I just got this fundraising email from Jerry Brown, perennial Californian elected-something and former Linda Ronstadt paramour:

Dear Lee,

I have had an unusual opportunity to see California State government and its political process up close for a long, long time. I had my first glimpse – in the fifties – when my father ran for attorney general and then for governor, and again when I was governor. It was profoundly different then. The schools were good, the state wasn’t broke, Republicans talked with Democrats and even voted together when it was important to do so.

The last few years, this has all changed. Acrimony and endless deficits have become the order of the day. And turning it around, especially given the financial meltdown, won’t be easy. But I am trying. I am doing everything I can as your attorney general to make sure that the law is on your side. I sued Countrywide to restructure tens of thousands of mortgages, brought actions against a myriad of scam artists who set up Ponzi schemes or ripped off consumers in various and heartless ways, I sued employers who cheated their workers and vigorously defended California’s environmental laws. Go to Fighting for You for the full story.

I like my current job and truly believe we are getting important things done. Yet, when I see the mess in Sacramento and think about all the people who are suffering as a result, I think seriously about running for governor again. It is rather amazing that the same issues are still front and center: water, energy, prisons, education and, of course, living within our means.

But before I make a final decision, I would like to know if it’s possible to build a large base of supporters from every part of the state and even beyond. Two of the Republican candidates for governor are talking about spending their own wealth on hundred million dollar plus campaigns. To counter this private assault on our democracy, people will have to join together in a grassroots effort by the thousands and then by the tens of thousands. We need to fight back to overcome what will literally be a hostile takeover of the airwaves during the next governor’s campaign.

So would you be willing to join, even at this early date, and donate $25, $50 or $100 to Jerry Brown 2010 and help change the corrosive politics that is destroying our state? Whether I seek re-election as attorney general or the governorship, I intend to do everything I can to turn this state around. But I need your help and your active involvement.

Please forward this e-mail and ask your friends to contribute. Ask them to join our cause, to fundraise, become a supporter on Facebook and follow me on Twitter.

This state is desperately in need of creativity and new ideas. The state also needs – just as much and maybe more – the know-how and experience to get this impossible job done.

If you can today, please consider making a contribution of $25, $50, $100 or any amount you are able to give.

I won’t let you down. We can and we will build a movement – of truth, of creativity, of inclusion.

With respect,

Jerry Brown

Dear Jerry:

May I suggest that you decide what you’re running for first, and then ask for money?

Talk about passing the buck!

“The Car Plays” are back, and once again just about nobody’s going to be able to get a ticket. Except, perhaps, you, if you act soon.

What’s “The Car Plays?” It’s an evening of plays, produced by my theatre company Moving Arts, taking place in — you guessed it — cars. For the past two series, the event’s taken place in the parking lot of the Steve Allen Theatre in Hollywood. This year the good people at Woodbury University have made available a large parking lot up in the hills of their beautiful leafy campus in Burbank. The 20 plays are separated into four different rows — this year called Ventura, Figueroa, Ocean, and Hollywood, after some famous L.A. streets — with each ticket getting you one of those rows of five 10-minute plays. What goes on in those cars? In the past we’ve had comedies and dramas featuring adulterous couples, transvestite streetwalkers, pickups, pedestrian accidents, hitmen, marital calamity, parental freakouts and everything else you can imagine might happen in a car. (Including having a dead pedestrian getting thrown througha moon roof.) It’s quite an event, it’s been on every critic’s choice list in L.A., and it’s always an instant sellout — because each showing plays to an audience of two. That’s right, you and your friend are voyeurs inside the car.

The show returns end of this month with mostly new plays. My new car play, “All Dressed Up But Going Nowhere” is a sequel to my previous car play, “All Undressed With Nowhere to Go,” is directed by my designated driver, Trey Nichols. And I’m directing a remount of the wonderful “It’s Not About the Car” by Stephanie Walker, with the same great cast I had last time (Liz Harris and Joe Ochman). The show runs Friday and Saturday June 26th and 27th at 7, 8, and 9 p.m. Here’s where to get tickets. (There’s also a special gala performance on Thursday the 25th that includes a full dinner from the Brazilian steakhouse Picanha, plus a silent auction and some other fun programming. Here’s where to get those tickets. They’re more, but they’re worth it.)

Each play runs at least 48 performances in the regular run — but already almost all those tickets mentioned above are sold out. Ventura, which includes my play, is sold out for the run (but there may be a couple left for the benefit night). But here’s the inside scoop, which I’m sharing with you and other loyal readers of this blog:  We’re about to add performances for Sunday the 28th at 7, 8, and 9 p.m. That means 16 more chances to see each of these plays. All you’ve got to do is keep watching the Moving Arts website for that extension notice. And as soon as I see it, I’ll post an update here, but don’t wait for me. Last time we put tickets on sale, some of the rows sold out in 9 minutes. (That’s even faster than rooms sell out at the San Diego Comic Con.)

