As fate would have it: the intersection of five random people on the Hyperion Bridge, and the death of my SUV.

As fate would have it: the intersection of five or more random (?) people on the Hyperion Bridge, high above the 5 freeway at 10:20 am last morning, in the first October rain.

I awoke at the usual time, with no trepidation whatsoever. Not even a tiny clue from the universe that this day would be anything out of the ordinary. Meditated a bit, fed the cat and the fish, had a shower and set out. It was raining, but lightly, I made sure everything was covered in tarps before I headed over to the gym for cardio, all seemed copacetic. I left the gym at 10:20, carefully calculating just enough time to get to Eat Well for the breakfast special, which ends at 10:30.

Halfway across the Hyperion bridge, I'm listening to the new David Sylvian cd in the truck. Traffic is light, there's a little silver sports car in front of me, I'm paying little mind, listening to David Sylvian's wonderful voice filling my truck. But suddenly, the little silver sports car spun around and was facing me! Wha wha wha??

I hit the brakes, but not too hard, because I knew the pavement would be slippery, especially on the bridge. It was just barely raining, and it hasn't really rained here for many many months, so the oil on the road would be treacherous; imagine a very slippery frozen pond, then covered in oil.

The silver car spun around in the middle of the road, and then someone coming from the other direction hit the sports car. Suddenly the sports car was heading back towards me, but coming at me sideways. I ramped to the left, but then I started to slide. I could see the side of the silver car coming towards me, in slow motion, like in some action movie, but by this time I had no control and the right side of my truck slammed into the left side of the silver car with a tremendous crunch, the sound of glass hitting steel, and losing.

(click on any picture to see it larger)

Both of our vehicles, side to side, slid over into the oncoming traffic, and a fourth car slammed into the right side of the silver car and careened over the road to hit the curb on the other side. The silver car flipped around backwards and slid to a stop, facing oncoming traffic, and eventually hit the curb and came to a stop.

Of course, all this happened in literally a fraction of a second.


I hadn't been going very fast, but it was all quite a shock. Not to mention the actual physical jolt of being hit by not one but two cars in rapid succession. Sideways.

My truck sputtered and stalled. My head reeled.

I quickly got out and I could see the driver of the silver sports car was slumped over in the passenger seat of his car. The side windows had blown out, and the front fender of his car was torn off and lying on the road. There was glass and car parts all over the pavement and sidewalk, and the cars on the bridge had all stopped. There was also two other cars who managed to avoid crashing into anyone, but we were all askew on the road, with parts and plastic and glass all over the pace, as if god had shaken the road and we all just kind of landed where we landed.

I went over to the silver car to make sure the guy was ok, he was smashed into his car and the door wouldn't open, but he nodded he was ok but his leg hurt. Meanwhile the driver of the second car came over and he said he’d called 911. I told the guy in the silver car not to move, help was coming. He sat in his car for quite a while until the firemen arrived and pulled him out.

A firetruck arrived and two young firemen got out and went around asking if everyone was ok. They got the guy out of the silver car and he sat on the side of the road with his head in his hands. We were all basically ok, obviously a little shaken (more than a little shaken) but our vehicles had definitely seen better days.

I got back into my truck which was now facing the wrong way, in the wrong lane and effectively in the middle of the road. The engine turned over but it wouldn't stay running. I popped the hood and everything looked ok, but after several tries to get it running, I gave up.

My first call was to my auto body shop, and I asked if they could send a tow truck, which he dispatched right away. Everyone else was by this time out of their cars and on their phones calling various agencies and family members. It's so amazing that every single one of us had a cel phone.


A few minutes later my tow truck arrived. The driver tried to start my truck, but it wouldn't stay running. So they pushed it out of the middle of the road so the traffic could get past. Then the police man arrived and stopped in the middle of the road, so once again both west bound lanes were blocked.

The police man said none of us could leave until he had taken statements from everyone. So my tow truck driver had to stand there waiting.

Meanwhile, one of the people had called AAA, their tow truck driver clearly had been through this a few times, and he calmly collected everyone's insurance info, drivers license and registration, and began making photo copies (!!) in the back of his truck.

So the cop took statements from everyone and when he was finished with me he said, "Ok, you can go." The driver of the silver sports car was pretty much in shock, and wasn't saying much. Also his car was clearly totalled. He showed me his insurance and it was bare bones. So he had lost his car, and was clearly at fault in an accident involving 5 people (there were two people in one of the cars) and 4 vehicles including a 2010 Mercedes.

