How not to kill yourself, one day at a time.

It’s funny (well, not funny, perhaps odd) but over the past few days a couple people have told me they are contemplating suicide.

I have been there, more than once.

And I know that someone saying, “oh no! don’t do that!”

That doesn’t help.


So when these people said this to me, I said, “I understand.” Hopefully not to be misconstrued as,”I approve” but simply “I understand.”

And I know that a conversation that could, or maybe should, or maybe should not follow, is complicated, intense, frustrating… and a lot more…

I suppose when someone tells you that they are thinking of killing themselves, it is a cry for help. I am not now, nor have I ever been, good at small talk. One thing I admired about my dad was that he could talk to anyone; he would walk up to complete strangers anywhere, in the parking lot, in the campground, wherever, and 5 minutes later would be deep into conversation.

I think, the constant beer in one hand was a good social lubricant. I decided long ago not to go there (and have been sober for 27 years) but clearly my social life suffers because of that.


So I will instead, write down what took me out of the dark place. I hope I never have to go back there; I hope my pendulum has clicked out of the “all is lost” and into the “there is hope.” But in case it hasn’t left permanently, I will save this to possibly read to myself at that point in the future. Perhaps, in the meantime, you will get something out of it.

Because there wasn’t just one thing that did it. It was, and is, a cumulative process. It’s not something you (well, maybe YOU will, but I never did) one day wake up and say, to yourself or no-one in particular, shucks, I’ve decided not to kill myself. It’s more like something that gets set to the back; as the days go by, hopefully further and further back, until maybe one day, you forget that it’s even there.




Let’s Get Physical
First, for me, working out. Working out is something that is, at least for me, extremely hard to motivate. Marianne (Williamson) often says, with regards to doing the workbook of A Course in Miracles (CIM), which is a 365 day self study program in changing your thoughts of fear (world based) to love (spirit based); you are directed to do a lesson/mediation every day. She says, it is, like physical exercise, often hard to motivate yourself to do, but the more you do it, the easier it becomes. For me, though, the minute I start debating with myself, “I don’t really have time, I am tired, I haven’t eaten, I’ve just eaten, I’m going to be late”, whatever it is, I lose. I try to go to the gym every morning for cardio, so I feel better. I don’t have to think about it, I am tired in the morning, groggy, don’t feel good, am cranky, don’t feel attractive, it’s too hot, it’s cold, it’s raining, the sun is shining. Ignore it. I put on the sweat pants and I go. Then I go to breakfast at the same place and have the same thing. Later in the day I will go do weight training so I look better.

When I am working out, I am never depressed. Well, unless I look in the mirror (and there are a lot of mirrors at the gym), or look at other guys who have much nicer bodies than I. I try to use their “perfection” to my advantage rather than dismay.



Sometimes I really wonder if I am not gay, because when I see a gorgeous man at the gym (or jogging down Franklin with his shirt off), I don’t think, “ooh, I’d love to kiss him.” I want to BE him.

Jacob Glass said this a few weeks ago at a CIM lecture. He said, “when I see a gorgeous guy in front of me in line, I say, “thank you god, that was clearly put there for me. Life loves me.” And then a friend might say, well, did you get his number? And Jacob exclaimed, “oh no, I don’t want to TALK to him, that would ruin EVERYTHING.”




I often wonder this about myself because my first crush, in 1973, was David Cassidy (Partridge Family.) Now, when I look back, I never wanted to KISS David Cassidy (or Keith Partridge). I wanted to BE Keith Partridge. A good thirty years later, I have met David Cassidy a few times, and even standing in front of him, I never wanted to KISS him. (and, after having read his autobiography, I don’t want to BE him either.)

But back to working out. Jacob also has said, whenever you compare yourself to anyone, you lose. You walk down the street, better than, worse than, better than, worse than. This does not make you feel better. CIM says everyone is an individual, with a highly individualized curriculum, and no one else has the same program. So, saying, “I wish I had that guy’s job,” or “I wish my arms looked like THAT” is simply not fair.

Easier said than done, but it’s something I try to keep in check.



And, it’s perfectly acceptable to say, “that guy has PERFECT pecs, thank you god for putting him in front of me, life love me!”