A friend I’m visiting back where I grew up told me he has a gift for me. He said it was one of the world’s oldest TV commercials. Which makes me think it’s Bob Dole about erectile dysfunction.

Today while I was playing that Phosphene River CD in my car, my six-year-old son chimed in from the back seat, “Dad, this is the terriblest song I ever heard.”

If the wedding is half as inventive as the invitation, we’ll all be sorry to miss it.

When I ordered the new Unknown Instructors CD, the nice folks at Smog Veil were good enough to send me three other bonus CDs as well. And now I find that I’m falling in love with this one, Phosphene River, which features spoken word artist Dan McGuire slinging Morphine-like words and sounds over a variety of talented and mostly heavy bands.

Here’s the one I cannot get out of my head. I love this. Brace yourself.

Just got home from seeing the one-man show “Loveswell” in Hollywood, where I sat directly behind Michael Emerson, who plays Ben on “Lost.” It seems he got off that island after all. (In 2009, anyway.)

“Loveswell” was wonderfully funny, and at times unsettling in its honesty — unsettling in a dramatically good way, and honest in a dramaturgically complicated way because we’re seeing the husband’s perspective of a courtship and marriage. I wondered what the wife, who seems completely unreasonable in the play, makes of this portrayal of her, which led me to wonder how she might portray him if she chose to do so. From not doing dishes, to send mixed signals about whether to leave the bathroom door open or to close it but leave the light on, to obsessing about toilet paper and his daring to breathe in bed, she seems like a handful. It reminded me of what a well-known poet once told me when I asked how his wife feels about her many unflattering appearances in his work:  “She knows how much I fictionalize.”

Given that my own new play, which runs the last weekend of this month here in Los Angeles, features a wife that I hope no one would confuse for my own, it’s incumbent upon me to dismiss all wifely portraits as straight up fiction.

My son Lex graduated from high school tonight. In August, he’ll be off to the University of San Francisco, an institution dedicated to deep learning and to helping improve the world. All these achievements make me proud. (Although I remain necessarily tough on him.)

He was one of more than 600 to graduate tonight from  his high school, which is part of the fine school district Burbank boasts. My own graduating class, from an inferior private religious high school in the back woods back East, was sized about 20 or so. This was the first time I’ve gone to a large high-school graduation, and to me it seemed only slightly smaller in crowd size than the Pink Floyd concert I attended circa 1986 when my wife was nearly trampled to death by too many fans in one place at one time. I’ve been to the USC graduation twice — once to represent the program I teach in, once to honor a grad from another program who was my student and who became my employee and my friend and someone I respect and admire. Those two times were enough these past 21 years, and no, I did not attend my graduate degree ceremony.

Tonight I saw my son encircled by friends who are already highly accomplished as volunteers and emerging leaders and valedictorians. The whole group of them, Lex included, are far ahead of where I was at their age. They are serious about the world they live in, and they seem serious about the fun to be had while alive. They looked like they belonged in a Life magazine pictorial of JFK and his crowd back in the day.

But there were other kids there, too, and my wife and I know them as well: Burbank is a small town, and we’ve been here 21 years. While no one knows where anyone might go, most of us would assume that those kids are on a different path. At one point a woman I’ve known since all these boys were newly arrived in kindergarten was ardently seeking her son. “I just saw him,” I said, which was true because minutes before he had stopped in front of me to say hello and shake my hand — something he hadn’t done for his parents. She kept looking. She couldn’t find him anywhere in the crowd, and I knew he had just breezed by, completely bypassing her and her husband. She look bereft at the slight, left to scan the crowd plaintively for any sign of the son she’d raised for 18 years who couldn’t bother to stop by for pictures. I wanted to find that boy again and give him what for.

The cover story of this month’s Atlantic Monthly details a 70-year chronological study of what makes us happy, following a class of Harvard men from the 30’s until now. Here’s what we find out:  Some of the early successes wind up unmoored and unhappy; some of the hapless wind up successful; on occasion the very smart wind up utterly clueless; many of the charming and glib and easygoing are hiding deep despair that leads to reckless abandon or suicide. In other words, there are no patterns. More than 400 men are studied for 70 years, and no patterns emerge. I was glad to see this. “It’s almost like they’re individuals!” was my thought. Yes. We make our own choices, mitigated by luck.

