May 29th, 2000


Two Days Worth of Diary: Coco's kids are sneaking across the border and Meeting Maria Mckee and not

Setting: My office, seated at my computer. Birds to the left of me, ratties to the right. Two ferrets behind me and a whole bunch of kitties at the door. Four nuns down the street.

Sound: Britney Spears, blaring from the hallway where my son is seated listening with passionate, rapt attention. Talk radio (am 600 out of San Diego), just turned it on, don't know if the Art Bell replacement show, Coast to Coast will be on or not.

Clothing: None.

Jewelry: Tag Heuer stainless sports watch purchased at Harrods in London with Mother's credit card two years ago. Assorted turquoise bracelets, crystals, stones and glass beads.

Sound: A door slamming, my son is angry because he cannot find the all important remote for the television. These things are important to a very tired, overindulged ten year old.

Thought: Maybe I should back up all my precious data...naaaaahhhhhh.

Sound: Ratties sucking on a water bottle, birdies shuffling around and tweedleing.

Thoughts: I'm worried about whether I will be able to get the money together to pay the coyotes who will dump Coco's three children back across the border if we can't pay them when they come. I know we'll get it together, it'll be okay, mother needs to toy with me longer, but in the end she'll come through. I'm only partly angry at Coco for giving me so little notice on needing to borrow so much money from my mother. How can I blame her for procrastinating on asking? It's never easy to ask anyone for money, especially when you have none, especially in this case where everything hinges on her being able to get the money together to bring her children here, and away from her abusive sister who burned her little girls hands on the stove because she acted naughty.

I wish Angelina Jolie was my friend. I can't believe I got to meet her and talk to her. I wish I'd had the courage to be more direct. It totally turns me on that she says she loves and is attracted sexually to everyone, male, female, fat, thin. That it's hard for her to walk down the street for all the passion she feels for people. Yeay. God bless her talented, pretty, big-lipped, heart and soul.

I missed seeing my man tonight. He's so sweet, sexy, talented and handsome. I wish I were sophisticated enough to know how to upload/transfer/whatever clips of his music for you to hear. He has the most beautiful voice, so soulful and soothing and sexy.

I don't like when you're having a peanut butter and jam sandwich and you bite into a big chunk of strawberry.

What I did today: Well, I woke up pretty early considering I went to bed so late, (four am). It took em a long time to get started. I had my usual breakfast oatmeal with rice milk on it, and my chocolate powder, ice and non fat milk shake from The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf.

Sound: Wolf whistles from the cockatiels. Static and bla, bla, bla, entities, bla bla, replicate, bla, bla, soup, bla, bla, primordial, bla, rich in amino acids, bla, bla, primitive self replicating molecules, bla, bla, bla, nanoseconds, bla, bla, chemistry, bla, bla, talk on the radio.

What I did today cont. Then I forced myself to get dressed. I actually put on some makeup and jewelry, lots of vintage crystal necklaces and silver hoops. A little green printed mini dress and white undershorts. My favorite leopard sandals. I loaded the car with my swap meet pull along cart, my purse and checkbook and left. Stopped at 711 and got some cash, two protein bars, Advil, a packet of Excedrin for the caffeine, and an Aquafina. Aquafina is my favorite water.

Then I drove to my favorite swap meet, The Santa Monica Airport Swapmeet, even though I only had about four hours of sleep the night before, and was so tired it was hard to drive. Parked in my favorite spot. Grabbed my trusty black cart and headed in. Visited Eleanor's daughter's space first and bought a sterling silver bee pin. They are constantly going to London to buy things to sell here. They must go five times a year at least. I know they go to Bermondsey, which is London's best low end flea market. You have to get there at the crack of dawn. The dealers hardly have time for you until they get to know you. They know us as Americans by our little carts and can sometimes be rude about it. Some of the dealers will hold things back for you if you come often enough. I've never been very good at making money without the imposed discipline of a nine to five job so I never got to go on European buying or even cross country buying trips unless I happened to be there. I'm envious of the people I know who have the ability to finance their entire trip and pay their daily living expenses out of the things they buy and bring back here to sell.