Aside from that, it is impossible to be depressed when you are working out, or after working out. So I try to go to the gym every day. I don’t always make it, often I am working too late and am too tired and/or dirty to drag myself to the gym, but I try. Because I know it takes me out of my head.

Which is the scariest place I could be.





Lean on Me
#2 – A support system. For me, there is an army. My therapist, my homeopathic doctor, my western doctor, my astrologer, my psychic, my trainer, my chiropractor. Sometimes these people come and go depending on my finances, but I think I know better than to try and do this on my own. As Marianne often says, your best thinking got you here, perhaps you might want to try another way.

And of course friends. In the past year, through various circumstances and issues, I have lost a lot of my closest friends. Some people say, the older you get the harder it is to make friends, but for me, it was just as hard when I was young. Probably harder, because when I look back, to put it bluntly, I was often an asshole. Never intentionally; in all honesty, I can say I have never intentionally hurt someone.

“Well, Blanche, but you did.”

A friend and I were talking this afternoon (he is one who has told me he is thinking of killing himself) and he said he feels a lot of guilt. As do I. Now, admittedly, he has a lot of things one could say he needs to feel guilty about, but to him I would say, “you did the best you could, right. You always act from the best of intentions to the best of your ability, at the time. And therefore, you have nothing to feel guilty about.” Besides, guilt is a useless emotion. It’s not even an emotion. It’s just useless.

Although, for me, doing the 12 steps is always good. You look at your mistakes, your errors, and you make amends. And hopefully you grow. As Marianne says, you look at the crucifixion but do not dwell on it. Because if you allow yourself to BECOME your character defects, you will drown in them. Marianne says, imagine yourself as an airplane that is trying to take yourself to the next higher level. But you have TOO MUCH BAGGAGE and the plane simply can’t take off. You need to sort through all that crap, acknowledge it, and let it go.

Which is one of the reasons, after 25 years in AA, and identifying myself as an alcoholic, I decided I didn’t want to be labeled as “defective,” and decided to let it go. I let the lid off the box. I let the worms out to see the light of day. I had to let go of the fear of having a drink or taking a drug. If I am carrying that (or any fear) with me, as the CIM says, “you create what you defend against.”



Take It Easy
#3 How do you eat an elephant. A therapist many years ago told me, when I was in a deep deep hole and couldn’t see my way out of it, he said, I know you can’t even conceptualize taking your life one slice of pie at a time. But I want you to take a sliver of one piece, make one tiny tiny change.

For me, at that time, I was working three jobs (as opposed to the eight that I have now) and was exhausted and completely stressed out. I never took care of myself, never had lunch, ate standing up or driving, or, more likely, not at all. My bargain with my therapist was that I would take a lunch break every day. Go to the park across the street and take some lunch and a book and just STOP IT.

It sounds easy, and it may or may not be, but for me, it was a huge breakthrough. As my science of mind teacher says, “How do you eat an elephant. One bite at a time”. As AA says, “one day at a time.” That’s not a suggestion. You only have one day at a time, even though in your HEAD you are thinking days weeks even years at a time. All of your fear is in the future, which technically never gets here, in fact, doesn’t even exist. The simple fact is, all you have is this moment. And the universe is infinitely forgiving. As Marianne says, God is not sitting up on a throne somewhere saying, “well, I’d love to help you but your father as an alcoholic, my hands are tied.” Or, “I’d love to help you, but in this economy….” God is God, the universe is infinitely malleable and abundant. There is no shortage of anything. That is impossible. What is all encompassing can have no opposite. The first line in the text of A Course in Miracles, is, “there is no order of difficulty in miracles.” As Marianne said the other day, it’s not a course in manipulation, fixing things, making thing happen. It’s a course in MIRACLES.



Shiny Happy People
#4 Find something that makes you happy. Something to look forward to. It doesn’t matter what it is, how big or small. It doesn’t have to cost anything. Sometimes even reading a book or going to a movie is enough to get you out of your head. There have been times where I plan to see a movie on opening day, that doesn’t come out for weeks or even months in the future. That can be enough. Sometimes a song can change your life. I’ve written many times about how the songs “Hold On” by Wilson Phillips and “You Get What You Give” by the New Radicals, I heard them in moments of deep deep despair, and they saved me. I was at an AA meeting one time and this girl said, “I realize I don’t take a drink one day at a time, and I don’t kill myself one day at a time.” The Wilson Philips song says, “Hold on for one more day,” and that moment, in the bathroom at a TGI Fridays in Burbank, was enough for me to think, “ you know, I don’t need to kill myself TONIGHT. I’m kind of tired anyway.”