The damage to my truck is pretty intense, on the passenger side, and of course it's not running. Also the door on the driver’s side doesn't open very well, and the sport panel fell off.

It is now sitting in my local auto body shop, waiting for the insurance inspector to come and look, which will hopefully happen soon, so they can start restoring my truck. But the mechanic told me they will probably write my truck off; because of the way the crash happened, the front end of my truck is twisted.

So clearly I had to rent a car. I was expressing concern over this at the auto body, and they said, "hey, there was just a guy here who is from a car rental place, his card is right there on the bulletin board."

So they called him, and a half hour later he arrived to pick me up. He said, "sorry it took me so long to get here, there was some sort of accident on the Hyperion bridge and they had it closed off."

We all laughed. “Ooops!”


The tow truck had gone back to pick up the totaled silver sports car, which was facing the wrong was in the oncoming lane. I imagine they had to close the bridge to get the car and all the debris taken care of.

So I got a rental car, and then headed over to my insurance company, who I had already called a couple times. Since the drive is underinsured, I am responsible for payments to repair my truck and the rental car. Or, if they write it off, I will have to buy a new truck!

Then the insurance company will reimburse me, minus my $1000 deductible, and I will have to submit the rental car bill to the silver sports cars insurance company. The insurance agent said they will recover what they can from the sports car driver, but it will not cover all the cars and people involved. So that kind of sucks.


I am often bemused by the hands of fate, or coincidence. Some people say there is no such thing as coincidence, and everything happens for a reason. A Course in Miracles (or at least Marianne Williamson) says every person (or car?) who is in front of you (or beside you, or behind you) is an opportunity to learn, and it is our choice to learn through love or through fear. I crossed paths with a lot of people yesterday. The three drivers of the other cars, the tow truck driver, the policeman, the firemen, the mechanics, the car rental guy, two insurance people plus one on the phone.

And these things took up nearly my entire day. I was talking with the insurance agents at 5pm as they were closing, setting up a time for them to see the damage on my truck. I went to the gym and then to a movie; I was just too beat to attempt any work.

I took a warm bath when I got home from the movie, I knew I would be sore when I woke up and thought the heat might lessen the damage. I sat there looking up at the ceiling, wondering what the lessons here were for me, and if I negotiated the day as well as I could have. And how in the world I am going to be able to buy a new truck!

I thought, as I often do, one minute (or even thirty seconds) earlier or later either way, heading across the Hyperion bridge, my day would have been entirely different. And my truck would be safely sitting in my driveway when I woke up the next morning.

But I didn't. And it's not.

I wonder what this is all about?


©2010 RocketManLA.com Rod Reynolds Los Angeles CA USA

being inspected by the city of Los Angeles, and losing a friend...

About a month ago, I got a call from a fellow clutter expert and friend. He had gotten a job in Sherman Oaks that was turning out to be too much for him. When I arrived, I found three people in near hysterics. The woman who was in charge, the place was her sister's, who had died a couple months ago; she and her husband had flown in from Chicago for a week to take care of the place and empty it out. But this dead woman, Bonnie, lived in a three bedroom, five story condo in Sherman Oaks, and, while certainly not on the level of a hoarders episode, a well lived in home. But the kicker was her two car garage, which was FULL of brand new merchandise.

It turns out, Bonnie sold things at flea markets for a living, and her garage was full of brand new, in the package merchandise. Her sister was there, with her husband, and my friend Paul. They were just standing amongst piles and piles of STUFF, wandering around and occasionally throwing things into bags, mostly stuff they felt should go to goodwill.

The main crunch of the situation, was that the sister (Teri) and her husband were only in LA for a week, and there was an open house scheduled for the upcoming weekend. So they were all a little tense to begin with, but faced with a house full of stuff and a two car garage full of merchandise, they were on the verge of a meltdown.

Just the perfect situation for me to swoop in and save the day. Fear not, Rocket Man LA to the rescue!

It was quickly apparent that the majority of the goods and nearly all of the merchandise was inherently saleable. So they quickly agreed that I would take the saleable merchandise and sell it (sharing the profits). So I started packing it all in my truck. Garbage bags were the easiest and cheapest mode of transport. Everything went into double lined garbage bags and into the back of my truck.

She also had two walk in closets full of very nice clothes. VERY nice clothes. I called my friend who has a resale boutique in Studio City (nearby). She arrived and quickly realized that the majority of Bonnie's clothes were both quality and clean. So we filled up both my truck and hers with the clothes she thought she could sell in her shop. The rest went into the ubiquitous garbage bags to go to my house for organization and sorting.