One thing I do notice about my dealer pals is that they accumulate lots of crap that they sometimes have a hard time parting with. I'm like that, I have so much stuff, my entire garage is packed with vintage this and that's I've picked up at garage sales and estate sales. The thrill of the hunt and find is almost erotic to me. I'm sure there is some sort of addictive component in shopping for me. I Have dreams of being invited into big houses filled with antiques, allowed to shop to my heart's content. There always seems to be a time factor bearing down on my though.

I always go see my friends Jimmy and Terry. They are a really sweet eccentric couple who I love. They let me postdate checks which is certainly a draw for me. Terry is such a compulsive shapper/hoarder that people cannot come over to her house. Apparently she has bags and boxes filling every square inch of space with pathways in between. I've met people like this. I'd probably be like that if I didn't have other things to keep me busy, and a housekeeper or three. My ex had a cousin who's adoptive parents were totally nuts and lived like that but the difference with Terry and Jimmy is that they do it for a living and have really fine taste, so the things they buy are really unique and lovely. Ruth and Gene (Cindy, Robby's cousin's parents) were certifiable, seriously. So they would wander around the city in their old station wagon and pick up anything they found in alleys and by dumpsters that appealed to them and then stack them in groups in their house. When they weren't driving around picking up old furniture Ruth would take her stolen shopping cart out to the doughnut store. On the way back she would weave her way through some more alleys where she would bring broken things back from the trash cans and dumpsters. Her house was a maze of furniture, crippled appliances and stacks and stacks of old papers. Why is it so hard for goofy people to throw out their papers? There was a narrow pathway you could negotiate to make your way from the front door through to the kitchen where she would purposely set food on the counters in order to feed the roaches. Her house was basically a fire trap, which proved true when she finally did set it on fire one day. In her back yard there was this big dark grey stain on the cement, it turned out this was a sort of oil slick from the doughnuts she dumped there for the birds every day.

But getting back to the swap meet. Let's see, from Jimmy and Terry I bought, an old Victorian print in a goopy white shabby chic kind of frame for just the right place in my library that turned out not to be. I bought lots of vintage pink velvet and silk roses. I love old faded millinery flowers. I bought a little elf or fairy, an old iron owl, some postcards, valentines and photos of children, a coffee table, like I need another, I'm forever buying things I have plenty of, like coffee tables and chairs. I guess I'm thinking something like, Oh look a coffee table, you never know when you might need one of these.

Celebrity sightings: Pretty slim pickings today but that's probably because I got there so late. I've seen so many famous folk at these swap meets, my favorite being Diane Keaton and Brad Pitt, okay so call me lame and shallow. I love Diane Keaton, I think she's wonderful, neurotic though she may be, she's got great style, and Brad Pitt well, he's Brad Pitt, what're you gonna do? I often see Rachel Ashwell the Shabby Chic author, store owner and bla bla bla gal. Today I saw Jack Nicholson's daughter, she's kind of a swap meet celebrity because she's always photographed in magazines because Rachel Ashwell does her house. Oh and when I went to visit with my pals Ronda and Bob, I sat and spoke for a long while with a woman whose name was, wait a second, gonna look at my checkbook where I wrote her name...Maria Mckee who was the lead singer for Lone Justice. (They were so popular in the eighties that Mick Jagger, Bob Dylan and Tom Petty all offered to write for them.) I barely remembered her but not at the time, only later when someone told me it was she. I knew something was up because everyone was so deferential to her, fuck that, I hate that weird fake vibe that comes up when people are around people of some renown and I would hope they hate it too. If it were me and people always acted so weird around me I would feel so unbelievably lonely. Anyway she was talking about her brother mostly, Bryan MacLean of the 60's group LOVE. He died a year ago Christmas Day. I'd never heard of him and felt badly about that, she said he had been in a seminal LA band named LOVE and that they had been so big that The Doors had opened for them.