There’s a Reason
#5 There is a reason. Many years ago, at a CIM prayer group, in Jacob’s living room, he said something that changed my life, perhaps it was only a sliver of one small piece, but it was enough. He said, “there is a reason you are here. You know how I know that? Because you are here.”

For me, one of the things that dragged me down was feeling like I was useless, that I didn’t belong, that I had nowhere to go. No, I will say this to you, there is a reason you are here. You know how I know that? Because you are here.”

Maybe we don’t know what that reason is, (although for me, now on my fourth time doing the Course in Miracles, the answer is in there, clear as day.) And it doesn’t matter if you know what your reason is, what your “life’s mission” is. It’s not like you are going to get a text from the universe, saying, “go here, say this, to this person.” But the daily prayer in CIM is, “let me know, where do I go, what do I say, and to whom.”

And then you have to be very very quiet, because the truth comes in whispers. And often your ego dismisses it. “No, that’s not right, I can’t do that, that doesn’t make sense, I’m too old/young, that would cost too much money, I don’t have time.” I love when Marianne says, “you pray and you pray and you ask for guidance from the holy spirit, then you get guidance, but you don’t like the answer.”

The world is loud, noisy, obnoxious, fearful, even toxic. Spirit just is. It speaks in whispers, in that little thought in the back of your head, that you say, “I don’t have time to do that now.” But it is true and real and it will keep whispering until you hear it. The universe has all the time in the world, and isn’t going anywhere. God has infinite patience, because God knows the truth, and can afford to wait.

Can you?




A Thousand Beautiful Things

It’s such an old cliché by now, but many years ago Oprah’s idea of a Grateful Journal really changed my life. One thing I have learned by going into people’s houses and helping them clean and organize, is how it puts things into perspective. Being invited into other people’s homes, and seeing how people live (we tend to think that people live more or less similarly to how we live, and I can tell you, that is not the case) has been an amazing and humbling experience. And I so appreciate all that I have, including my health, and try to focus on all that I have in my life rather than what I think I am missing.



Every morning when I wake up I proactively fill my day with light. CIM says “Happiness is a decision I must make.” Every morning I ask, may I be a light to all people that I meet today, talk to today, and think about today. CIM says, the only thing lacking in any relationship is what you are not giving. Remember that song, by Seals and Croft, “Get Closer,” which says, “darling if you want me to be closer to you, get closer to me.”




Sometimes I stop on my driveway and see a tiny little flower growing up through the pavement crack. And I think, that is the most amazing thing I have ever seen. That somehow, against seemingly impossible odds, this seed that was so small you could probably not even see it, found its place, and even if the “world” would say, no, you can’t grow there, in the middle of the concrete in the middle of this dude’s driveway in the middle of one of the biggest cities in the world, with practically no water and probably way too much sunlight, that is impossible.

And yet, there it is. Maybe I am the only person who will ever see that little flower. And it is my gift from the universe, just as much as that guy jogging past me on Franklin, with his shirt off, in the first week of November. I just have to appreciate it.

And not swerve into a tree while I am doing so.

Music gets the best of me, Marianne and Course in Miracles.

What it was like.

I grew up on a farm in Northern Canada. I hated it and felt unloved and in the way and like an alien. I had no self confidence and got beat up every day at school by what are now called bullies. Consequently, I hid as much as I could, at school and at home. When I was little, before I was in school, I taught myself to read. So by the time I started school I was eons ahead of everyone, often including my teachers. This did not help matters. I got straight A's without even trying, the academic part was all so easy for me, and boring. The social part was a nightmare and I often made myself sick before school (not consciously, but I was so upset about going to school that I would often get physically sick). In junior high I was out sick for nearly three years, I only went to school every few days. And I still got straight A's.