As any one who has visited (or seen pictures) of my house knows, there's never a lot of extra room in my house. On some days there is barely a path through. The irony of my helping people deal with their clutter is not lost on anyone.

So all of Bonnie's stuff, clothes, housewares, artwork, furniture and all her merchandise was quickly and randomly piled up on my driveway. After about eight loads in my truck, the situation in my driveway was becoming critical, when we were all done there was barely enough room for my truck amongst all the boxes and stuffed trash bags.
(click on any picture to see full size)


In of course, addition to all the regular stuff I have to sell and am working on repairing, refinishing etc. Not to mention the cds, dvds, records, books, etc.

But at least we had gotten all the stuff out of Bonnie's house and it was ready for the painters to come, and then the open house on Sunday. In fact, they got an offer and already the condo is in escrow.

So the task ahead of me was to sort and organize all the stuff on my driveway, and to get it put away as soon as possible. I live on a small dead end driveway for only five houses, so it’s not like it was an emergency situation, but still it had to be dealt with asap. Also, the vagrants who come up the driveway sifting through the trash and recycling bins would surely take a peek at what was in all those boxes and bags.

So I set aside the next week to devote purely to sorting and packing. At first I considered buying a storage shed, but as I investigated them I realized how expensive they are, and that I didn't really want to spend that kind of money to store stuff that was earmarked for sale, and as soon as possible.

So as I sorted and calculated (I'm pretty good with spatial relationships) I wondered if it could actually fit inside my house. This would also give me a reason to clean through my house and declutter my own clutter.

I went to Home Depot and considered storage options, because clearly the trash bags and dilapidated boxes the stuff was in would not be good for sorting and storage. I decided on clear hard plastic storage bins, with the lids attached (clever! so I wouldn't lose the lids and also I wouldn't be tempted to over fill them. They are stackable.

I totally cleaned out a couple closets (see my recent blog post re my destroyed Rickie Lee Jones poster I discovered in the back of one closet) and I completely emptied my dining room. I also stripped the floor; it's hardwood and it’s painted and it always looks dirty, even when it isn't. I thought, what a great plan, to slowly work though my entire house, stripping the floor and organizing from the ground up.

As it turns out, the stripping of the dining room floor went really well, and all the paint came off, which I honestly wasn't expecting. This, in a way, presented a problem because now the floor is completely bare wood. It looks and feels very cool, but there is an inherent danger in ruining the floors if there was a major spill or a small flood (both of which have happened) or even every day wear and tear.

Not to mention, it took me three days (albeit not working constantly) to strip the floor in the small dining room. And it made my hands hurt and swell. And I used an entire can or stripper on the one very small room. So I subsequently put the stripping project on hold.

At this time, there was a knock on my door. The city of Los Angeles wanted to come in and inspect the house. They were not happy with all the clutter (merchandise and furniture) on my driveway. When the inspector came into the house, he was pretty upset with all the stuff, and the tiny path through my living room. Not to mention the piles and piles of books in my kitchen hallway, coupled with the drying flowers hanging on every doorknob and protrusion. To get through my kitchen I literally had to turn sideways. This didn't go over well with the city inspector.

He was also upset about the state of my bathroom. The ceiling has been leaking for nearly two years, and they've made a couple unsuccessful attempts to fix it, each time leaving more and more carnage. Not to mention the bee incident (see previous blog post) which also left two very large holes in my bathroom ceiling.

So he gave me a month to get it all cleaned up, including the repair of the bathroom. He sent a notice (and a fine) to my landlord, who was decidedly not happy, and he said if I didn't have it all cleared away by the end of the month, he would evict me.

Wow, that's so ironic. Evicting me because I have too much stuff. I have in the past considered moving, and realized that it would take me months just to get moved. Imagine having to clean this all and get it into inspection ready state in a couple weeks!

So I've had a couple very stressful weeks. Trying to get everything packed away and cleaned and organized. My landlord had also not so politely "reminded" me that it is "illegal to operate a business from my home" so I had to make everything look like it belonged there (i.e. not imminently for sale at a swap meet or eBay).

The inspection date loomed, September first, high noon.

I can’t tell you how many trips I've made to Home Depot to buy more and more storage containers. Every day I fill them up and the next day I have to go buy more. But they do stack nicely.

And how many sleepless nights I've had over the past few weeks wondering how I would get all this stuff organized, and whether or not I would be evicted, and if so how would I possibly move!

