19 October 20007

One of Catherine's new photographs. It inspired me to write a poem. I was thinking of also doing a page of her newest work this week, but her work deserves to be featured and will be soon, probably next week.

7 September 2007

Film, actors, poetry. You've heard of that young woman above. I've decided not to name her (she's been unnamed by this journal) until she respects her talent and stops the nonsense. But you know her name. Did you see her in the Robert Altman film, "Prairie Home Companion"? Very talented. It's possible that you haven't heard—it's a guess— of actors named Glen Hansard, Marketa Irglova or a film called "Once" or a director named John Carney. I could be wrong. I saw it last night and was reminded that film can also be poetry. Fox Searchlight is marketing it as a musical, which is idiotic. Glen Hansard, Marketa Irglova, John Carney. Twice named by this journal. I was unable to find any photos of "Once," but I'll keep looking.

Cathy's on a train trip. The cats are not happy with the service they are receiving in her absence. I had more than my standard measure of wine last night (repeat: Cathy's on a train trip) and I'm a bit jumpy. But I will not take it out on Alex and Jimmie, my cats; they are suffering enough.

I won't tell you everything, but I will tell you that when one lays in nutritional supplements one must be very careful. Omega 3. Usually I get plain old fish oil to lubricate my heart, but a few days ago Catherine bought an oil with an Omega 3 additive by mistake. What the hell, I said. Couldn't hurt. Oh, sweet Jesus. It took some time, but that stuff must have congealed somewhere near my anger lobe and right at six last night sent me over, sent me up and around and orbital. I know it was that stuff because today I could still taste it and was very much ready to engage when three young punks made ageist comments in my direction. Something about, Hey, old dude. I think I scared them. Omega 3. Seems to affect the nervous system.

12 October 2007
 

War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy. A new translation is expected. I called Border's Books in Sherman Oaks, Calif. to see if they had their copies; a young man answered. “Border's Books.” “Hello,” I said. “Yes, I'd like to know if you have the new translation of War and Peace. It's by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky.” “OK, I'll check.” I heard him typing—no music, mercifully, just his typing. “No, I don't see it. Sorry. Is it a novel? Is it a new book?” Yes, that's what he said. I didn't miss a beat. I said, “Now, listen. Do you mean to tell me that you work in a book store and you don't know War and Peace? The greatest novel...” I was sputtering a bit. And the young man said, “Just a minute; I'll get you somebody else.” I know that I shouldn't have called; I usually buy my books at Dutton's Brentwood, but it was a nice day, and Border's is walkable from where I live and Dutton's is over the hill, and, and, and...OK, OK. I called Dutton's; they will hold a copy for me when it's released on Tuesday. They had heard of the book.

31 August 2007

Revisions. I cut my lead piece last week. I looked at it on Monday or so and pulled it. I've also pulled a couple of pieces from what I call The Trash Series—made me out to be a racist assassin. Context is very important in satire. Yikes. And even a trash can doesn't always provide strong context. I made these revisions while doing some technical housekeeping on each page of the site— couldn't help glancing at the writing. Glad I did. Yikes.

24 August 2007

I told my dinner companion that I was agoraphobic. An in-law I rarely see (more's the pity) and he a psychotherapist and good guy. My theory about therapy is that it's important to have a good person to talk with—more important than the discipline. My guess is that he—my dinner companion—is a helpful therapist. But that business about what I told him about agoraphobia is not really true. I go outside all the time; I just don't like to travel. What I truly am is claustrophobic, and when I sat down in this very dear, very crowded, restaurant in Del Mar, I became, uh, panicked. Couldn't breathe. True. Turned to Cathy, who was sitting to my right, and told her. Jim, the therapist, was siting on my left. Why didn't I turn to him? He might have been able to help; he probably knows an acupressure point or could have just hit me in the head with a fork or something. And why, later, did I say to him that I was agoraphobic when in fact I'm claustrophobic and had just experienced an episode? Aha! The human mind. Oh, and the claustrophobia abated with a few sips of really good wine. And some excellent conversation.

Thugs. The LAPD's riot report is out. On 9 October the L.A. police chief presented the report on the LAPD's May 1 riot in MacArthur Park. He apologized, spoke of demoted and reassigned commanders, etc. But I want the cops who banged heads—heads of children, women, the media, old guys like me—I want those Metro Division thugs to pay, those individual cops. I know the Metro Division from Venice, California forty years ago. Thugs.

Al Gore is not a thug and just won a Nobel Peace Prize for his environmental work. God, I hope that I don't have to make a choice between Hillary Baby and a Republican, someone like the thug below. Well, there's no chance of that. He's unique in his thuggishness. “No child left behind.” Aren't you afraid that nothing will ever happen to this man?

11 August 2007

A small change on the cover. Back to simpler times. There are these neat techy things that one learns to do, many steps. Oooooo! Look at that little red asterisk pop up. Oooooo. Neat! Yeah, but maybe not clear. Too much. OK. I have returned to simpler times—lines, not asterisks, now denote a link on the mouse-over. Oooooo! Techy talk. Neat. Awesome. Er, random. And, like...

5 October 20007

Aren't you afraid that nothing will ever happen to this man? That he will not be impeached, that nothing will happen to him after he leaves office, no indictments, no punitive acts of Congress? Aren't you afraid that this vulgarian, this lying, murdering, torturing vulgarian, will simply continue on his scatological way? What should we do? As a people? What should we do? Merely learn? Is that all we can do?

