My next door neighbors have put their house on the market: $959,000 for a 3-bedroom single-family home with no garage. Today they’re having an open house. My house is surrounded by SUVs. Groan. Whovever can afford to move in can definitely afford to put in a garage and I am so not looking forward to a year of digging into the bedrock of Collingwood Hill (which happened two doors down a few years ago. The neighborhood was covered with fine dust the entire year). Hopefully they’ll undermine my foundation in some way, and I’ll get a new foundation out of this. I remember the days when people I knew could afford to live next to me. I can’t afford to live next to me.
All the Sailors Said Brandy
Big Chrissy and I just heard an a capella group perform at our bridge partner Pam’s place in Menlo Park tonight. Pam’s son is a member of the octet, and Pam is hosting them for the beginning of their west coast tour. “How many people are in the octet?” someone asked as I arrived. As I surmised, there were eight, all students at Williams College in Massachusetts, and all adorable, especially the dabba dabba guy, Maurizio, with his razor sharp side burns and piercing gaze. Every time he’d “ooh,” I’d get all moist. I’m so getting to be that age when everyone under 25 is just sexual bait. The group started off singing “Brandy”–you know, “…Brandy, you’re a fine, such a FINE gi-irl, what a GOOD wife you would be, such a GOOOOD wife, but my love, my life and my la-dy are the sea…” with lots of finger snapping and dabba dabbas, oohs, and wide open toothy grins. The audience consisted mostly of Pam’s upper middle class over-40 white friends–the type of guys who all move their heads forward to the beat (–imagine, to “Brandy”) with wives in shawls and sipping white wine. The octet’s musical director must have gone to high school with me, mostly REM and such–but “Brandy?” Pam’s husband, Brad, made lasagna for 50, vegetarian, quite yummy. They live in a fabulous sprawling Eichler that they’ve remodeled, which means that the Japanese-style kotatsu is now covered by a wooden floor, and the elegant koi pond that once encircled the fireplace (indoor and out) is now filled with brick. It’s difficult to hold my mid-century tongue when they talk about how impractical those features were–I want to strangle them actually, but I smile and say, “Oh” with a little nod of the head, like those over-40 guys rocking out to “Brandy.”
Estonia Estonia
Last night BC and I went to a cocktail party at John’s mansion on Gough Street. John’s now the Honorary Consul to Estonia (in addtion to being my former mistress and brother to Catwoman Julie Newmar). The guests were an ecclectic mix of artists and filmmakers, and a few patrons–one lawyer dressed in black with a big nose and little feet, and another guy dressed in black with a big Gucci belt and a little companion in a Chanel suit and a little “CC” bag. Eigar and Ain showed exerpts from a film that they’re making, about an incident at the Berlin Wall in 1962. The sound design and framing were exceptional. One exerpt we got to see involved several young German conscripts with dropped drawers at their fitness evaluation. After a pan of their exposed-ness, the doctor says, “You’re all fit for duty.” BC and I agreed. Aigar told us that the scene was based on his own experience being evaluated for the Soviet Army. The entire group then collectively checked out his basket, heads darting from tv screen to crotch like heads at a tennis match. John ended the evening by enlisting my aid in a trash survey of the Castro. He issued me a picker-upper, and a chart to record the number of items I pick up in the ‘hood over the next 7 weeks. (This is what epidemiologists do in their spare time.)
Run Away
Today’s piece, tentatively called Run. The other two pieces that I’ve been working on are quite challenging, very abstract (I can’t even tell what part I photographed), cloudlike, but I’m plugging away, and hope to have them up for you to see soon. Meanwhile… (oh, and this piece is roughly 6 feet wide x 3 feet high)
The Twin Peaks of D
Here’s another new piece, untitled for now: 3 more in progress, and coming soon…
Something or Other
I’ve been working on several new pieces over the past few weeks, and feel ready to preview one… (Keep in mind that the tonal values are not accurate, as these are only test prints.) Not sure yet of the title, but not something with “dentata” in it. I don’t think I like it. And not in a good way.
Michelle and Camille
Announcing the opening of Michelle Rollman and Camille Roy’s collaboration at Marjorie Wood Gallery… For those of you who caught the preview earlier in the month, the complete show is now online with Camille’s dazzling prose, and new “pussy” drawings by Michelle. Michelle seems to be directly assaulting the male gaze here–masochists and art lovers, enjoy… Leave Me Alone.