A deep breath, and the support (and occasional helping hand) of my friends. A reminder from the course in miracles that all fear is based on the future, which never arrives.

As inspection day neared, I started to panic. There simply wasn’t enough time. There wasn't enough room, there wasn’t enough storage boxes. There were far too many clothes! I had two rolling clothes racks set up in the eBay room and there were still bags and bags of clothes!

I had drastically reduced the prices of all the furniture I had repaired and was selling, and I had to give away several hundred dollars worth of stuff because it simply had to go away. The option of renting a storage locker came up, but that's spending more money and it seems like such a waste. Not to mention schlepping all the stuff over to a storage locker and dealing with that whole miserable experience. To me, there are few places more depressing than storage warehouses. Full of stuff that people want but don’t really want, stuff that people can't let go of, stuff from people whose situations have become unmanageable, or lost their homes, etc.

Too much for me.


The day before the inspection I was so upset I considered simply not being home. I had cleared the driveway and porch of all furniture and boxes (I had stashed a couple pieces in the back yard that I simply hadn't had the time to fix/finish.)

I figured the inspector would come, see the driveway and porch cleared, maybe look in the window. And hopefully go away.

But that plan crashed and burned, as my landlord called on Tuesday to say he was coming to meet the inspector at my house at noon on Wednesday. Curses!


I did a lot of praying and meditating. A LOT. I felt pretty safe that the city inspector would be ok with what I had done (gotten rid of) but I was really worried about my landlord wanting to evict me for “running a business” out of my house (which I have been doing ever since I moved in) Several businesses in fact.


The two contractors he had got to repair the bathroom couldn’t do it (ie never showed up) so last week out of desperation, I called a guy I had worked with and asked if he could do it. By Tuesday.

But he managed to get the bathroom fixed. He put in a new ceiling, and patched the roof. We won't know until it rains next whether he was successful or not. (It hasn't rained since about February, but it will probably rain some time in October). He didn't have time to paint, so I said I would take care of that. I didn't think that was really much of an issue. I would rather paint it myself anyway.

So Wednesday noon the clock chimed ominously. I had stuffed everything into the Home Depot storage boxes which were piled up to the ceiling in the dining room, seven high and two deep. I had sorted all the clothes that would fit onto the two racks in the eBay room, and the rest of the trash bags I stuffed behind the racks. Hoping they wouldn't look too carefully.

I devised a "strategic" lie that the clothes were for photo shoots (technically I'm a photographer/graphic designer/artist) and the boxes of stuff in the dining room were art supplies. I took all the hanging dried flowers down and put them in a box, temporarily.
I washed the floors and vaccumed and went over the entire house, stairs and yard with the leaf blower.

In the process I created quite a dust storm and have had the worst allergies for the past three days. In addition to all the stress and panic, I feel like my head is going to explode and I have to have a box of kleenex with me at all time because I can't stop blowing my nose. And still I can barely breathe.

The landlord arrived first and he immediately went to check the bathroom, we talked about what the contractor had done and I expressed pleasure, hoping my casual enthusiasm would be contagious. Then the inspector arrived, kind of like a king, almost hovering as he walked up the stairs, with his little electronic clipboard in hand. He went into the living room, and said, I can see you’ve been working. I had strategically cleaned off the piano and sofa, which are the two main things in the room, even though under the piano was jammed with boxes of books and stereo parts. If you didn't look too closely it at least looked relatively clean.

Then they went onto the bathroom, and he said, ‘this looks ok’. I explained that I would be doing the painting. Then he looked into the kitchen, and the path was cleared, and the counter was cleared, and the floor was clean. So fortunately he didn't actually go into the kitchen, otherwise he would have seen the dining room, filled to the brim with boxes. I'm not sure how well that would have gone over.

He also looked down the hallway, which I had totally cleared out, and he didn't go down it, otherwise he would have seen into the eBay room and perhaps wondered why I had racks full of women's clothes.

But he didn't. (huge sigh of relief).

He said, ‘well, as long as if there's a fire you can get out, and the firemen can get in. You can always get out the window, right?’ I nodded, not mentioning that I had screwed all my windows and the back door shut after last summer's break in. He didn't look closely enough to notice.

So he was appeased, and my landlord didn't say anything. We went outside and the inspector said, ‘ok keep it like this just to keep your neighbors happy’.

What??

