It is said that when you have hit what’s called a writer’s block you should simply start writing something. Anything. This is not a topical blog, so there’s not a “thing” I can turn to, like cheese, or philately – it means stamp collecting, but it sounds like a sex act, yes? – or current events, although on that last point there is no shortage of topics given a war with Iran, a president picking a fight with the pope, and the democratic front-runner to be the next governor of California dropping out of the race and resigning from Congress after being accused by multiple women of sexual harassment and even assault (rape).
No, I decided long ago that if this blog, in general, was going to be about anything, it was going to be about me. And if it was going to develop a readership, which it has, those readers, whom I think of as the “thoughtful readers” – it helps me find my voice if I hold them in my mind when writing, would have to find that interesting: but that is not to say this is an exercise in solipsism or vanity; “about me” doesn’t necessarily mean about me, as in I like Phil Collins and Mexican food, I find bare feet disturbing, and I voted for Bush (the first one).
“About” me meant (means…) what interests me, what I’m thinking about, what I want to know, and maybe a little advocacy for things I believe in strongly, like shelter dog adoption and gay rights. My post about Griffith Park is still one of my favorites, because it’s about Los Angeles and I am now, always have been, and always will be a proud native Angeleno, like my father before me. Palm Springs is great, don’t get me wrong, but you can take the boy out of LA, but you’ll never take LA out of the boy! Why do you think I wrote about the origin of the French Dip sandwich? UPDATE: after 118 years in business, Cole’s Pacific Electric Buffet in downtown Los Angeles closed its doors for good last month – no matter, they were pretenders to the throne of inventor of the French Dip anyway… read my piece.
My health and attendant philosophy of illness and disability makes for a good post now and then, but even I would get bored with a steady diet of that. I’ve got plenty of stories to tell from my life, which has been and is one favored by fate and good fortune, what the recovering Catholic in me should call “blessings of divine providence.” Judging by the number of emails I get from thoughtful readers, the Memorabilia posts are among the most popular, and my favorite among them is the one where my childhood and still best friend Mike and I piled into his mother’s station wagon early one morning and stole street signs in Chevy Chase Canyon. Again, as a recovering Catholic, I always considered that my St. Augustine stealing his neighbor’s pears for no reason moment. Think of the postulator of my cause for canonization telling that story with its obvious Augustinian parallel in his remarks before the Dicastery for the Causes of Saints. Of course, I’d never make it past classification as a Venerable, as I have no confirmed miracles to my name. And the fact that I am no longer Catholic might complicate matters.
Hey, this “just start writing” thing works! I’m at 577 words. Now 580. Now 582. Only 418 more to go to hit 1000, which is the word count, or thereabouts, I usually shoot for. Remember my post about the number 13 that had 13 paragraphs and the 13th word of every paragraph was 13? It had exactly 1300 words. That was a fun one. By the way, for all my suavity, my sophistication, my education, my talents, and my good and humble nature, I still suffer from triskaidekaphobia.
I could talk about my love of gardening. For my birthday present to myself this month, I bought two new ceramic pots and transplanted my ornamental olive trees I’ve been growing and shaping for two years. I was (am) thrilled.
The other day, one of our more annoying residents here saw me working with the plants on my patio and remarked as he passed “a woman’s work is never done.” I guess the suggestion is that gardening is a feminine activity, and his comment was meant to shame. But it gave me a chance to fire back one of the bedrock principles of my personal philosophy known as Poodlism: “It’s only work if you’d rather be doing something else.” He had no response and walked on. He’s kindof a dick.
Dawn has broken and I know the day has begun when our chef arrives at 5:30 each morning to fire up the grill and get the orange, cranberry, and prune juice out. I see the light go on in the kitchen across the courtyard from me. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment this morning (when don’t I these days?) and my weekly dominoes game this afternoon. Gordon is still sound asleep and curled up under the covers of my bed. The “AM Shift” is starting to arrive; the business office is next to my apartment, and I hear them as they clock in – sometimes I can make out some juicy gossip; mostly I just hear that so-and-so fell in the night while getting up to use the toilet and that guy in 6 must be awake because his light has been on for hours. I live in 6.
I did not accomplish much, or anything, with this post. No knowledge imparted, myth dispelled, opinion formed or shared, anecdote recalled, or insight gained. You could say it was all for not. A waste of time – mine and yours. But as I come to a close, there is one last thing which I need to say to you.
With this last sentence, I have hit exactly 1000 words.
