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Yes Indeed OK, I've missed the Cherry Blossom Festival Parade, but what the hell, you really don't know, I guess (having your jaw moved forward), how you're going to feel on any given day until you've been through the whole thing. Part of the whole thing, it seems, is your teeth and your mouth and your gums ache like a son of a bitch most of the time. I've been waiting for the rental company to pick up the oxygen unit, they promised to pick it up this morning, but it's afternoon and my guess is they won't arrive for hours. I could blame them for missing the parade, but that isn't really true, the folks upstairs would have handled it for me if I'd asked. The teeth hurt clamped in the braces and I don't want to get on a train to the city and walk around in a crowd feeling like a freak with pancake protruding lips, aching teeth and a broken jaw.
I've talked about an author I like named Eve Babitz and late
The book is a collection of vignettes, one, two, three page stories about growing up in Hollywood, attending Hollywood High School, about living in L.A., a woman now my age, but then 10, 12, 16, 18 learning about art and life and the mythical creatures she met, the mythical creature she herself would eventually become.
I have an old friend from the 1970's whom I haven't seen in a
Maybe that's some of the fascination, the clean writing and tone, tales of the myth and the music and the magic of my youth by an author who decided in high school that of all of the world's options, she would choose "adventuress" and write her tales for people like me to read years later and help recall silly little stories of our own. One of the reasons I wanted to run the photograph of Meg was the sharpness and color balance. The photographs I shot on this page are fuzzy and washed out beside it. I assume it was taken with a digital camera because the digital camera I have will take pictures of similar sharpness. Need to work on this says I to self. Yes indeed says self. Yes indeed. |
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last week I received one of her out of print books, Eve's Hollywood,
that I'd ordered through Amazon.com. I had no idea what to expect. I'd
received a copy of her novel L.A. Woman the week before, another
out of print book, hard back, in fairly good condition, but with the name
and address of the original owner written on the inside cover. Eve's
Hollywood was somewhat more surprising, a perfect bound uncorrected page
proof copy without cover or interior photographs, probably a copy
of an uncorrected page proof that someone had printed up and offered
for sale. No interior photographs, just spaces marked where the Annie
Liebovitz photographs should have been, some typos and some stamped
and printed remarks here and there indicating corrections.
long time, a
woman who was and is a mythical creature on her own. She grew up in Chicago,
her father into jazz, meeting most every musician of the period.
My friend worked for Atlantic Records, worked for David Geffen when he
created Asylum. Some time after we got to know one another I read
Babitz book, Slow Days, Fast Company, and asked her in passing if
she knew her and what she was like. My friend turned her head to look at
me, just a look that said in the briefest moment, eyes connecting, that
there was history there that was better left back in L.A. and maybe I
shouldn't bring the subject up again. That was enough, she was
my friend, the days were long and exciting and there were other questions
to answer before I ever thought to ask again.