sweet sticky dog

Valentine's day was this week and the impending trauma of it forced me to come up with a plan. I decided to tackle it head on. Calling Will (who is alternately Sacco to my Vanzetti or Cybill to my Mary Ann), we assembled a group of friends to meet in West Hollywood in pursuit of a Stunning Martini. The only requirement was to wear black, head to toe. I used a vintage tuxedo jacket and bow tie to create a dashing flair, Will did a tone on tone number with a black silk tie, bad boy Tony chose a biker jacket and black denim to set a completely different mood within the same color statement. It's all about our personal flair.

Our mourning party progressed to the Abbey where we found ourselves at a table in the wind tunnel (many of you will know where I mean- its like a covered outdoor bowling alley with wall sconces) next to a totally fun lesbian couple- they were chatting with us about a fashion show they were planning to help launch a line for a designer they were unfamiliar with. David-who-knows-everything was already familiar with the event and was lobbying to score a spot on the VIP list (I was on the VIP list once at a Cemetery, but that is a story for another day). Anyway, somewhere in the second round she shared that the designer was named Honey Labrador.

Honey Labrador? I burst out- I knew her in the 90's in Chicago. My friend Crazy Ass Ron (the one who thought he was Joan Crawford) used to hire her for Spiegel photo shoots. We would drink heavily and think of alternate names for her with the same cadence- Lobster Thermador, Sunny Ecuador, even Crosley Shelvador. I guess the drinks made it seem clever. Anyway, the fun couple were amused and actually relieved that someone had heard of Honey. So relieved that they bought us a round. Very cool girls.

Of course, I had to call Crazy Ass Ron in Chicago and tell him the news. I left a message on his cell phone from the Honey Labrador Fan Club. He called back a few minutes later snickering. "Honey Labrador- that was 1993! How the hell did you remember that?" "You know me", I replied. "How could I ever forget a girl named sweet sticky dog?"

wake up alone

Welcome to the World O' Jeff Valentines Day special, in which the entire cast (okay, Will and I) wear our traditional festive Holiday Black. It's Valentines Day for the rest of us- those who are aren't dating, and just don't really want to bother to anymore.

At the last minute I gave this piece a new name, because I thought "back to back to back to black" was stretching things a bit. Will and I will be going out tonight as usual, doing our Cybill and Mary Ann schtick provided I can locate my mantilla.

Here to set the mood is La Wino, Amy Winehouse herself with a live version of "Wake Up Alone", because it just isn't Valentines without an excruciating breakup. I especially love her intro. Happy Valentines everyone, even to those of you like this particular holiday. I'm not bitter. Really.



It's okay in the day I'm staying busy
Tied up enough so I don't have to wonder where is he
Got so sick of crying
So just lately
When I catch myself I do a 180
I stay up clean the house
At least I'm not drinking
Run around just so I don't have to think about thinking
That silent sense of content
That everyone gets
Just disappears soon as the sun sets

This face in my dreams seizes my guts
He floods me with dread
Soaked in soul
He swims in my eyes by the bed
Pour myself over him
Moon spilling in
And I wake up alone

If I was my heart
I'd rather be restless
The second I stop the sleep catches up and I'm breathless
This ache in my chest
As my day is done now
The dark covers me and I cannot run now
My blood running cold
I stand before him
It's all I can do to assure him
When he comes to me
I drip for him tonight
Drowning in me we bathe under blue light

His face in my dreams seizes my guts
He floods me with dread
Soaked in soul
He swims in my eyes by the bed
Pour myself over him
Moon spilling in
And I wake up alone
And I wake up alone
And I wake up alone
And I wake up alone

back to back to black

I've written about her before. I think she's the definitive voice of this epoch. An amazing blend of coquette and serial killer, she's Ronnie Spector with a switchblade.

Far too much publicity lately for her personal demons, perhaps proving once again the link between art and personal suffering. Problems with the tight assed State Department delayed her visa until it was too late to travel- so she stepped out of rehab, and at 4 AM London time, belted out "You Know I'm No Good" and "Rehab" in the best tradition of "The Show Must Go On".

Five Grammys out of six nominations- New Artist, Song of the Year, Record of the Year, Female Pop Vocal, and Best Pop Album. The only award she did not receive was the one she most deserved. Sorry, Herbie Hancock, but Back to Black IS the Album of the Year. It might be the album of the decade.

Here's a repost of Back To Black, from the album of the same name. Listen for the Ronettes drum beat at 2:42. It's amazing.



Congratulations and continue to get well, tattooed nightingale. You rock.

across the universe

John Lennon said it was the finest lyric he had ever written. Composed during his fascination with TM, it includes a mantra line, "Jai guru deva Om", which would roughly translate as "hail the divine guru". It has always had a remarkable calmness about it, an oasis of peace in a world of chaos.

This week it was beamed into space by NASA to comemmorate the 40th anniversary of its recording, and the 50th anniversary of NASA itself. It was aimed toward Polaris on what has been called "Across the Universe Day".

Many artists have covered the song, including Fiona Apple whose version for the film "Pleasantville" is juxtaposed against a background of an angry mob attacking the local diner. It's worth a view. I find meaning for our current social climate.

For Mom. I miss you so much tonight, and you're so far across the universe.



Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup,
They slither while they pass, they slip away across the universe
Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my open mind,
Possessing and caressing me.
Jai guru deva Om
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes,
That call me on and on across the universe,
Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box they
Tumble blindly as they make their way
Across the universe
Jai guru deva Om
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.

Sounds of laughter shades of life are ringing
Through my open ears inciting and inviting me
Limitless undying love which shines around me like a
million suns, it calls me on and on
Across the universe
Jai guru deva Om
Nothing's gonna change my world,
Nothing's gonna change my world.

change for a change

In this eve of super super Tuesday, here's a reflection from the past to suggest that selling the politics of change is not new. Although in 1960, it seems to have been done with more style. And I dig the catchy tune.

