with me, it's always the little things

.

the terrain of my coffee table rarely changes: there's always the magazines, the pile of unpaid bills, the car keys, the coasters, the remotes, the old powerbook i shoulda sold long ago but can't let go of, the arne jacobsen salad bowl full o' crap, the ever-present mkf cocktail in its cheap plastic cup--i.e., the usual.

which is why when something new shows up there, no matter how small, even i, from the drunken vantage point of the eames chair into which i invariably sink at the end of each day (and from which sumptuous depths all guttermorality goodness flows), tend to take notice.

the first thing was a little speck of brown plastic i caught outta the corner of my left eye one night--out of all the crap among which it nestled, i zeroed in on it, realized what it was, knew why it was there, smiled to myself and left it exactly where i found it.


at some point later, the following appeared on the side of the coffee table next to my chair:



at first, i just thought it was something that had crept under the glass--an irregularity that needed to be cleaned. upon closer examination, it turned out to be



tonight i did what i do on most nights when i miss him--i moved the two together and just sat there and looked at 'em.



i love you too, my broken monkey, even if it's only in my own, weird way. i hope to sleep next to you this tuesday night.

damn, those gates look familiar

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one of the more surreal aspects of life in los angeles (and trust me, there are many) is the constant commingling of tv reality and real reality with which we angelenos are forced to deal--especially, it would seem, when you live where i do.

see, i live in an isolated little canyon between beverly hills and mulholland drive which you can't get into or out of in either direction without traveling through far wealthier areas--you know, the kinds of places where shit happens that makes the news.

for instance:

1. i remember a few years back when a particular celebrity couple were about to bring their new baby girl home from the hospital--it was all anybody could talk about on television, and no matter what channel i flipped to, it was the same shot: some dumbass field reporter surrounded by a dozen satellite trucks in front of this pair of gates that i recognized, but try as i might, couldn't say exactly where i'd seen 'em.

whatever--i was on my way out the door. i flipped off the tv, grabbed my keys, headed down the canyon into beverly hills, turned left on hartford, then on lexington--my usual route when heading east towards the strip and beyond.

when all of a sudden, something unexpected stopped me in my tracks: ahead of me, at that point at which lexington fades right into alpine down to sunset--framed in my windshield just as it had been on my tv--was the instantly-familiar tableau of news vans and reporters doing their stand-ups in front of the very self-same white wrought-iron gates i couldn't quite place not five minutes earlier.

wow, who knew i passed right by tom cruise's house every goddam day?


2. it was late, i was hungry and there was nothing in the house--a familiar problem, always solved the same way: grab the keys, head up the canyon to mulholland, hang a left and then a quick right down beverly glen into the 24-hour fast-food capital of the world (i.e., the san fernando valley).

i remember that on this particular night i had decided on the taco bell on ventura, it being the closest. as i crested the hill and made the left onto mulholland, instead of the deserted, moonlit stretch of curving asphalt i was accustomed to at this time of night, i was greeted with a most unexpected sight: up ahead, a pandemonium of red-and-blue flashing lights, mobs of photographers and a line of police motorcycles halting all traffic (i.e., me).

i stopped, but before i could even roll down my window to ask the flashlight-waving officer what the fuck, the gates to the exclusive enclave which was the subject of all this attention swung open, and then suddenly there was this motorcade whooshing by, complete with sirens blaring and an ambulance as its centerpiece. the paparazzi and motorcycle cops quickly followed in its wake, leaving me there all by myself in the middle of the road.

as the gates slowly closed, i sat there for a minute in the sudden silence, thinking, "oh, this is gonna be good," then continued on my way.

back home, munching my nachos bell grande (with onions and extra sour cream), i turned on the tv, flipped through the channels--nothing. tmz had it, though--as soon as the page loaded, i spotted those familiar gates, along with the headline, "britney spears rushed to hospital after stand-off with police."

and just think--i was the first to know.


3. today. i'm on the westside in the middle of the afternoon, so i use my special shortcut to avoid traffic and get home--cut up beverly glen, right on charing cross, hook around the playboy mansion to sunset, take my right, get over quick in order to hang a left on--

holy shit, they've blocked off carolwood--what the fuck is going on?

i slow down to get a good look. it's then that i see it, just like it's been on tv for the past five days--the crowds, the cops, the flowers surrounding the gates i hadn't quite been able to place, even though i'd passed 'em a thousand times.

as the line of cars honks furiously behind me, all i can think is, "ah, this is so totally gonna fuck up my commute for the forseeable."

a little revenge beyond the grave for that post i just wrote about you, huh, michael?

this really is the way i think

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searching old emails to v for something specific tonight--don't find it, but i do come across this from a couple years back:

so i'm watchin leno and he has this segment called "you make the call" in which an audience member must decide whether the onstage talent can actually follow through on whatever dumbass thing they say they can do. and the blender guy comes out--you know, that strange guy from the infomercial pushing the uber-blender that can do anything. and the challenge is: can the blender demolish a wooden rake handle in less than 15 seconds? audience member says yes, but i'm thinking no goddam way, it's only a fucking blender--but sure as shit, guy feeds the rake handle into the blender and it makes mincemeat of the motherfucker in, like, 8 seconds--unbelievable. so while the audience is applauding wildly, i'm like, note to self: woodchipper ain't handy, this is the next best way to get rid of a body.

i have since acquired one of those blenders--makes a hell of a smoothie.