I spent a lot of time home alone, which I loved. My Dad was gone, my Mom was at school (she was a teacher), my brother was at school. I read and read and read. Being raised on a farm, my parents only listened to country music, which I hated. In time (like 25 years later) I would grow to admire the country music of the era, like Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline, Lynn Anderson, etc. (Although I still cannot stomach Hank Williams.) But at the time I just hated it and, thinking that was what music was, wasn't interested.



One thing I did when I was young was I'd enter contests. All kinds of contests, like puzzles in the newspaper, etc. And since I entered so many contests, I won a lot of contests. One time, there was a new TV station that started, and as part of their opening celebration, I won a stereo! So suddenly, I graduated from my little hand held portable pop up record player that I played Disney 45s on (the ones with the booklets that you could read along with, that's a big part of how I taught myself to read.) to real records, an amp and big speakers. And headphones.

There was a newspaper that I won their contests so many times they eventually told me I wasn't allowed to enter any more. Their prizes were records. I could go into a certain store and pick out whatever records I wanted.



I discovered there was much more to music than my father’s country music. The first two records I got were Captain & Tennille's first two albums. I loved them so much and still love them so much I can barely stand it. They are criminally under-rated. I know you are snickering, but know that there is so much more to them than what you know, otherwise you wouldn’t be snickering. But that is OK with me.

The next record I got was ABBA's "Arrival." I had heard "I Do (x5) on the radio and just loved it, it was unlike anythign I'd ever heard. I had bought the record of "Greatest Hits" and I remember thinking that was extremely presumptuous of them, how could they have a Greatest Hits album when they'd never had any hits. At first, there were only a few songs I liked on the GH album, but eventually listened to it enough that I really liked nearly every song on the album. And then "Arrival" came out and I just wore that record out.



The other group I loved loved loved was the Carpenters. I'd heard them on the radio but didn't really know what was going on. Then one time I was in my uncle's basement. He was a garbage collector; he drove a garbage truck and picked up garbage. He also collected a lot of the stuff in his basement, and he had a lot of records. That was where I first heard the Carpenters album, (the tan one, with the fold out cover), and I've loved them ever since.



I think what I love so much about these three groups, is the dimensions to them. All three acts have tremendous female singers; I would say all four singers use their voices as instruments. Years ago, that might have been a derogatory statement, but to me, what that means is they use their voices as tools, as part of the entire song. I would say KD Lang does the same today. The second part is the male counterparts, which in all cases did the music, played most of the instruments, did the arrangements and production.



When I listen to Captain & Tennille’s “Dream” album (1978), Carpenters “Horizon” album (1975), or ABBA’s “The Visitors” (1981), when I sit there with the headphones on and just drown in the music, it just blows my mind how creative it is; on an artistic level, it is incomprehensible to me how any one person (or two, in the case of ABBA) could even conceptualize such astounding works.

And the fact that I can listen to it, 30 or 40 years later, and in fact understand and appreciate it even more than at the time. Well, that’s an achievement, as an artist myself, that I could only dream of. I am so glad that in each case, I have been able to have, in sometimes brief and sometimes lengthy conversations with these men, been able to tell them how much their music means (and meant) to me.

Because, as I said, when I was young I retreated into music. There was always safety there. They would never say, ‘not now’, or call me names, or not want to play for me. They would never be too drunk to play, or make me feel like I didn’t deserve for them to play for me. I could put my headphones on and be in my bedroom and listen to these records over and over, holding the sleeves in my hand, looking at the pictures, studying the liner notes, the lyrics, the photos. Trying to imagine what worlds these people came from, and how they got to the places they got to. When I was that age, and completely miserable and alone, the music made me feel like there was someone out there, some place other than where I was, and that one day, I would be one of them, and out there too. These people were different, and I was different. They were special, and I knew I was special too.



Also, these acts were all keyboard based. I started playing my grandmother’s piano when I was five years old; she was so astounded, she gave me her piano so I could learn, and take lessons, and play. I took lessons for many years but never learned more than I did from listening to and copying the melodies I heard on the records. I bought the piano folios (still have them) and while much of it was far beyond my level, I could play along, and dream.



