La Belle Epoque or...

2003-02-24T21:29:00.000-08:00

I thought it was going to be a normal Monday got nothing to do on the couch day but Martin, the guy whom I get the bulk of my independent contract work from had a bunch of edits for me from the client I currently working on. Symantec. I don’t know. It sounds like I’m pretty damned dependent to me!

I have some personal projects I need to get motivated on. My own business web development site. Also on my friend Bats’ recommendation I’m going to try to pull together a few pages on my career as a dancer with pics and running commentary about what 15 years of that shit was like. Not to mention several pages dealing with the whole Nina Rage thing. If you’re reading this you’ve probably met the Nina Rage thing. She’s not so bad. She’s more than ready for vivisection if you know what I mean. There’s plenty of meat to chew on there before we need to start sucking the marrow out of those bones. I’m not just referring to my love handles either! As with everything, we’ll get back to those topics when the muse tells me. I’m not quiet ready yet.

I don’t think I’ve shared with you all yet the sad news that my friend Darcy had a friend who committed suicide sometime early in the New Year. His name was Greg and he decided to step into the abyss on the Golden Gate Bridge. He had been delving deeply into philosophy. Meaning of life shit. Reading anything and everything from the classics to the latest thinking on the subject. Of coarse being Bipolar, delving into those deep murky waters of thought had to be an incredibly bad idea. After sending himself into a near catatonic state once or twice in dealing with his conclusions about life, the universe and everything, he had told his 15-year-old daughter that he’d figured it all out. It was all-ok. Later that night he made his short walk off the long bridge. He left his 15-year-old daughter at home alone to wonder why he never came home.

"And the drop became the ocean."

My apologies Darcy but what a fuck head! I don’t think that he can be completely blamed though. I think it was a head filled with bad chemistry. I’d met Greg only once or twice so the impact on me wasn’t that deep. The thing that does buzz around my head like an irritating gnat is the fact that Greg is third person I know who has heard the siren song of that bitch of a bridge! My odds of getting hit by lighting have to be higher. Brings to mind a scene from the Neil Simon ’76 movie “Murder by Death”.

Lionel Twains Butler, Bensonmumm shows Dick and Dora Charleston their sleeping quarters for the evening.

“You’ll be sleeping in Mrs. Twains bedroom sir. This is the room that Mrs. Twain murdered herself over ten years ago.”

“Don’t you mean committed suicide!”?

“Oh no sir… It was murder. She was found strangled. Mrs. Twain hated herself.”

I think Greg is going to be condemned to be a character in this story I’ve been threatening to write for some time now. Being a suicide, his soul is forfeit. Just what the Trickster God Loki is looking for. A lowly pawn to usurp a Queen Goddess. Maybe he will gain the chance to win back his soul. It’s a fantasy. Anything is possible. Maybe it will keep Greg alive just a little bit longer. I don’t know Darcy. Let me know if that bothers you.

May we never think of bridges and what lies beneath!

2003-02-23T18:09:00.000-08:00

To Quote Midge in Vertigo, “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid”!

For some ass backwards reason I think that God will mystically deposit a gallon or two of gas in my car when I’m redlining empty! He wouldn't perform a miracle for a poor Mexican girl who by some stupid mistake by a surgeon receives the wrong heart and lung in a do or die transplant. Why should I assume a miraculous gallon on him to protect me from my own laziness and stupidity!

Obviously I ran out of gas today coming back from the store today. Luckily it could have been worse. My fault. Just shut up and Move on.

I’ve been on the couch for the past three days, which is a synonym for being very down. I don’t know why. I think it has just become a learned behavior. Wish I could unlearn it. It’s doing me any good.

I’m trying to work my way through the book, “The Way of the Peaceful Warrior”. It’s my friend Darcys’. She thinks it will have a good influence on me. Lets hope.

Gotta go for the moment. Need to put some gas in my car.

2003-02-19T13:03:00.000-08:00

It’s been a really nice week so far. Saturday I spent the evening work shopping a play my friends Steve and Carrie are writing. They wanted me to read and flesh out the character of a wizened writer, composer older fella who slowly opens up to a young Barrista at a coffee shop and helps him put some perspective on his volatile relationship with his girl friend. I haven’t had creative juices flowing for a while. It felt nice. I love Steve and Carries’ fearlessness. They have there fingers into so many pies lately and doing well with all of them.