I said, ‘so someone reported me to the city? ‘

He said, ‘I can't legally tell you who it was, but yes, it was one of your neighbors’, and he looked towards my neighbor on the left. Which is the house that was empty for nearly ten years (I had my wedding party there). Which is the house that I got my friend Philip to move into. My friend Philip who I consider one of my best friends and have known for nearly twenty years.

I said, ‘it was Philip!??’ He said, ‘I can't tell you that’. My landlord nodded and said, ‘yes, he told me he called them’.

Anyway, the inspector said, ‘OK I'm going to close the case’. and the two of them left.


I am stunned.

One of my best friends, who I worked with at Tower Records in the early 90’s, have known for decades, I even let him live with me for nearly a year when his girlfriend dumped him and he didn't have a job or a place to live. My friend Philip who I DJ-ed at his wedding and he was the photographer at my wedding. He has a key to my house! He is in my will!

And all this time, he never said a word to me about the stuff. In fact, just yesterday, I went over and asked him if he was working. He has been unemployed for over a year because the magazine he worked for closed. I showed him some of the merchandise I have to sell and asked him if he would be interested in helping me sell some of it at a flea market. He just looked down and said, no.

My friend Philip who I have driven to the airport countless times. And helped him dig dead trees out of his lawn. And let him borrow anything he wants from me.

I can't believe it!

I have since talked to a couple close friends about this, they are fairly quick to judge him, offering suggestions as to what to do, but thus far nothing feels right. Nothing feels right. And now I have a cold, partly due to the dust, mainly due to the stress of the past few weeks and especially the last week as the seemingly impossible deadline loomed.

Then to find out it was one of my ‘best friends' who caused all of this. Not one word from him, not one "so, what is up with all this stuff. You know, I'm not working if you need help cleaning it up I'd be glad to help you. After all we’ve been through, I'd be glad to help you out."

No not a word, even yesterday when I mentioned how worried I was about the inspector coming… not a peep.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what Marianne and the Course in Miracles would say about this. In fact, the lecture just last Tuesday was about forgiveness. (well, the entire course in miracles really is about forgiveness). She was saying that you have to forgive everyone. Everyone. You have to look past the things they do to their true nature , the true innocence of each and every person.

She also says that you can love someone, as god loves everyone. But that doesn't mean you have to go to lunch with them. And sometimes the loving thing to do is to leave the room. Sometimes the loving thing to say is "no." Sometimes the loving thing to do is to say, “I can’t see you now.”

So I will ponder this for the couple days, and see how it sorts itself out. I guess, if nothing else, a) I have a clean driveway and b) I learned something about one of my closest friends.

And I stripped the floor in my dining room.

And got the ceiling of my bathroom fixed! after two years!

So it hasn't been a total wash.


©2010 RocketManLA Rod Reynolds Los Angeles, CA USA

R.I.P. My favorite Rickie Lee Jones poster, and finding cosmic significance...

The other day my friend was helping me clean out the closet in the back of my house. It's behind my dishwasher and washer and dryer so it's fairly difficult (nearly impossible) to get to. Since I don't have enough wall space to display any of them, I had stored my framed autographed posters there since I moved in.

Phideaux was helping me and I pulled this one poster out, matted and framed. I said, “this is my all time favorite poster, I've had it for nearly thirty years”. It's a promo only poster of Rickie Lee Jones for her 1981 album, ‘Pirates’, which is one of my all time favorite albums, by one of my all time favorite singers. I had her sign it for me the first time I met her, before a show at the Troubadour in the early 90's.

(click on any small picture to see a larger version)



It is an extremely rare poster, and even Rickie herself, when I showed it to her, said, I wish I had a copy of this. I briefly considered giving it to her, but the moment passed. Particularly because by then, she had already dedicated it to me.

Then I got it framed. This was before I was a professional photographer, I do my own framing now. At the time it cost over $200 to get the poster matted and framed. It was a lot of money, but it was worth it. I've loved that poster from the moment I got it. Even before it was signed and framed, I've had it up in every home I've lived in for the last thirty years. I think it's the only poster I've had for that long. I haven't had many other things for that long, come to think of it…

As I pulled it out of the closet, and was saying, ‘this is my all time favorite poster’... to my horror, I realized that the bottom of the frame was mildewed and moldy. “Oh no!” But much worse, the mold had gone inside the picture and the poster was also molded at the bottom.




Oh, how crushing!

I then remembered that I also have two other Rickie Lee Jones posters framed, and I pulled them out, and they are also molded at the bottom. So in one fell swoop all three of my favorite posters were found dead.

Devastating.

