Where is my left foot?

Today is my first day feeling remotely human and un-miserable in two and a half weeks. A cold virus that decided to take up residence inflicted a nightly punishment, leading to days of woe and a gloomy, shuttered psyche.

External events mirrored my state, so there was a certain equilibrium: 1.) We lost our friend Ian. 2.) Another friend (and mom from school) T had radical surgery to proceed her own chemo and radiation, in anticipation of yet another surgery. 3.) an important business relationship has gone sour (previously detailed) 4.) yesterday’s whopper: our housekeeper’s son, her only child, has been charged with the murder of another teenager. She is understandably distraught, to the point of being unhinged. We have sought out the best advice for her we can find, a friend with 20 years as a public defender. Other than that, good wishes must suffice as the justice system runs its course.

Today is better, though, the illness has loosened its grasp, and the black clouds inside have parted enough for light to shine through.

Last night Susan and I watched “Punk Attitude”. It brought tears to my eyes more than once, and is highly recommended. The cast of characters interviewed is not always the most famous or obvious, but they’ve each got great insights on the subject at hand. It could have been six or ten hours long, it moves fast, there are some omissions, but it does remind me of why I am the way I am, and what it was I connected with — and remain connect to — in that movement.

If the man who justified the groups that raped and killed nuns as just part of the fight in the Cold War is worried about the legality of something, it’s gotta be a bloodcurdling monstrosity

Adele’s second 10th birthday cake, this one for the family.

Her two grandmothers and her great grandmother are in attendance.

A sleep-over with nine girls was accomplished with no snags, and a lot of fun. Right now Adele and her mom are making lemon bundt cake and lasagna for the grandmothers coming for dinner.

Meher Baba and George Harrison have also been invited to the party, but we have not received R.S.V.P.

“Too Much Dogma”

— Thursday, February 22 2007
It breaks my heart to tell you all that Ian left us this morning. He slept through the night and was, to my mind, very comfortable. He was still fighting I asked him to let go and fly away…and he did.

I originally got to know Ian (and his partner/manager Margie) through his diary on the original Krimson News site. Later he and I worked together on the artwork for his album, “Happiness with Minimal Side Effects”, a genuine highlight of my professional graphics career. We met once when he came through en route to a “blues cruise” leaving from Port Everglades, and had a great time. He was a fantastic cat. Life intrudes, more later…

Channel 4’s “The Real Iraq”.

Viewer discretion advised.

In lieu of bad words, which are what really comes to mind, I’ll use a pseudo-Field-ism, a la “Godfrey Daniels!”

“Velocipede!”

This morning brings heartbreaking news from L.A., of the rapid decline in health of a lovely, extraordinarily talented man who one would not wish any sort of thing like that upon. He and his partner have been much much on the brain here at 1925 Wiley, where we were holding out for healing to take hold. Today’s update does not reinforce this, and sadness prevails. Earnest wishes for his safe and speedy journey to the next stop on the line replace any others now.

Recently we went to dinner at the house of a friend, an Assistant Director, and I perused his CD cabinet. I found — mostly unopened — the Time-Life “Classic Jazz” series. I asked if I could take them home for a listen. I was surprised how much of the collection I actually already had from the original albums, but there are lots things on here (okay, all of them) that don’t have any need of Greg Brady shilling for them. One of them, a version of “April In Paris” by Count Basie & His Orchestra, is ticking my earlobes, over and over. The light unison vibrato on the horns is just the best. My friend the AD bought them, I believe, in a late-night frenzy, and never had the time to sit and enjoy them. I’m glad to help out…”One more time!”

While eating lunch today (ham on whole wheat with spicy mustard and pickles) I began watching “The Third Man”, which I haven’t seen before. Ten minutes in and I can tell it’s going to be great, but I had to pause it and return to catalog page building, just like the good old days, but as a freelance artist now. Added to this is the bonus of the common cold, which seems to wax and wane on its own schedule, reappearing during the night last night for some upper respiratory torture.

It was made apparent to me during a project last weekend that marijuana is addictive, and that withdrawal symptoms can be severe enough to distort the personality. Unfortunately the client and I will not be able to work together again. I sent a list of ground rules for working in my house, and with me, in order to continue the relationship, but they were rebuffed. So be it. I don’t need a jones-ing dope fiend sitting next to me making my life miserable on a Sunday afternoon for a reduced rate. The number of professional and musical relationships I have experienced that have been compromised or destroyed from drug abuse — mostly marijuana, with alcohol, cocaine, and pills as an adjunct — is heartbreaking in the extreme, and simultaneously angers and saddens my heart. Those that leave it and begin to recover seem unable to stay away, and the old vile habits — with the accompanying distortion of personal relationships — return like demonic prodigal sons, welcomed home to the feast on the smoldering fatted calf of the damaged ego.