He had been a major alcoholic/drug addict all of his life, sobering up only occasionally and only for brief periods of time. Apparently he had really bad cholesterol and wouldn't face it or go to a doctor to get it taken care of, thinking that if he went on manic exercise jags he could keep himself going. She said he liked to jog to the Griffith Park Observatory and back every day. The Griffith Park Observatory is at the top of what passes for a mountain around here, you may remember it from Rebel Without A Cause.
His heart couldn't stand the strain and he had a massive coronary on Christmas. She said that she had blamed her mother for his behavior and death because her mother had always been there to bail him out when he screwed up. Her thinking being that if he were allowed to bottom out he would drag himself to a twelve step meeting and hang on for dear life. The sad thing that caught my heart, other than the tragedy of someone dying unhappily, is that it turned out he had a daughter who had never known him, and only just recently turned up. They are pretty certain she really is his daughter but don't really feel ready to have any kind of relationship with her. Obviously this is where I came into the conversation being an adoptee with similar issues myself. I think it's horrible of people not to be more open hearted and welcoming to people when they turn up. I think it would be really healing to open their hearts to her, she needs it they need it. I don't get it, how can people overlook gifts from the heavens like that. Well, I guess you don't become a major addict without their being some dysfunction in your family of origin. To be honest I mostly liked her dog and sensed a deep sadness and guardedness in her that I couldn't really reach across. She had the sweet little pug and had been sitting with us and chatting for a while when her aloof, pretty-boy husband walked up holding a little Italian greyhound and saying, "I want to go now!" So they did. He reminded me of Robby, someone who thinks he's better than everyone else and feels no need to bother connecting with his perceived lessors. God I resent people like that. I could be wrong but that was my take anyway.

Okay so now I'm thinking here was just one more blown opportunity to do something helpful for Scott or even myself by slipping her a demo or something. Although I wouldn't want to do something like that, not only because it would have embarassed my friends but because it seems so usury and crass, I can't help thinking of Mariah Carrey passing a tape to Tommy Motolla at a party. I guess I'm pretty conflicted about this issue. I feel torn and confused like I should be present to any opportunities that present themselves, but despite the deep desire to be more prepared and aggressive, there is also this bigger and more powerful feeling reminding me there is nothing out there for me to struggle towards, no person I have to find who can help pull me up or though an opened door. That I have everything I need right here and have merely to put one foot in front of the other and do the work before me. It's so hard to give that first feeling up, that desperate stressful feeling that I have to connect and shmooze right now, or I'll be lost and miss out. It never works out for me anyway and it feels better and attracts much more support and energy to just surrender and trust my own talent and path. I think we all know what it is we are meant to do and maybe if we got out of our way for a minute the world could spin around so much more smoothly.

I feel like a geek for not knowing a lot of sixties bands and musicians sometimes, but I only began to come awake in the seventies. It must be like trying to explain Kate Bush, Roxy Music, Brain Eno and Siouxsie and the Banshees to someone like Beau. I had Flesh and Blood on in the car and he didn't dig it too much. But whatever, he didn't take to the Beatles or the Stones right away either, and besides he's into Kid Rock, Britney Spears, The Back Street Boys and just to throw a weird curve ball at you, Korn, yeah KORN! He likes the song they play in the game Twisted Metal. He likes to go, duh duh duh duh, duh duh duh duh, die like the bitches, and burn with the witches in helllellllellllllll. Nice hunh? I figure I'm breaking him in for a future appearance or two on Springer or Sally. You know, a sort of spring training camp for a future, Boot Camp for Troubled Teens, show. His best friend Stephen, and remember we're talking nine and ten year olds here said, "Fuck you, you fucking bitch," to his mother last week. Oh that's pretty, unhunh, yup, I dug hearing about that one. Maybe I should just give him a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of Old English, throw some seeds in a pot in the back yard, toss him the keys to my car and be done with it.

I wouldn't mind an hour alone in a room with Tom Cruise but despite the lovely cinematography, special effects and editing, Mission Impossible was a sexist piece of...well l'll just say that I didn't even know it was Thandie Newton playing the love interest because she seemed so doe like and fragile and strangely helpless even though she's supposed to be this bravura master thief. yes I thought she was pretty, well her face was, but she was sooo thin and delicate, it's amazing her light shown through at all. I love Thandie Newton and I didn't even recognize her. I think Tom Cruise's best performance was this year at the Oscars and I'm not saying it wasn't genuine, I just loved watching him smile and be charming. Now there's a three way I would love to have, I say as I commit these words to digital eternity.

Emotional State: Wrung out and exhausted.

Good night pals.

Love you,