seeing. here. now.

When Misha left, I spent a lot of time trying to find the answer. Trying to heal the pain. Trying to quelch the guilt.

I come from a family of thinkers and feelers. Intellectual sorts who spend more time thinking than being.
My childhood memories of my sister do not consist of playing or learning with her. They consist of watching her think.
Meditating and thinking.
Yoga and thinking.
smoking and thinking.

My memories of my Dad include maybe 3 hugs, some rages, but mostly thinking.

Just staring and thinking.

With cute little me right there available to share time and enjoy life.

But I did not exist in their world.

I catch myself doing it now. Doing it since I was a child. I think. I think of all the mistakes. I obsess over the what-ifs.
Hours and hours, sometimes days pass and I can't tell you what anyone else was doing. All I can share is what was in my head.
I've driven long distances with no memory of how I got home, but I can tell you what I thought about.

So these grief sites for pet owners all describe pets as our personal "angels". That when they pass, they stay with us,
guiding us
protecting us

Spirit guides

The technician who took such great care of Misha in his final days told me pets are here to teach us and guide us.
Help us in life, then when they feel we're ok on our own, they're so worn out from helping us, they leave.

As I spend hours, days crying and thinking and obsessing about all the time I missed with Misha, I realized something.

I have no idea what's happening NOW.

when he was alive, I had all this time, SEVENTEEN YEARS, to be with him, play with him, love him.

Instead I laid on the couch, sat in my chair, laid in bed, stood in the corner and thought
and thought
and obsessed

about everything I didn't have. or had and didn't want.

cried about being so lonely

and every minute of every day I had a dear sweet friend who loved me sitting in the same room with me

and I never saw him

and now I wish he was here. So I sit, and stand, and cry, and obsess about everything I regret for him and how much I miss him

and I have dear Fred sitting on the bed and I don't see him.

so now I must see him. Live now. Stop thinking. Start looking. At the beauty I have right in front of me.

Thank you Misha- you gave me the greatest gift anyone can give-

bolshoi cpaceeba moy maleenkee kraceevee drookee, ya t-lubitsch

I've got 16 layers of chanel makeup on...

for allison........

Being poor in LA is a major drag. Didn't I just read something somewhere about how there is no middle-class in LA but somehow it works for the city? Either you're a millionaire or you're starving while working 60 hours a week. I, unfortunately, am on the high-end of the latter.

But there's always Bloomingdales

they have all these groovy parties and send special invites to you if you have an account with them.

Today was a benefit party. I'm done with my job by 3:30pm, so I walked over to the store to enjoy their late-afternoon events.

I got a free manicure while sipping champagne delivered to me on a silver tray and munching on gourmet treats (also delivered to me). Then I got a back/neck massage, then a hand massage (we did the back/neck first to let the manicure set, natch). Plus a stack of 20% off coupons for a killer spa. Plus the contact info of the woman who runs the same spa in Chicago so I can treat my mother when I'm home. Then a champagne cocktail was delivered to me - The Chanel. I had chatted briefly with the Kama Sutra woman before the manicure, so during my hand massage, she came over to me and told me to come back for a free gift (that's my boyfriend's favorite part of this story). Then I nibbled some more.

Did I mention the fat-free ice-cream sandwich when I stopped by during my lunch break?

Back to the evening cause that was more delecadent.......

Then I got a cappucino to kill the buzz from The Chanel

But there was a woman with me who told me the blue martinis were yummy

so I asked the drink guy if I could taste a little taste of the blue martini.

He was making more champagne cocktails for some woman, so rather than make a sampler of the martini, he surprised me by pushing a glass to me and saying "this is YOUR drink.....that Blonde Parisian you mentioned earlier?"

yum

ok, so I walk to the makeup department and get a facial. Then Blu at Jo Malone teaches me how to layer my fragrances. He gives me a wee bottle of the nectarine fragrance thinking I'm a fruity-flowery girl. But during his tutorial he's shocked to hear me say "wow I LOVE that one!" when he handed me a paper sliver sprayed with Pomegranate Noir. Blu's delighted to hear me say it smells like Christmas becuase one of his co-workers started wearing the scent and has been upset that Blu chides him for smelling like holiday potpourri. So he gives me a wee sample bottle of the Pomegranate Noir. Did I mention I successfully smelled the middle note of clove? If I were to go into frangrance layering as a new career, do I need to change my name to a colour and speak in a British accent?

Post manicure, massage, sex-toy, cappucino, champagne, facial - I opt for a makeover to prep me for my weekly meeting with Alison and Jana and, later my shift here at the station.

Chanel seems fitting for my upcoming Beverly Hills dinner--

There is, of course, 3 layers of special hydrating gels, primers, etc. which must be liberally applied before any makeup action begins.

My GOD who wears this much foundation?!?!? Oh wait, I see. The woman doing my face and the other artist across the way. The blush turns out very red on my cheeks. The solution, it seems, is to put more foundation on to cover it up. The second blush is too pink. More foundation natch. Ah! a winner! A peachy colour, then the winter-limited-edition-soon-to-be-sold-out-so-I-better-buy-it-tonight frosty pink dusted on top.

I learned as much as I love the colour Vamp, the lipstick is frighteningly pink on my lips. Second hue she tries is a scary peach. Shit! I was supposed to be at Alison's 10 minutes ago! I give up and put a light gloss on. yay me!

My skin can't breathe, but I look amazing. And I'm walking out the store with more than $1000 worth of crap brushed, smudged, layered, lined on my face.

I raced from Century City to Beverly Hills to meet the ladies for some guilty pleasures.

They exclaim "wow! yuuuuuuuuuuuuu look beauuuuutiful!"