Captain & Tennille was my first concert, in 1977. I barely remember it, but I was so excited I couldn’t sit down. My friend who went with me said, “sit down, this isn’t a rock concert!” I was so appalled at his lack of understanding. I saw ABBA in 1979, my friend and I had tickets at the far back of the Coliseum (same place I saw C&T) and, again, I barely remember the show itself. I do remember the screaming; when the lights went down, the roar from the crowd (it was ABBA’s first North American show, there were people from all over the world) literally shook the building. The Carpenters, well, I never did get to see perform live, although I saw Richard perform at the Carpenters Center in Long Beach. That was the first time I met him, and I’ve talked to him a few more times. C&T I’ve met many times, I have had many conversations with Daryl and, at one point, was possibly going to write a book about them, but the project never solidified because Toni had a breakdown during the Victor/Victoria tour and cancelled everything on the table, including their 25th Anniversary tour. Of ABBA, I’ve met Benny and Frida (at the Mamma Mia premiere in Las Vegas) and Bjorn (at the MM premiere in Los Angeles). I never met Karen Carpenter (although I’ve been to her grave (both in Downey and in Thousand Oaks) and I’ve never met Agnetha.



There have been a few times in my life when I was suicidal, for various reasons. There has (obviously) been something at each juncture that stopped me. In many cases, it has been music. One time, I specifically remember thinking, what if there is no Carpenters music on the other side. (I don’t believe this, but that would be a whole ‘nother story). Another time, there was a song, “Hold On” by Wilson Philips that came on the speaker while I was in the bathroom at a restaurant, having just made the decision that “tonight, when I get home, I will do it”; the song goes, “hold on for one more day,” and I thought, yeah, you know, I don’t have to kill myself TONIGHT. One of my therapists a few years back said, whatever it takes to get you to your happy place. For me, that happy place, is sitting with the headphones on, listening to one (or all) of these performers. Or, driving in my truck. When I bought my last two trucks, the first cds I played were Captain & Tennille’s “Dream.” Just the sheer beauty of that music, Toni’s voice at the peak of it’s perfection, Daryl’s astounding production, the exquisite song choices (C&T wrote some of their songs but most were covers). It’s so beautiful, it can make me cry; I am in my happy place.

(Duran Duran, Wynonna Judd, Sarah McLachlan, Kate Bush, Tori Amos, Linda Ronstadt and Fleetwood Mac also work for this, but not to the same extent. I love Elton John too, his music means so much to me (see my DJ/Photographer name RocketManLA) but his music is so vast and diverse; it affects me, but not on the same level, he is in his own different category, he is my idol (and also a piano player).



What happened.

In the late 1990’s, around 1997, I got my first computer and got online. One of the first email groups I joined was ABBAMAIL, and what a ride that was. As I’ve said before, ABBAMAIL was unique in that people were encouraged to make Off Topic posts, and talk about their personal lives. Without a doubt, that is what made all the difference. After all, ABBA had broken up decades ago. Sure, there was sometimes extremely exciting news (Mamma Mia premieres, Agnetha’s wonderful wonderful album, etc) but for the most part, the heart of the list was the people, and the NAR (Non ABBA Related) posts. None of the other email groups that I joined at that time are even in existence now. Yes there were certainly many characters, and many many fights; several times I was kicked off the list, but eventually Graeme let me back on. I met both Graeme and Grant when they were in LA (separately) and each was a unique bonding experience.



Several other members of ABBAMAIL became very close friends that remain until this day, some in real life (Hi Merrick, Ryan, Pepe!) and some in virtual life (Hi Dora, Chris!). One member of ABBAMAIL became my wife when she moved to Los Angeles from Australia; we were married dressed as ABBA and performed two ABBA numbers, and had a 70’s theme wedding (which I was the DJ of course). Things didn’t work out, for many reasons (“no more care free laugh ter”), we are now divorced and have lost contact (“si lence ev ver af ter”), which is sad, but I learned so much from the experience, and it allowed me, no, let me rephrase that. The devastation that caused, emotionally and financially, forced me to deal with some major things in my life. I try, I have to, look back with no regrets. The past is over. All that matters is now.



What it’s like now.