10 August 2007

Friends...wait, listen to me, even if I don't know you, I'm addressing you as "friend." Isn't that annoying? Netflix calls me by my first name and signs off with "Your friends at Netflix." No, you're not my friend. The catalog featured in "Briefs" has an intro from its chairman that starts, "Dear Friends." Don't be rude; I'm not your friend. So, anyway, readers, (or please allow me, dear readers) we're taking off next week so that we can attend an 85th birthday party. There'll be family there; and that's always good, isn't it? Photos, anecdotes, hangovers, antidotes. See you in two weeks. This is our September break. In August. The copy editor thought it indulgent; he should know.

3 August 2007

More extraordinary photographs from Catherine Roberts Leach in this issue. I overuse "wonderful."

1 October 2007

I couldn't stand it; I called the city about the mattress. A Wednesday pick-up was promised. And I need to offer a more thorough justification for my rant about The Coffee Bean. I make great espresso. It's taken me years, but I make great espresso. My expertise has made me demanding and intolerant. The photo above is of this morning's cup of espresso, made in my very own kitchen on my very own Rancilio with Belle Espresso from Klatch Roasting, great taste. The espresso purchased at The Coffee Bean on Friday had a crema that was pale yellow, ugly; horrible taste. I wouldn't drink it, threw it out. Coffee places like The Coffee Bean make espresso as flavoring for their milky drinks, that infant formula stuff they do; they don't care about crema—the beautiful layer on top. And, no, great crema doesn't happen all the time. I can't make good espresso when I'm angry and rushed, when my heart is not pure. Speaking of heart, that's my blood pressure monitor in the background of the photo. I make better espresso when my BP is under control.

27 July 2007

This issue is dedicated to all true artists and to the memory of Theresa Duncan and Jeremy Blake. Theresa's website was called "The Wit of the Staircase" from the French, ""L'esprit d' escalier." A friend knew of my interest in the phrase and when she was in Paris a few years ago, sent me this photo.

Rosemary Morgan

20 July 2007

I'm not checking Wikipedia. In fact I won't use Wikipedia again having read The Cult of the Amateur. I've just subscribed to Britannica Online, but I'm not checking that either. What I need to say doesn't require encyclopedic citations: I'm old enough to know that we're supposed to live under the rule of law. I think I'll capitalize that: The Rule of Law. And that it replaced the rule of men (no caps) and the tribal eye for an eye. All of that to say that I believe that one day George W. Bush will be prosecuted for his crimes. The Rule of Law. I could be naive, but that's what I believe.

I'm also very interested in the prosecution of the professional football player Michael Vick for his sponsoring of dogfighting. His alleged sponsoring of dogfighting. The Law says both that we must be humane to "animals" and that we must presume Vick's innocence. If he is innocent I hope that it's proven before the Falcons play football again. Or, as one of my brothers might say, "He will find himself looking through his ear hole," referring to a portion of the helmet and a twisting of the head. There are large, dog-loving tackles out there on opposing teams who might not appreciate the niceties of the law and are anticipating a corrective opportunity. We'll see.

28 Sept 2007

The mattress has been lying in our street, across from our apartment building, for one month. And that's a discarded paper clip, next to a drain on our walkway; it's been there for several days. Were I still the manager of my building I would have called the city about the mattress, and I would have picked up the paper clip.

I shouldn't have gone out this morning, and I will never again order an espresso at The Coffee Bean of Studio City, California. Rushed and bad. In fact, I should never ask anybody to make me an espresso; just make my own. Two exceptions: Heather Perry, Mike Perry. Coffee Klatch. San Dimas, Calif. No one else. Heather is the U.S. Barista Champion. A cup of Mike's espresso above.

Adrienne

13 July 2007

I have two cell phones. One cell phone line but two cell phones. On a day when boredom has set in I'll change phones; I can do it online. The one I'm carrying now will take photos and talk to me. Open it a certain way and it says, "Please say a command." And I'll say, "Call someone." And then the voice says, "Please say a name." And I'll say a name. When I was a child an operator came on the line when you picked up the phone. "Number, please," she said. My telephone number then was 16, one-six. It's different now; you knew that. Please see "I Phone."

21 September 2007

That's a photograph of Adrienne Shelly. She wrote, directed and was one of the stars of "Waitress." I saw the film a few nights ago. A small film, a film about women that's not a chick flick. Kerri Russell, Cheryl Hines, Andy Griffith, Adrienne Shelly. Wonderful. Truth is, it was a film that in the matter of men and women reminded me that I prefer women.

Adrienne was murdered in November of 2006 by a man named Diego Pillco. He was doing construction work in her building; she complained about the noise. He killed her.

This issue is dedicated to the memory of Adrienne Shelly.

6 July 2007

This isssue is dedicated to Catherine Roberts Leach and her photography.

2 July 2007

I use Freeway from Softpress as my web design application. My redesign (tell me you've noticed) has been included in their Gallery. I am appreciative; it's a great application. The page is included in their personal section. Softpress Gallery.

I was reluctant to leave ( I say this below) my original format, which honored the small magazines, hell, which honored print; but I'm now publishing on the web. You knew that. My thanks to Freeway.

14 September 2007

I've used Bible verses again, same verses. I'm an atheist; yet Bible verses are mine to use. If, as I believe, some god (called God) did not write the Bible, then we humans did. I'm a human (and human, like the Bible) and will use any Bible verse I goddamn want to use whenever I goddamn want to use it. I like Matthew. Want us all to think more about Matt 25. What a great moment when we humans said that about "the least of these my brethren." We need that moment again.

Yes, right, some revisions, a design thing or two with the site. I believe in intelligent design.
 

"Notes From the Editor & Publisher," continued, January-June 2007

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