Phideaux said, ‘well, maybe it's time to let go of these. they are only things, after all’.

Yes, but this is my all time favorite poster! By one of my all time favorite singers! Signed! And irreplacable!


I guess the universe can make decisions for you, some of which you might not necessarily agree with or feel particularly exuberant about.

Phideaux and I finished sorting the closet (no other posters had been harmed) and we decided to walk down the street to the Coffee Table restaurant, which is one block from my house. At the Coffee Table, you order your food at the front and when it's ready they bring it you out in the restaurant. I go there enough that I don't need to look at a menu. Phideaux was studying the menu when I tapped him on the shoulder.

"You're not going to believe this but Rickie Lee Jones is standing right over there."

Sure enough, less than 15 feet from us, the one and only Rickie Lee Jones was getting a glass of water. OhMyGod.

What does THIS mean?


Phideaux and I ordered our food and went to sit on the patio while they kitchen prepared lunch for us. We sat about ten feet from Rickie and her friend, who were deeply involved in conversation. I know Phideaux purposely positioned it so that Rickie was in my eyesight for the entire meal

He said, ‘aren't you going to go talk to her?’



I've been a fan of Rickie Lee Jones since 1979, when her first album was released and I must have listened to it a thousand times, and a thousand more times since. I've seen her in concert at least 25 times, more than anyone else. I've met her several times over the years. But would she remember me? Doubtful. My experience is that celebrities, when you are meeting them or requesting an autograph or photo, their eyes sort of glaze over and there's an invisible and unyeilding wall that comes down between you. Also most of the time when meeting a rock star, it is backstage before or after a concert so the lighting is not so great. And they are either focusing on the upcoming show or trying to unwind from putting on a performance. I don't think most rocks stars really engage with their fans, and I don't blame them.

So she, oblivious to the fact that I am probably her biggest fan, sitting less than ten feet from her while she eats her lunch on the patio at the coffee table. Watching every bite, but trying not to.

But I didn't say anything, and Phideaux and I ate our lunch and left, Rickie and her friend still talking to each other. No one else talked to either of them during the time I was there.

Phideaux and I are always looking for cosmic significance. Small (or large) hints from the universe. We mulled this over while we ate. But I don't think we came to a conclusion.

When I told my friend Colleen about this, she said, ‘maybe the lesson is to take better care of the things that mean a lot to you. like, why was this poster in the back of the closet? it should have been hanging on the wall, where it would have been safe and enjoyed.” This is true. And I seriously regret it. It's just that wall space in my house is minimal. And that is because it is mostly taken up by media (cds, records, dvds, and books).

Perhaps another lesson here, as Phideaux (and that hoarding expert guy on Oprah) would be the first to assert, is that my "stuff" is crowding me out of my own home, and keeping the few things that really mean something to me relegated to the back of closets where they can become water damaged.



A few days later I told my therapist the story and he said, ‘I would have gone up to her and told her the story, it's a fascinating story! I'm sure she would have liked to hear it.’

Well, this may be true, or it may not be true. Having worked in the music business for 25 years I have met many many famous people. As a rule I do not ever interrupt someone while they are eating. That, to me is taboo. Had she been sitting there by herself, waiting for her food to arrive, I probably would have approached her.

With caution. Because you never know how famous people are going to respond. Some famous people have been incredibly rude to me (no names mentioned Keanu Reeves, Paul Simon, Marianne Faithfull). Although Rickie Lee Jones is probably not very famous, and likely doesn't get recognized very much.

And the several times I have met her or talked to her she has always been very cordial.



A couple ago, Rickie played five Mondays in a row at a local silverlake club, I went to four of the shows and took photos at three of them. I wrote to her through her management, and asked if I could send her the pictures, but never heard back. I also suggested to her that we do a photo shoot several times, but heard nothing. I imagine famous people and/or rock stars are constantly bombarded with such offers and it's hard to know which are legitimate. Also I think as a rule, people like that don't like to work with fans. Although in this case I happen to be an excellent and creative photographer and would love to work with Rickie, and I'm positive we could create some amazing photos of her. She is a very charismatic person and I feel most of her photos do not do her justice. In my experience this means she has not been working with the right photographer.

The promo poster from the ‘Pirates’ album is a stunning photograph, and it is the exception. Which is why I love it so much and have carried it with me all over the place. For thirty years.

That and, I absolutely love the album, and what it represents. That was a great time in my life (just after high school, and coming out). It means a lot to me. And it is a wonderful album in itself.