One of the things that really pulled me out of all this was the return of Marianne Williamson to LA. In the mid 90’s, A Course in Miracles and her book, A Return to Love, LITERALLY changed my life. A Course in Miracles (CIM) is a 365 lesson, self study spiritual and psychological workbook that trains you (in the first half) to let go of fear, which, to make a long story short, is what the world runs on. (If you don’t believe that, just watch the news). The second half of the course trains you to think in what CIM calls “love.” CIM uses Christian terms (God, Jesus, Holy Spirit, etc) but in decidedly non-christian ways. I think, for most people, these terms cause their minds to instantly reject the entire course, which is of course, “throwing the baby out with the bath water.” When the exact same principles are explained or discussed (or written about in songs, ala the Beatles) they are embraced. The word “love” in CIM terms (in my understanding) is the same word as “God” “Spirit” “Energy” or even “The Force”. Love is everything, and there cannot be an opposite to something that is everything. I did the course twice in the 90s and both times it was revelatory. Marianne lectured every week, but then she left for about 15 years.

In January 2010, just as my divorce and bankruptcy were done, Marianne returned and began lecturing at a theatre on La Brea in Hollywood. I have been to every single lecture since the first one. One of my friends had volunteered (as an usher) for ulterior motives that were quickly squelched, but in one of the staff meetings, they decided they needed some music before the lectures, and my friend said, “I know a DJ.” So I started DJ-ing for Marianne, before and after the lectures (and sometimes during meditations), which was both a wonderful and bewildering experience. But I got to sit at the front of the stage, and play music for hundreds of people every week, and Marianne would sit beside me before she went on. So that was rewarding. And interesting.



When the contract at that theatre expired, we moved to a much nicer theatre in Beverly Hills, which allowed for live music in the theatre. So no more DJ-ing, but they decided they wanted to record the lectures as they happened, and sell the cds at the end. So they asked me to do that, and I’ve done that every week since. I also sometimes DJ for Marianne at events and workshops, and have started doing graphic work for her as well. And of course I record the lectures and burn cds and post them online. I also do transcriptions, which means I have to (get to) listen to the lectures several times over and type them all out. So I am deeply immersed in the lectures.



And, at least as significantly, I also began the workbook again in January 2010; I worked through the course over the year, and then started it again in January 2011, so I am almost through it for the fourth time. As before, each time through the course, each day reading the course, has changed my life so much I cannot express. My astrologer (as is my therapist) is a wonderful wonderful resource for me; both have enabled me to make significant changes in my life. My astrologer told me one time, years ago (I have all our sessions on CD, just as I have all the Marianne lectures on CD), that it was hard to explain, but for him there was a tiny but significant point in his life when the needle clicked ever so subtly from the “all is lost” side to the “possibility that things will be all right” side of the emotional spectrum.

This has been extremely significant for me. I have lost many friends in the last few years, for various reasons, which has been hard, and I will admit, scary. But, as someone who has been sober for nearly 28 years now, when I speak at AA meetings I will say, there are only two ways to get sober. One, you have to actually want to stop drinking. And Two, you will lose all your friends. But you will get new friends, who are healthier, or, at least, on the same wave that you are. So I have to have faith that while the crowd from the 4:15 showing has left the theatre, I am here sweeping the popcorn up, waiting for the 7:30 crowd to arrive. I have to have faith that they will come. Even though I am not MovieFone and don’t sell advance tickets, so I have no idea who will show up or when.

So, ABBAvillage, (nee ABBAMAIL) remains one of the few constants that have been in my life for the last, what, nearly 15 years. I have moved several times, I have lived in completely different cities, I have changed my career three times, I have married (both to a man and to a woman, separately) and divorced, been rich and been broke, been robbed and broken into and had my inheritance stolen, I have lost and I have won, been sick and been healthy, been afraid, been very very afraid, and been happy, sometimes only in fleeting moments. People have died (my father) and been born (my nephew’s girlfriend just had a baby). People have come and gone. Some with good riddance, some with anxiety. Some have come back, others never will.

I’ve lost weight and gained weight, lost my hair and grew it back, been pudgy and been buff. Been acupunctured and cleansed and homeopathed and hypnotized. Bought flannel shirts and donated flannel shirts. Bought cargo shorts and donated cargo shorts. Fallen asleep and woken up. Been on the top and been on the bottom. Seen literally thousands of movies. A lot of it has gone into posts on ABBAMAIL (I have them all saved), my website, then MySpace and now Facebook… but ABBAMAIL/Village remains.



