Father’s Day Conversations


My daughter just thanked me again for supporting her childhood years with cool, inappropriate information and other things. This time she had a list:

Michael Jackson bleached his skin, she got punished for saying that at school in the early 90’s (my friends in the LA music biz who worked with him had a LOT to say about MJ, very little good).

Christopher Columbus mostly murdered & enslaved the native people in America (she got sent to the principal for telling that truth on Columbus day).

Platform sneakers (Spice Girl era) to wear on “free dress” day at her Episcopal school in 5th grade, we had to hide them from her mom (well after our divorce, which happened when she was 3).

Black glitter fingernail polish (or any other color she wanted) whenever she asked, even though her mother didn’t approve. That probably started in first or second grade.

Then there was that homemade lemonade I made all the time that she really loved. I still make it.

I always said yes to going out for Mexican (I love me some Mexican food always have).

And, last but not least, she’s not going to have kids soon, but she did allude to all the turmoil she caused coming back on her in spades when she does have them. Karma!

My son called too and we talked about how to run your own business for a couple of hours. Totally different & equally fun and wonderful.

Hope you & yours had an awesome day!

We Do Whatever We Like

Golden words from the CIA.gov web site: “… the president and other national leaders wanted an agency that would be independent of any of the policymaking branches of government” and “Congressional oversight has existed to varying degrees throughout the CIA’s existence.” Someone might paraphrase the conjunction of these ideas as “We do whatever we like and we lie about it” but that’s an over-simplification. Sometimes they’re just a bunch of toddlers hoping mom will never find out they spilled the milk.

Sierra Fade

Late afternoon in the eastern Sierras.

Death Slowly By Degrees

I stopped watching “Capote” (which is a masterpiece of storytelling) a little more than halfway through this time. It becomes so overwhelming that I can’t continue to focus on it without a break. If you haven’t seen it, the film covers the period of his life when he wrote “In Cold Blood”, which is a masterpiece of a different sort. There’s the story of the killing and the story of the writer who kept the murderers alive long enough to pick their brains, all wrapped up in one.

He can’t finish the book until he hears the story of that bloody night first hand, and he can’t publish the book until after they’ve been executed. The process turned Capote into a worthless alcoholic. I watched him disintegrate over the years, on the Johnny Carson show and in front of other talk show hosts who hoped he might still have something interesting to say. Eventually all they got was a clown show, a giggling alcoholic who couldn’t put two sentences together.

It’s too painful to focus on that much agony for two hours, straight through. The story arc of the two murderers elicits empathy that becomes deeply conflicting at times. Truman’s story arc is even more sad, in the sense of watching a great artist lose his mind. Phillip Seymour Hoffman never had a better role.

And so it’s back to the movie, at the point where Truman is face to face with the killers he so mercilessly used, a few hours before their execution. To steal a line from Conrad, “The horror.”

More Write

A friend I’ve been corresponding with for many years believes I should be publishing my ideas a lot more than I have. So, while it may be a bumpy ride at times, I’m going for it. Nothing is off limits. Almost nothing. Usually.