Take a look back...



Be sure and vote, y'all.

patriot act

I can't watch "I Love Lucy" anymore. It reminds me too much of her. The same strong will, the sheer determination. Nothing stood between Lucy and her crazy scheme. They were so much alike.

Like the time with the cookies. It was Christmastime 1990 and thanks to a Bush in the White House, we were building up to a war- Desert Shield, it was called at that time. Mom was seeing TV reports of all the troops away from home for the holiday and she wanted to do something nice for them. Somewhere she stumbled across a cookie recipe that was approved by the Marine Corps. It contained no processed sugar, instead it used fruit juice for sweetener. She baked a trial batch and declared it "not bad". She decided that instead of holiday cookies for the family, she would forego that this year and bake cookies for the troops instead.

I admit I encouraged her, I thought it was a cute little project that would give her something fun to do. I guessed she would make ten dozen, maybe twenty at the outset. It would give her something to talk about to the card club.

The cookies seemed to take a long time to bake. Every day it seemed she was mixing dough, or had a batch in the oven. Mother always thought big, I began to wonder exactly how many cookies she planned to bake. But it was her gig, I didn't interfere.

Finally the cookies were ready to ship. At that point I asked her point blank how many she had made. "Eleven Hundred" she said somewhat sheepishly. ""Eleven Hundred Cookies?" I asked. ""No" came her reply. "Eleven Hundred Dozen".

Eleven Hundred Dozen. Eleven Hundred DOZEN. She baked Thirteen Thousand Two Hundred cookies to send to the desert to feed to troops that she would never meet. She spent more than a month on the project. The Marines had to send four trucks to pick them all up. She received a Commendation from the Marine Corps Commander.

I told this story at the time to a client who chuckled and said, "Your Mother is quite a patriot". Yes, she was. And she was quite a Mom.

metamorphosis

According to my psychologist friend Will, the most stressful things you are likely to face in a year include a breakup, a job change, a move, and a death of a loved one.

Based on those parameters, I'm 4 for 4 last year.

Part One- Endings Planned and Spontaneous

One year ago, December 19, I quit a job that was slowly consuming my soul. I have no doubt that I made the right decision although it created economic hardship. Oh, and it was the week before Christmas. Happy Holidays.

One year ago, December 29, I broke off communication with the "straight boyfriend". He admitted, while we were at dinner following the funeral of a mutual friend, that there was now a third member of our party. I do not do well with threes.

One year ago, December 30, I went to the Blondie concert at the Key Club. This was my Christmas present from the now-ex straight boy. I elected to go anyway. Seated at the table behind me was the fabulous Dita Von Teese. who had the prior day filed for divorce from Marilyn Manson. She wore it well. We had a certain kinship that night.

Part Two- Carbon Footprint

I actually did two job changes in 2007. I took a temporary job in January as preparation for a real job that finally started in August. That part has gone well and been a lot of fun. However, it meant that I commuted from my cool mid century modern ranch house to Santa Monica for almost a year. Forty four miles round trip, in traffic that varied from tortoiselike to impassible. For the fall quarter, I was averaging ninety minutes in the morning.

No more.

I sublet a charming one bedroom in a fifties building that looks like a seaside resort, complete with floating staircases, tropical landscaping, and kidney shaped pool. My commute is now six minutes. A happy solution, but one which required careful planning. This precise little plan was of course, shattered when I got the call that Mother had passed away. An emergency trip to Michigan put everything back two weeks, and slid me into an emotional chasm. But it's therapy to keep busy, and I have had no shortage of busy.

Part Three- Big White Truck

I had been toying with the idea of a move for a few months, but I was daunted by the logistics of moving. I knew that it was impossible to move a three bedroom fully furnished house and three cars to the West Side. There just isn't that kind of room. Well, not for under a Mil. The wildfires in California this fall got me thinking. Those people, when faced with having to grab what it most important before evacuation, grabbed the family photos and the cat.

I got the idea to do more or less the same. I took the essentials- family photos and keepsakes, the coolest furniture, and the books, and left the rest. I knew I was on the right track when the moving bill was half of what it had been three years ago.

Part Four- Estate Sale

I like old things. Often better than new. I've lived in 50's furnished houses for over a decade, since a thrift store purchase of three kitchen wall sconces got me thinking about how to do a whole apartment. As a result, I have spent a lot of Saturdays at estate sales over the years. One particular seller, Cynthia, and I have always hit it off, and I make a point to visit her sales whenever possible. So I called her out of the blue and asked if it made sense to do a sale of the rest. She liked the idea and we booked a date.

She spent three days setting up the sale. The entire house was full of card tables covered with my last twenty years of accumulation. Cool bar glassware, wacky serving dishes, a passion for vintage radios and cameras, a set of color matched luggage for every classic car I've owned. Die cast cars. LP's. 8-Tracks even. Clothes. Clothes. Clothes.

And in a day, we sold it off.

Cynthia said there were 100 people in line at 9am for the sale to open. I've heard from a couple of acquaintances who were there and bought things, just checking in to make sure I wasn't dead.

Part Five- New Year's Day

I'm not dead. On this New Year's Day, I am living in a cool apartment in Santa Monica. A Westsider. I'm sure I'll develop attitude over that. My commute to work is 1.6 miles. Even driving the thirsty Disco, it will take three days to use a gallon of gas. My house isn't crowded, I have enough of me in it to feel like home, but it isn't overburdened. I can breathe here. I'm looking forward to the new year.

I wish you all much love and happiness in 2008.