That, and the music, which is always there. It has sure changed many times, from the vinyl LP record to the cassette to the cd to the MP3 and iPod and now I DJ almost exclusively with my laptop. I have had several cars, from a beat up 66 Ford Fairlane to a brand new Honda CRX to a classic Mustang Convertible to a Ford Explorer and now a SAAB 97-X SUV… and in all of those cars and trucks, and all of those record players, cd players, tape decks, iPods and computers, I’ve listened to the music of Captain & Tennille, the Carpenters, and ABBA.

I remain. I am.



©2011 Rod Reynolds RocketManLA.com

a new era begins; a new SUV and the battle of the logos.

click on any picture to make it larger
note: the only ones that are actually mine are the first one and the last one


So I got a new truck last week. The accident was two weeks ago Monday and it took me until last Thursday to get back on track. That's more than ten days. This involved the rainy Monday being a total disaster. Many many phone calls with insurance people. Trips to the auto shop to talk about repairing my truck. Then they told me the truck was a write off. So I had to start looking for a new truck. I had borrowed my friend's car, who was on tour in England, and I only had until Thursday when he returned.

I can't tell you how much I hate car shopping. Mainly because I don't know much about cars. I really only care about the color and the stereo. Because of my work I need something that can carry stuff around (photography equipment, DJ equipment, paint, ladders, other people's clutter, furniture to be repaired or refinished, etc).

I thought about buying a pickup, because you can carry more stuff. But then the back is open and you can't really store anything in there. And I would have to have a truck with an extended cab. I can't just throw my DJ equipment in the back of a pickup. So that’s getting big when I live in the slightly cramped area of silverlake and hollywood; I have to keep traffic and parking in mind.

I love(d) my Ford Explorer (SUV) and it seemed perfect for me and my needs. So I swung back to the SUV.

Several trips to car dealers. Wrenching. They all seem to be trying to take advantage of me (one) and of course are trying to make money. It's hardly a humanitarian venture, owning a used car lot. Every car I saw was "the best", at least according to the dealer of the moment. "Do you want me to go get the keys?" "(no, because the color is completely wrong and I don't even like the logo).


I have only ever really bought four cars in my life. Each time I felt like I had been put through the ringer and left out in the desert while they drained my bank account and rifled through my most private papers (ie bank accounts, tax records, etc).

My first car was a gift from my dad for my 16th birthday. It was a 1966 powder blue Ford Fairlane. It was only three years younger than me and my dad bought it off a local farmer for $250. The stereo I installed cost more than the car. But at this time, I was in 11th grade and going to an academic high school in the city, a 30 - 40 minute drive. Having my own car meant I could drive myself and I didn't have to rely on my mom to take me to school and back.


Which, looking back, was kind of a nice time and I miss that.

But having my own car (with a kick ass stereo) was awesome.

Most of my “friends” took advantage of me, asking for rides to concerts and anywhere else they wanted to go. Sometimes it annoyed me, but most of the time it was ok; even though I knew they were using me, it was kind of nice to be included, even if it was only as a chauffeur.

(Not a lot of self esteem in my family, as you can probably guess)


I also had a job, working at a record store, which was more a full time than a part time job, so I had a fair amount of money and access to very cheap records.

At one point I was in a minor fender bender, but being that my car was so old and somewhat fragile, it didn't take much. By this time I was in college and my dad again got me a car, it was a 1973 Mercury Montego GT, and while it was originally red, it had faded (as red used to do) and was kind of a dusty pale orange color. But it was very sporty (which didn't go with my personality at the time one bit). But it had a nice logo and more importantly it had an awesome sound system. The cassette deck had AUTO REVERSE and you could play a tape either way.


That sounds totally lame now, but at the time it was pretty cool. I also had an amp and a pre amp and I remember blasting Frankie Goes to Hollywood "Two Tribes" at unearthly levels. I was in heaven. God bless Trevor Horn.

I don't remember what happened to that car, but I moved to Toronto to continue my education and I assume my dad took the car back.