"thanks, I've got 16 layers of Chanel makeup on"

as I excuse myself to come here, Alison, in all seriousness orders me to write something titled "I've got 16 layers of Chanel makeup on" during my radio shift.

Raul is shocked at how beautiful I look. He's used to seeing me show up in pjs and ponytails and cheap, worn-out makeup.

He's thanking me on air for my assistance and telling his listeners how gorgeous I look all smothered in Chanel.

My income for this job is $0.

If I scraped this off and put it in a bottle, I could pay my rent + car insurance with it-

Across the Universe

Just got back from a screening of Across the Universe, a new musical film directed by the otherwise incredibly talent Julie Taymor.

Now let me start this with -- I'm a HUGE Beatles fan. HUGE. Raised on them. My ear glued to our stereo speakers so I could hear the slightest nuance in every guitar string and every breath of every song. So I cringe each time I learn somone has done a cover of their song or, worse yet, a movie based on all their music. In order for me not to be repulsed, the cover MUST be brilliant. and most of the time it is not.

The film started out reeeeeeaally great- Jim Sturgess staring at us while sitting alone on a beach singing one of my faves, Girl. The song is already built with creepy nuance and his delivery added more dark shadow in it's focused simplicity.

I was really excited!

then it came.

the rest.

now keep in mind I've recently decided I'm not a big fan of Broadway musicals. Not any more. In addition to my sisters Beatles and Simon/Garfunkel LPs, I grew up on my mom's West End and Broadway soundtracks and, well, listen to the original West End production of Cabaret vs. this year's Tony Award winner and you'll hear the difference. Today's Broadway shows seem geared to the white-washed, upper-middle class middle American who can't stomach more than Wonder Bread.

So if you like Wonder Bread, you'll most likely enjoy this film.

I do not like Wonder Bread. Never did. Always a sprouted whole grain or pumpernickel girl...

And both John and Paul had such dark sides to them, it would seem to be relatively easy to make this a dark, surreal trippy trip through their songs, NYC, and Liverpool. What made the Beatles brilliant and immortal was their fearless risk. Ms. Taymor’s greatest betrayal was her inability to take risk in this film.

Instead we got Wonder Bread in Iowa.

Some good points were:
Opening scene
Joe Cocker - but only when he's homeless
Bono's 10 minutes (his improved moments were brilliant) - and the magic bus
Eddie Izzard improvising
I dug Helter Skelter, Matt did not
Daniel Ezralow's choreography --- I was DYING to work with him when I was a dancer, alas I never got the chance
casting 2 actors who looked just like Paul and Linda circa 1970 (when camera was far) -- I was looking for a Jane Asher or Yoko Ono reference, but I guess that was too much for a mainstream stomach

Most obvious is Julie Taymor's inability to work with actors in dialogue. She's pretty ok with the song and dance numbers. But once everyone stops singing and dancing, she fumbles and fouls.

What made the evening worse was the q&a that followed. I normally dont' stay if I hate the film but....c'mon! Julie Taymor!!! I was going to blow off the chance to hear Julie Taymor talk about her work?! However, she MODERATED the q&a so what followed was 1/2 hour? 45 min? of masterbation by her and her young cast.

Here's a review that best summ's up my experience with this film-
Something that would have been a bad idea for an Off-Broadway concept show has inexplicably been turned into a bloated two hour and eleven minute movie musical. - Pete Hammond, Maxim
Full Review by Pete Hammond

Best moment:
"They ALL really liked it!" - Julie Taymor referring to "The Beatles" response after seeing the film
"ALL? All TWO of them??" - Matt's disgusted response

Time

One of the truly tragic realities of getting older is….

You have regret and the deep sadness that accompanies all that you missed or dismissed. The hunches and instincts that told you quite clearly what to do, where to go to protect you and your loved ones…..and how many you dismissed only to learn they were real.

All the love and good intentions in the world can’t protect you from the life-changing decisions made from the brain vs. the spirit.

Dos Vee Donya Misha

My dearest, sweetest, coolest friend of my life, my little Misha, passed away tonight-

At least now he's climbing trees, running through massive fields, chasing rabbits, squirrels, birds.......

I love you Misha-
desperately-

I miss you so much-

Nocturne 1 in B Flat Minor Op. 9 - Chopin

I dunno who's favorite this was--

the head ballet mistress for Hubbard Street

or the pianist

But every day, our first exercise -- usually a mellow plier series -- would be accompanied by this song.

And every time I hear it, I'm immediately calmed. Brought back to that cold studio. Standing at the bar between 2 ballerinas....or maybe that 35 year old dancer who's all crickety and tired but every move she makes is stunning thanks to her age and experience.... Me drowning in layers of worn out knit hoping to keep my 98lb. body warm enough in the frigid studio until either the heater kicks in or our body heat warms up the space. (the body heat usually won)

Watching Birute's long, graceful, kirov-trained arms swim through the air guiding us through the series....her calm, wabbling voice gently waking us up... The fog on the windows blurring the train and all the cookie-cutter corporate drones miserably departing on the platform....

That was as dream life! Funny how all the stress and pressure I put on myself to be superhuman marred what is definitely the high point of my life..... I watch The Company and cry and cry and cry remembering those wonderful frigid days on 19th/Halsted and Wabash/Adams. Harriet's thick whiny NYC voice scolding us for not being more demanding of our bodies. Lou grabbing his golden retriever, Buddy, from the doorway to the studio before he could get in and be trampled by our grand sodebasques (sp?!)- Joel and his regal majesty... The Cabrini Green kids in their low-slung pants and high-top Jordans showing us tutu-butts how hip-hop is REALLY executed -- compete with sass, rebellion, and fire one can only develop growing up in one of the most dangerous blocks in the county.

sigh....

thank you Birute and Warren for giving me something to bring this all back-

Thank you Chopin.