In order, they are: 1. be an heir; 2. marry well.
If you were going to name Los Angeles’ most highly regarded and famous writers, Ray Bradbury would be near or on the top of that list.
When you go to Baltimore, you can visit Edgar Allan Poe’s house. The same with the homes of Nathaniel Hawthorne, Walt Whitman and others. (In fact, Whitman has a bridge named after him.)
But, this being LA, now that Bradbury’s dead, the new owners have torn down his house. Because, well, it was just a house. Right?
Here’s something I won’t be watching: Every Marvel movie stitched together into chronological order.
Which would still be shorter than something else I won’t be watching: every Peter Jackson Rings/Hobbit movie put together.
OK, the sun has gone down and it’s now in the low 50′s — akin to a blizzard in Burbank, CA! — and, given this chill, my fingers aren’t quite able to type as felicitously as usual, so I guess I’m moving inside to write now, once this cigar is finished.
I’m sitting in my back yard drinking a glass of pinot noir and writing. Here’s the blog post I just put up at Counterintuity. Then my intention is to move on to my book.
In the meantime, I can’t help noticing how either indecisive or unsatisfied my dog is. She’s a 16-and-a-half-year-old mix (three quarters Australian Shepherd and one quarter Black Labrador), and judging solely from the past 30 minutes, she can’t decide if she’d rather be outside with me (pluses: near me and outside; minus: somewhat chilly) or inside with my kids who are playing Minecraft (pluses: near them and warm; minus: they’re so thoroughly engrossed in their game that the likelihood of their opening the refrigerator door is nil). I think overall this dog is now part of another breed I have known: indecisive / neurotic / fidgety elders.
Someone in one of the houses nearby is playing scales on a clarinet. A Christmas present, perhaps. I’m glad to hear it. But then, it’s 3:24 p.m. Good to hear now — but I don’t want to hear it at 7 a.m.
I’ve been struck today by how many of my Facebook friends have eagerly welcomed 2015 because, they say, 2014 was such a horrible year for them. (An annus horibilis.) All experiences are particular — just as all existence is individual — so there can’t be any debating their response. But I can say that I had a terrific year. I had a fine time skiing with my family (and hope to do that again in February), took my daughter to New York City and skeet shooting in New Jersey, had a glorious time in Nashville, successfully completed my board presidency with one non-profit, ascended in leadership with another that I care deeply about, and watched with appreciation and pride as new management succeeded with my theatre company. Business was robust, health was good, I had lots of enjoyable time with friends and family, I wrote a short play or two and made good progress on a longer one and am well into writing a book. I share all this not as a way to lord it over those who are glad 2014 is gone — I have had years like that myself, of course — but to document it because, of course, the screw always turns. I just feel grateful. Every single day.
The future arrives anew every day. Welcome to 2015. It’s going to last only a year. We should do our best to make the most of it.
The year ends tonight. But there’s lots of look forward to in 2015 — most especially including Dame Edna Everage coming back through the U.S. I’m sad that it’s her farewell tour, but given that she (he) is 80, it’s understandable. (Although being around 80 and saying farewell certainly hasn’t stopped Cher, has it?) I’ve got very good seats for her show on Friday, January 30th.
In the meantime, I’ll console myself with this very funny interview, and may I suggest that you do the same?
It’s raining again here in southern California (the girls’ll always warn ya), so here’s our updated 5-day forecast.
Tuesday: RAIN / CATASTROPHE / PANIC !!!
Wednesday: RAIN / CATASTROPHE / PANIC !!!
I have seen many, many bands in my lifetime. Unfortunately, Mac Sabbath has not been one of them. I hope I get the chance before McDonald’s sues the pantaloons off them.
RAIN / CATASTROPHE / PANIC !!!
RAIN / CATASTROPHE / PANIC !!!