, and apathy. It is also for amour of course. And “About.” As in “what the hell is this all about, anyway?” Structure. It’s all about structure. My jobby is ending, and though there are projects on the horizon, two of which, in particular, need some serious attention in order to start generating some serious income, I’m also in need of Arbitrary structure. The structure of a life project. As Twyla Tharp might have it, a creative habit. Writing regularly in this blog has never been something I’ve been able to pull off. But focussing on a letter, a thought, an idea, for a two-week interval, and writing about it, seems rather more Appealing. It’s About A bout de souffle. A big breath. That’s what it’s All About. A.

I wore slippery shoes this weekend. Not that I knew they were slippery, but slippery they turned out to be. Had a total pratfall, the like of which has never been seen other than the last time I went ice-skating, and before that, the last time that I went roller-skating. Bang! went my bum and the back of my head. Splash went the tea (all over me). I nearly burst into tears, but managed not to. This is, apparently, one of the many reasons that I may never be able to wear as much white as I would like. Later, I was able to both make intelligent conversation with artsy folks, and understand (mostly) an interview with Mr. Deleuze, so I don’t think there’s any permanent brain damage. And the white jeans? They are getting tea stained on my stove top as I write this.

For those who asked, here’s the holiday playlist:

“For the Benefit of Mr. Kite” Eddie Izzard from Across the Universe
“Go Places” The New Pornographers
“California” Rufus Wainwright
“In the Gold Rush” Cocteau Twins
“California” Low
“Start” The Jam
“Revolution” Jim Sturges from Across the Universe
“California Soul” The 5th Dimension
“Fan” New Young Pony Club
“California Stars” Billy Bragg and Wilco
“I Turn My Camera On” Spoon
“Los Angeles” X
“Pass This On” The Knife
“Don’t Let It Bring You Down” Annie Lennox

My friend Randy Stoltzfus just re-launched his website

If anyone is still thinking about what to get me for xmas, Copse (top left) would be *amazing*.

Enjoy!

There was a moment in London when we blew a fuse–all the electricity in the house went out, and I had that fwoosh of relaxation. When I build my dream home i’d like to have master switches everywhere, to be able to turn it all off. Also I’d like a tall room with a big hole in the ceiling. Like a James Turrell, or, better yet, like his inspiration (I assume) the Parthenon. If we haven’t run out of energy by then it would be divine to have a heated pool underneath, to be surrounded by tiled walls and fire, with the stars above. And if it snowed!