Giant t-shirt, new bed linen, leftover Thai food, Graceland on repeat. Why would I ever want to leave?

This is all I have been doing for the last month. But I finished 100 pages of my screenplay. Draft one down in one month (well, 32 days, but who’s counting?)!

Also, I have a new herb garden, thanks to Alex.

Peppers, sweet basil, mint, rosemary, cilantro, lemon thyme. Hoping to add in a few more in a couple weeks. So happy for warm weather…


I can’t stop listening to this:

[The album version with percussion is so much better, but WordPress won’t accept my file type from iTunes!]

Or looking at these:

The Times ran a nice piece today called The Joys of the Window Seat. It made the front page of the online edition, in fact — this is why I love this publication.

As a girl, I was always a window-seat-er. But since moving to LA, I fly these quick 50-minute trips between LAX and the Bay so often that I have become an aisle girl out of ease. This has got to change.

trzy kolory


My friend Anastasiya lives in an old apartment in Hollywood across the street from “The Magic Gas.” The building’s hallways twist and turn, going on forever; in the lobby is an aquarium full of overgrown goldfish with tumor-like growths that suggest they’ve been there for decades.

I visited Anastasiya the other night to watch Kieslowski’s Three Colors: White. I saw Red some years ago at a LACMA screening, and now I just have to see Blue — I’m seeing them in reverse order, unintentionally. I loved Red, but White really blew me away. It is a beautiful and most enjoyable film.

Ah, Julie Delpy. She is stunning.

Anastasiya is Russian-born and enjoyed comparing her native tongue to the film’s Polish. Watching the movie in that old apartment, next to her, with our stew and bratwurst, I felt much like I was in Eastern Europe. The goblet of wine also helped (next time, vodka).

I may not get a break from work this year, but I’m already beginning to feel the itch of summer the way I used to in school. I came across this summery offering outside my office the other day, tucked into a loose piece of palm:

Give me a swimming pool and a lemonade and I am 14 years old again with nothing to do but make it through the 9th grade summer reading list. Gawd, things were rough then.

My boss’ blackberry just crashed, and when I took out the battery to reboot, I found myself blowing on it before returning it to its hatch. I realize now that I do this every time this happens.

Nintendo circa 1998 — old habits die hard.

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See you in the blogosphere…

My doppleganger. I mean the llama, not Heather.

I could use a day like this:

I was sick as a dog. No, that’s wrong; there were several dogs in the street below my window, and all of them were healthier than I. My head was huge and tight; my throat was small and red. I took Fuogrip, a charming French antihistamine that made my ears float. I plumped up the pillows in the rose room and gazed mournfully at the far wall. There was a framed tinted photograph of a young girl in Edwardian dress. On the wall to the right, a watercolor of a vase of scarlet flowers. In between, a window overlooking the valley.

Much of the Dordogne looks like the cover of a book of fairy tales; castles above precipices, turrets and ramparts, neat squares of farmland yellow and brown in autumn, curling rivers through narrow valleys, picturesque cottages surmounted by wispy pillars of smoke. That was the view out my window. I had to stand up and go over to the window to see it, however; that struck me as unfair. Having given me a vile continental disease, France could at least provide me with bedside entertainment.

I drifted.

Continue reading ‘an elderly sexton’

I realized recently that I have the ability to give the gift of download-able music here. What better gift to give than JJ Cale? Better known as a songwriter for Eric Clapton and Lynard Skynard, but his own voice feels like home to me.



Don’t Go To Strangers

These songs are off of “Naturally. It’s one of those albums that was the soundtrack to my childhood, played as vinyl on my parents’ record player or in the car when we would go on family drives to the coast for a day at Limantour beach and BBQ oysters at Nick’s Cove (pre-Kuletos when it was still a sawdust-on-the-floor-and-crab-nets-on-the-wall kind of place). There are a handful of albums like this that I rarely if ever put on in my day-to-day life, but that I find myself gravitating toward the second I touch hometown soil. Some of the others:

I was very nearly named "Rickie" after her

Growing up it was pretty much all Van Morrison, all the time. This and every other album.

This is where the cringe factor part comes in. I'm not gonna lie, I still really love "If You Don't Know Me By Now". The video is a classic. This is a rather fortunate album cover because this dude is really, really ugly.

There was also a lot of Steve Miller Band, BB King, Annie Lennox, that one Blind Melon song “No Rain” on repeat (I’ve never actually heard the rest of the album), and my dad’s weird jazz guitar stuff that I now realize was not so weird but really amazing. My mother also went through a brief period in my childhood where she played Black Sabbath constantly, perhaps reliving her college days. I remain strangely influenced by “Master of Reality.”

But mostly J.J. Cale.