September 28, 2010
I got up early so I can run and run I shall. Maybe only 5-6 miles before it becomes insanely hot. I was worried that Charlie or Smoky might have expired in the heat, but they were there begging for food this morning and Charlie wanted to come into this very library where Mark has forbidden him to come.
Skyped with Steve and Adina Amore last night, they are well and enjoying Nepal. They are going to look for a little house to rent by the orphanage so they can garden and cook. It would be cheaper than staying at the orphanage. They seem very happy.
Last night I drove home listening to “Come Sail Away,” and thought of my big dream which will probably never happen. It’s to sail around the Greek Islands and swim every day and write in my little cabin and eat fish and drink wine and put in at different ports. Given the heat here, sailing away seems wonderful. I need to keep my dreams in perspective. Just dreaming of being able to be full time at Red Hen is a 5 year dream, so if I get to do the sailing thing in ten years, maybe less, who knows? I better go for that run before it gets any hotter.
It’s supposed to be another hot day. I can hear Charlie outside the office right now, carrying on the way Siamese cats do, like it’s all about him and I am just here to wait on him. I’m going to Europane for coffee with Rochelle and then to Zelis the coffee shop at Vromans with Mary Guterson, and tonight I have to go to a reception for a County. And then I’ll meet my friend Theresa at Mussos.
These things for the County are usually interesting because you see other people in the non profit world who you haven’t seen in ages. They look haggard; they are taking other people’s drinks. Just seeing them makes you realize how well your organization is doing. You have paper and last you checked, paper clips. You ask if they have paper clips. They don’t. Neither do they have rubber bands. Any kind of white out, even the nasty liquid kind, they ran out of long ago even though they continue to make mistakes. You have another drink. These parties are usually in high places in Downtown LA, so when you see them walk over to the ledge, you follow. You offer to help them find free interns. You know paid staff are out of the question. But, they say, they can’t even afford dancers any more. Or singers. You don’t want them going to the dogs. You show them then and there that you can dance. You can sing. You’re all about dancing and singing. On the Eighth Floor of the Kenneth Hall building, you do a fast salsa move, then finally a little shake your booty action. People are watching, but you don’t care now, you’re trying to make a point and that point may be lost on most people. In fact, you’re not sure what the point was. Maybe this is one long monologue about the existential in the arts, maybe you should have been a writer, but this dancing and singing suits you as if we could all do something for someone else. As if we could all change about each other’s existence with a flick of the wrist, a step to the left, it would be all right.