I am studying the poster to see if I can somehow crop the damaged part off and have it reframed. Even though every time I looked at it (hanging in a significant and safe place) I would see the missing part like a wounded soldier feels the itch In his phantom missing arm...

And, of course, eternally searching for cosmic significance...


©2010 RocketManLA.com, Rod Reynolds

Craig Ferguson is making me fat. 7.15.10

Craig Ferguson is making me fat.

For the past two years I've got up every morning, checked my email, fed the cat and headed to the gym for cardio before breakfast. And I've managed to keep my weight down to a nearly acceptable level (my trainer in fact says I should gain weight, only this time as muscle.) And true, it's not about the digital number that greets me every morning on the scale. (I do not weight myself after breakfast or during the day, as from experience that only ends in tears. You always weigh more in the afternoon than you do in the morning.) as your weight fluctuates over the course of a day and certainly over the course of several days. But it doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

For the last year I've had no satellite tv service, I just couldn't afford the $75 a month. So my tvs sat untended, and more or less because tables to set books and clothes on. A few months ago I had a client who, long story short, ended up hooking up basic cable for me. So now I have basic tv. But I've found that the tvs still sit idle. I watched Glee and Lost on hulu.com I don't have HBO and have found no place to watch True Blood online (which sucks) (sucks, get it?)

(Here is a picture of my favorite naked vampire, Alexander Skarsgard)

but I do like to watch a little tv, usually Jay Leno when I go to bed, I watch his monologue and depending on who the guests are and how tired I am, I might keep watching, tucked in bed with the remote in hand, ready to turn off the moment I get depressed by the endless anti depressant commercials.

Have you noticed that one where even if you're on anti depressants they want you to take their even more anti depressant? Like we don't all have more than enough pill bottles in our medicine cabinets.

That said, I am taking antidepressants. I tried a few years ago but the one I was taking made my hyper. And I got a lot done during the day but couldn't sleep at night. So I had to take sleeping pills to sleep. This is no way to live, so I gave them all up cold turkey and never looked back.

But earlier this year, with the divorce, the closing of the gallery, the loss of a couple close friends, the economy, the financial situation.... I just felt like I was drowning in mud, and I decided to try again. I am taking a different one, and taking half a pill a day, and it's quite wonderful. I have one minor sexual side effect, but it's ok because I'm generally in such a good mood I don't care.

Anyway.

So one night I was up late and Jay had someone on i can't stand (probably either Tracy Morgan or Chris Rock or maybe one of the Kadashians sisters) and I switched over to letterman. Who I rarely if ever watch, I find him so obnoxious. I'm sure he's quite lovely in person, but for me the whole schtick has never worked for me.

Then Craig Ferguson came on and I was captivated. All along I had assumed he was just another late late talk show host and aren't they all the same? but no.



Craig actually made me laugh out loud. Which (see above) is a very good thing. and unusual. especially for tv. Plus he's cute! And very sexy. So I find myself lingering before going to bed at my usual 11:30 or 12 and waiting until 12:30 to watch Craig. The first few minutes are essential, the part before the opening monologue, just seconds after the Letterman logo fades. He is so funny! And he says so much with just his eyes. it's amazing the subtlety. Especially on television. Especially on my small 17 incher in the bedroom…

I usually am too tired to stay up for the whole show. But sometimes he has great guests. most of whom seem to have no idea what is going on. Craig’s interview style might be described, in gentle terms, as haphazard. Craig's style is, hmm... acerbic and laid back. Some of his guests look like animals caught in a trap. A couple of them have seemed downright hostile. I’ve even seen a couple of them get up and walk away!

Gentlemen of the court permission to treat the guest as hostile.

It’s uncomfortable sometimes but always hilarious.



the problem is, when I don't get to sleep until 1 or 1:30 I have a real hard time getting up at 7:30 or 8. and if I don't get up by 8am I have a hard time getting everything done in time to make the breakfast special at eat well, which ends abruptly at 10:30. For many years I've had breakfast every day at eat well, so much that I don't even have to order, they automatically bring me what I want. I'm not sure if you would describe that as stuck in a rut and predictable, or merely consistent. I like it because I don't have to think about what I'm going to eat and I don't have to negotiate onions and cream sauce and wheat etc in my food. I get the perfect breakfast at eat well every day for $6 which is awesome.



So when I don't get up in time, I am running late and I often have to reduce my time on the cardio machine or sometimes even skip it all together. Which has been causing my weight to slowly inch upwards. which makes me very unhappy.

not enough to counteract the antidepressants but still.

so my options are: stop watching Craig. the one part of my day that I am guaranteed to laugh. and how lovely to go to sleep having had a good laugh.