For some of those freshly minted high-school grads out on the football field, the advantages have been early and often. For others, it’s been a struggle. (At one point I spotted a boy I’ve known almost all his life and was surprised and gratified that he’d actually graduated.)  Whether or not it ever gets easier, the path will never be sure. The two places in which all of our paths merge are at the intersection of chance, and at the terminus where we all exit sooner or later.

I’ve been back in town two days and in those two days I’ve been unpacking,  emailing scripts to the people I met at the theatre conference, catching up on things like getting a haircut, attending graduations (one kid this morning, from elementary school; one kid tomorrow night, from high school), and getting everything done so I can head back out of town next week for two weeks in New York, southern New Jersey, and Philadelphia. (And if I know you and you’re in any of those places, please shoot me a line. I’ll be there June 10 – 24.)

What I haven’t been doing is finishing the post(s?) from the theatre conference and uploading what I think (or hope) are some fun shots from that conference.

So now seems like a good time to post this great story from the Daily Mail that I’ve been holding onto, courtesy of my friend the actor and sage Darrell Kunitomi, about elephants who won’t be refused. Here goes.

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These amazing pictures show why you shouldn’t get between an African elephant and its favourite food.

Mfuwe Lodge in Zambia happens to have been built next to a mango tree that one family of pachyderms have always visited when the fruit ripens.

When they returned one year and found the luxury accommodation in the way, they simply walked through reception.

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Let the porter grab your trunk: An elephant wanders through Mfuwe Lodge, in the South Luangwa National Park, Zambia

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The animals came in two-by-two: Hotel staff and visitors have got used to the elephants’ impromptu strolls through reception

Now the family group, headed by matriarch Wonky Tusk, return every November to gorge on mangos – up to four times a day.

Andy Hogg, 44, director at the Bushcamp Company that runs the Lodge, has lived in South Luangwa National Park since 1982.

But in all his years of dealing with wild animals he has never seen such intimate interaction between man and beast.

‘This is the only place in the world where elephants freely get so close to humans,’ says the 44-year-old.

‘The elephants start coming through base camp in late November of each year to eat the mangos from our trees.

‘When they are ripe they come through and they stand about for four to six weeks coming back each day or second day to eat the mangos.’

Living in the 5,000 square mile national park, the ten-strong elephant herd are led to the lodge each day by Wonky Tusk.

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Migration route: The hotel was built directly in the path of the elephants’ route to one of their favourite foods – mangos

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‘The most interesting thing about this is that they are wild animals and are certainly not tame,’ explains Andy.

‘They come through the lodge to eat the fruit.

‘There are ten in that herd and it is only that herd that comes through. It is a strange thing.

‘The matriarchal in the herd is Wonky Tusk, and she brings the nine others through and they come and go as they please.’

Mfuwe Lodge consists of seven camps and the base camp where the elephants come through.

Employing 150 staff, the management of the lodge are happy to report that there have been no incidents involving the elephants to date.

‘The elephants do get reasonably close to the staff as you can see with the pictures of the elephants near the reception,’ he explains.

‘But we do not allow the guests to get too close.’

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Check-in: But it’s unlikely the lodge has a room big enough for its elephant guests

Enlarge   ‘Guests can stand in the lounge are but as long as there is a barrier between the elephants and the guests that is okay,’ he added.

‘The elephants are not aggressive but you don’t want to tempt anything as they are wild animals.

‘It is the elephants choice to come into base camp and they have been doing it for the last ten years.

‘There are other wild mango trees around and they seem to prefer this one.’

And even thought the lodge was unwittingly built upon the path, Andy says they had no idea the elephants would insist on returning.

‘It wasn’t a design mistake – no-one really knew they were going to come through,’ he says.

‘The lodge was built and then the elephants started coming through afterwards.

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Gentle giants: The leader of the ten-strong herd is matriarch Wonky Tusk

‘We keep people at a safe distance. They are obviously close enough to see what is going on from pretty close quarters but we also make sure we have staff around  to make sure the elephants don’t get too close.

‘But as I said they are still wild and still dangerous. They are huge beasts and untamed.

‘We have bricks and walls between the elephants and the guests such as the counter and other barriers to stop them getting to people and if they try to there is enough time for people to get away.’

Naturally, the lodge becomes a busier attraction for both elephants and guests during November time.

‘We find that we get more people visiting us during the elephant migration because of the unique experience of being so close to wild animals in an unusual environment,’ says Andy.

‘But as I said this is a totally natural phenomenon, the elephants come here of their own accord and it is certainly a rare but magnificent sight.’

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I wasn’t able to get a photo, but the guy behind me looks precisely like the Tasmanian Devil.