Caught the “Two Towers” with the Steve and Carrie unite again Sunday on the semi big screen before it slides into DVD heaven. Everything about the Lord of the Rings trilogy radiates heart. WhooHoo!

I dragged Poor Darcy out to Point Bonita Lighthouse out in the Marine Headlands to tromp around in the windy wilds. I think it’s a good idea to reconnect to all of the things that make this area so special. There are so many one of a kind views’ out there. It feels kind of spiritually dormant at the moment but I have no doubt that the spirits will awaken out there again soon.

I had a really nice surprise last night. My good friend Bat called me up out of the blue and invited my out for an evening of bar hopping and heavy drinking. Now that’s a friend! I slide down the hill and picked her up, heading first to Red Devil lounge. We didn’t stay long. The force wasn’t with it. Don’t ask me why but Bat and I both agreed the place was not radiating that night. We knocked around the Tenderloin for a bit just yakking about the scandalous life Bat is currently leading with her new currently fuck toy boy, or as she would like to refer to him, “My little pastry”. It all sounds so dirty… I should ask Bat if he has a sister.

I’d describe Bat to you but what would be the point. Everything would fall short. You can’t just lump her into the Goth scene. Or if you did you’d have to say that she is a Goth Black belt 7th degree. The black will never come off her. It goes down straight to the bone. Goth Master Bat! “Grasshopper… If you can take the Clove cigarette my lace gloved hand, it will be time to leave”.

We ended up at the Voodoo Lounge. Small but acceptably cool edgy crowd. Great Space. The Producer for the Tuesday event “Detention” met us at the curtain and offered us VIP passes if we filled out our contact info. Laminated too. Now I do feel special. Whenever I feel down again in the future I can pull out my VIP club cards and chant to myself how important I really am! Laminated cards prove it.

It was to be a Fosters Ale night! As the beer flowed our conversation quickened. Bat talking about her love life. Me talking about not having one. Ok… She wins. But I want a rematch soon!

I’ll pick this up later. Have to be an adult and run some errands.

2003-02-18T01:05:00.000-08:00

I have succumbed to the greatest sin of all...

What filthy minds you have. Nothing that would piss off God or delight Big "D". Nope. Just me putting to print the unrepentent self absorbed mental white noise that reverberates between my ears and sometimes drips out my nose. See. It's starting already!

The sin is in tricking people into reading it and coaxing them to care enough to comment. "Oh for pity sake! As if we all aren't busy enough!"

If you don't see yourself mentioned here and eventually pissed off at me then you probably got here by mistake. Your probably looking for the frozen peas in aisle 5. God bless.

Anyone reading this is a character by their own rights.

"I wouldn't be at all surprised if some of you in your private moments don colorful capes and fly about the place! Midori..." The quote is mine but if you want the full impact it should be read as one of the snooty characters portrayed by Clifton Webb.

I plan to ramble here a lot. Sometimes my fingers will just type. I don't intend to edit. Sounds like hell doesn't it. Don't worry to much though, my greatest conceit is that i'm convinced that i'm witty so I will always strive to at least entertain myself in these pages. If you've ever been to a concert or movie with me you know that I can be tough audience. You have to have some kind of ego to write this kinda shit. It reminds my of one of my favorite current quotes:

"Delusions of grandeur make me feel a lot better about myself."
--Jane Wagner (Writer)

Oh! By the way. The title of this Blog comes from a conversation I had with my good friend Darcy Leopard as we commiserated over Martinis about how the '90s' were our decade to howl! I wanted to do something with the title so I decided to start with it here. So here's to our "Belle Epoque" then. My "Belle Epoque" now. And the "Belle Epoque" to come. Chin chin.

Please feel free to comment if you discover the need to take me to task over one particular issue or another. Because I can't promise not to lie, cheat or steal here!

Gotta go for now. My cat is brow beating me to go to bed. The tyranny of cats will be addressed at a later date.