If I had satellite service I could record him on tivo. but I don't. I could record him on VHS (like, totally!) and I could watch last nights' episode at 11:30 when I need to go to bed. I could also zip through the antidepressant commercials, which even though I am on one, make me feel like I am still not taking enough drugs.

But then I'm watching yesterday's show. and honestly I'm not sure it's worth the effort and coordination.



the second alternative is to not worry about the breakfast special at eat well. it's not like they stop serving breakfast at 10:30, it just goes up by $1. so that's not much money, but I am worried about losing the discipline of my day. If I don't HAVE to be there by 10:30 (or hopefully earlier) it could easily turn into 11:30 or 12 and then it would be lunch time and I would have skipped breakfast, which I don't want to do. Usually I don't even eat lunch. and sometimes I don't even eat dinner. so breakfast is important to me. I also try to eat a big (healthy) breakfast, medium lunch and small dinner. it seems to work.

(this is me working out at the gym, my trainer took this with his new G4 iPhone)

If I could do cardio later in the day that might work, at least I'd still be doing it, But I know my schedule and that’s highly unlikely to happen. I try to make it back to the gym in the afternoon to work out. Sometimes if I've missed cardio in the morning I will do a stint before or after working out, but now that I'm back with my trainer he is pushing me and I usually don't have the energy.

so. at the moment it's a dilemma. laughter and late nights, weighing 5 lbs more than I want to, or early sleep and early cardio to be skinny and fabulous...

remember, nothing tastes as good as skinny feels…


©2010 RocketManLA.com Rod Reynolds

Marianne's cat R.I.P.

We tend to forget that our pets are animals and not people. My friend Colleen did a documentary movie called Psycho Kitties, which is about her cats and their behavioral problems. Most of which stem from the inability to communicate between animals and people. Cats don’t speak English and aren’t about to learn. So we need to learn to understand what they are saying, from their cues, in mannerism, behavior and vocally.



I grew up on a cattle farm. Over the course of my childhood we had pigs, chickens, horses, and cattle. Plus several cats and dogs, many of whom led a somewhat precarious existence (farms can be quite dangerous to smaller animals and children).



Animals are not people. When a kid falls down and hurts his knee he comes crying to mom for sympathy. Animals, when they are hurt, run away and hide. Have you ever had a cat who was sick? They don’t come and cuddle with you. They hide under the bed until you wonder where they are and you eventually track them down and take them to the vet. They don’t want to go to the vet. They want to hide under the bed.



Marianne said the other night that she was very upset that she had left her house for a couple hours and her cat had died while she was gone. She was feeling remorse that she hadn’t been there with him when he passed.

I have two thoughts on this.

One. Doesn’t Marianne, the course in miracles, and perhaps every modern spiritual program, teach us that we are always in the right place at the right time? How could Marianne, who is one of the most prominent spiritual leaders of our generation, not have felt, if the universe had wanted her to be with her cat when he died, that god would not have whispered in her ear, “stay home for another hour. Trust me”



Secondly. Perhaps Marianne’s cat was waiting, hanging on, lingering, perhaps too sick to crawl and hide in the bottom of the closet or under the bed to pass away. Perhaps he was waiting for a quiet moment alone, to pass to the next plane.

I’m just saying, this being my blog and therefore purely my opinion, and with love and respect, that Marianne is being too hard on herself. With public remorse, she compared the last moments of her cat’s life to the last moments of her mother’s life. This is not fair. Perhaps her mother would not have wanted to crawl into the back of the closet to die alone. Although who’s to know?

My friend Dallas, who teaches Science of Mind, said the other day that when he dies, he doesn’t want to be listed in the obituaries. He wants it in the announcements, with joy and pride. ‘Dallas is thrilled to have passed into the next dimension, thus beginning his journey in the next plane of action.’




Of course Marianne will miss her beloved cat (not pictured), as I will miss mine (pictured) when Sebastian passes on (or disappears, as my last one did), and we can join in her grief over the loss and lend our support. It’s a sad but natural part of life that our pets will die; they have a much shorter lifespan than we do. That doesn’t mean it isn’t emotional, or sorrowful, or that you won’t miss them. But it’s a natural part of life. And I think that if Marianne was supposed to be holding her cat's head when he took his last breath, she would have been.

©2010 RocketManLA.com Rod Reynolds Los Angeles CA