Cuchi-Cuchi
Last night while watching the remake of Dawn of the Dead, I thought of Charo. I was thinking of what a beloved presence she once was in popular culture. Her persona was that of a jiggly big-haired bimbo–remember her “cuchi-cuchi”?–but she spoke something like 6 languages and was a brilliant classical guitarist, a former student of Segovia’s. I love her, and that combination of genius and airhead. Where is she? When I was studying in China, a girl in my group, Wendy, reminded me of her. She was in a rock group and had really big blonde Charo hair, a guitar over her shoulder, and a cigarette always dangling from her lips. The Chinese loved and feared her. Everywhere we went a crowd formed around her, and she’d belt out a mournful tune. When her bike was stolen–this was the day after she lost her wallet–one of our Chinese friends took her by the shoulders and said “Wendy, Wendy, you lost your money, you lost your bike–don’t LOST your mind.” Anyway, the remake wasn’t so hot. But thank heavens for Charlie Kaufman–what an inventive and keen observer of experience. Hi ho, hi ho, off to work I go.
We Went to a Garden Party
The weather was perfect, Mamoosh showed up with a handsome new beau, John, architects Eric and Seth bonded on my code-violating deck, Funkybear Martin was just fabulous and as bright as the day, whipped cream hanging from his whiskers like an invitation, Paulie snuggled up to BC and Iain on the couch inside, Paulie couldn’t tell if the music I selected was music or the walls, Dean and Doug are off to Paris in a few weeks, Nathen’s blue eyes were just dazzling against his blue shirt, Chris J may have gotten a new garden design commission from my neighbor Arnie, the former airline pilot and “other woman” to not one but two handsome, considerably-younger men, Arnie and fellow-retiree Ralph still think of me as a twinkie despite the grays, the wrinkles, and the extra 30 pounds, Sarah described some exciting new work for her Marjorie Wood Gallery show opening in May, Reese arrived fashionably late dressed as a silent film star but failed delightfully in staying silent, the ginger/pear/champagne punch was delicious, Jeff has lost 50 pounds in the last 6 months by not eating exactly what I served at the party, Philip reconnected with lost friends, including the Nick Dong-less Jeff, Victor is spinning on Sunday nights now at the Eagle and has Saturdays free for garden parties, my 3-month old niece experienced her first party, my brother and sisters converted Bob’s office into a diaper changing facility, who was that adorable Kris that I didn’t get to bond with, mid-western Don charmed us with his mid-western charms, Cameron won the award for Most Gravity-Challenging facial hair, and who was the cute cub on his arm again, Rainey and Joe soaked up some sun and showed off their oily muscles, Alex and my former heartthrob Garry talked of Jewish mysticism, Garry showed obvious disappointment when he learned that Gershom Scholem’s Major Trends in Jewish Mysticism was on Bob’s nightstand and not mine, Steve and Jack talked of electronic fig leaves, their friend Bela was most cuddly and should cook for me some time, 6 people represented those without facial hair, 50 shortcakes were ingested.
All in all a very fun party. Thank you all for coming and bringing such sweetness and cheer into my home.
Stay tuned for the Mid-Summer Swinging-Bachelor House-Rewarming Divorce Party and Ball. I think that I’ll ask everyone to bring along a single bachelor to try on my glass slippers.
Note From the Broken Hearted
I threw away a 6 foot dried-up grass yesterday that had dominated my garden for several weeks, once a lovely gracefully arched specimen scavenged from a client’s garden in the hope of finding a new home. Sadly, I was unable to find a home for it, and in the process of tending my broken heart, neglected it. Ted and I have broken up. Despite the knowledge that we were completely wrong for each other, and our obvious differences and complete incompatibility, and the fact that he’s moving in a few days anyway, we enacted a dramatic breakup, completely out of proportion to our relationship. I’m really feeling alone now, which I suppose is good–it’s what everyone says I should be feeling, but it’s difficult, particularly after being in relationships for all of my adult life. I’m having a party tomorrow, to fill the house with friends and merry-making, and to remind me that there is life outside of my soap opera love life.
This affair with Ted has shaken me a bit. Even though I knew how awkward and at times completely wrong we were together, I went ahead and invested a lot of emotion in our interaction. I suppose it’s an hysterical response of sorts, diverting attention away from grieving my relationship with Bob–finding an emotional outlet that’s about passion instead of pain. Why can’t I just take an aspirin?
So today I am a single man again. Really. Finally. Available, the world at my doorstep, open to new experiences, new love, and a new life.