March 10th-11th: on Laurel Canyon and sorry… dicks galore…


This has been the coldest and wettest winter in California ever (said the weather wimp). When I look outside, everything is green, and that includes the growth of moss and the concrete patio in the back which has colored a deep green. Our weekends have seen constant rain, so Jon and I decided to escape for the weekend to catch some beams and warmth in La La Land. More than San Fran, which has been taken over by techies, Teslas and startups, LA is the land of hedonism where life seems to move at a slightly slower pace. John Lennon called it a parking lot, but once you can see past the traffic and explore the different neighborhoods, LA has a lot going for it. The light is softer here and the people seem more relaxed.

I dropped Frankie off yesterday with the new sitter and felt weirdly nervous about it. I mean the guy has been through so much lately and here I was dropping him off at yet another sitter. Whenever I used to take him in the car, he used to run around like someone hopped on Adderall. Not anymore. The entire drive, he sat in my lap, trembling like a leaf. This will be a good test, because in April we’re gone for another weekend, visiting Will in Boston. Fingers crossed.

So now we’re in in a little casita in Laurel Canyon, perched on a hilltop with a faint buzz of LA traffic in the distance, but mostly birds singing, a warm generous sun, the smell of eucalyptus trees and hawks flying over head showing off their fuzzy feathered bellies. It’s like The Mammas and the Pappas never left. California Dreamin’, babe.

Last night, after dinner, Jon had to make one stop before we were heading back to Laurel Canyon and I was going to wait for him in the car but Jon pointed out a book store. Ah well, you know me and book stores… I got out the car and walked into a dinky little place where they hadn’t dusted in a while and, yes, they sold books, but mostly porn. Think gay porn, and mostly boners. Not a bag of dicks but a store full of dick. Also saw countless birthday cards with bronzed bodies and huge erections with texts such as “Sorry I forgot your birthday but I have a little present for you.” Dick hyperbole, if you ask me. Men are full of it.

Anyway, needless to say, I was fascinated, so I took my time looking around and was tempted to buy a few of those cards. Just to surprise my friends, in case I do forget their birthdays…

My word of the day is “dumpster fire” which seems to be used by everyone these days when they want to refer to anything the White House or the GOP is doing. Like the new health bill, which is going oh so smoothly, according to the president’s latest tweets. More dick hyperbole if you ask me.



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