Several years later I was again living in Edmonton and needed a car. I bought a car off my friend's brother for I think $200. I don't even remember what kind it was, it was a total beater car and had no brakes (I'm not kidding). One day, in the winter as I recall, the drivers side floor fell out and that was that.

But by this time I had graduated college and was working as a computer graphics artist and had a pretty good job. I was also working part time in a record store. I can't remember how it happened, but I ended up buying a brand new 1988 Honda CRX, which I totally loved. I loved the hatchback. It was white, and brand new, and had a great stereo and an awesome logo. And, even more importantly, given that I was living in Edmonton in the winter, it had a great heater.

I was living with a guy I had known for several years, one of my semi friends, a friend of a friend, who hung out with us in Vancouver and did a lot of drugs while we went out dancing every night (they did the drugs, I did the dancing). I knew he was a bit sketchy, and he was still doing a lot of drugs, but we had fun.

One day when I got into my car, I noticed that the heater fan was on full. I never ever turned the fan on full, so it was a bit curious, but I never thought much of it. The a few days later I got into the car and there were pistachio shells on the floor of the drivers side. I had never eaten pistachios in my life.

I realized that my room mate was borrowing my car while I was asleep to go on 7-11 runs (I'm again giving him the benefit of the doubt). Without asking me! So I began taking my keys to bed with me. He still borrowed it sometimes during the day, with my permission, but one day he came home and he had been smoking in my car (ugh!) but worse, he had tossed his cigarette out the window while he was driving, and it flew back into the car and land on the back seat, burning a hole in the seat.

Which was there, of course, until the day I sold that car several years later. That was the end of him driving my car, and when I ended up getting a different place to live, without him, that was the end of our friendship. I don't recall that I've ever seen him since that day, which was 22 years ago,

With the Honda CRX I moved to Vancouver and then to Toronto, and then I moved to Los Angeles. I sold every thing I owned in Toronto, I shipped a few boxes of cds and records, and I drove across America in my CRX, from Toronto through Detroit, Memphis, Nashville, etc, stopping at the Grand Canyon and Las Vegas on the way.

I lived in LA for several years with that car, I ended up working at Tower Records and Rhino Records (at the same time) and was doing pretty well. I decided to buy this car that I had fallen in love with, it was a Mustang convertible, 1992 and only had 17,000 miles on it when I bought it from a used car dealer in Santa Monica. I can't tell you how much I loved that car, and I drove it until it literally fell apart.

It was to the point where the top didn't close any more, so it was permanently down. This is OK in the summer as it doesn't rain, but it was coming on fall, 2002, I was living in Silver Lake, and I was doing all right financially, so I decided that before it started to rain I had to buy a new car.

I had been looking at cars for several weeks and getting very frustrated, and concerned that it was going to rain and me stuck with a car with no roof. One Sunday, in fact it was the long weekend in September, I was on my way to the Pasadena Flea Market and I drove past the Ford dealer on Hill St, they were having a huge Labor Day sale, with balloons and everything short of a guy dressed in a chicken suit. I just stopped in to look, but I found a black Explorer Sport SUV that once I sat in I knew this was the car (truck) for me. I ended up buying it that day and driving it home.

And it served me well, up until last Monday when it was done in by a light sprinkling of rain while crossing the Hyperion bridge over the 5 freeway. (see previous blog for details and photos of the death of my SUV).

It's funny, you don't usually realize "this is the last time I will be doing this." Like "this is the last time I will see this person" or "this is the last time I will have sex with this person" or "this is the last time I will get in my truck and drive to the post office."

(Maybe sometimes you know when this might be the last time you have sex with someone.)

Sometimes you think, "this will be the last time I see this person." and it turns out not to be the case at all. Sometimes for better or worse.

The last time I saw my grandmother I thought it might be the last time I saw her (she had been very sick and was in the hospital). The last time I saw my Dad it never occurred to me that would be the last time I saw him (he died very suddenly). I said goodbye to my truck a few days ago, I took all my stuff out of it, it was very sadly smashed up and wouldn't start. But a week earlier when I had gone to the gym, and got in and drove across the bridge on my way to the post office and breakfast, I never thought, "this is the last time I will turn this ignition key."

Hmmm.



The first place I visited was the Ford dealer in Glendale, because I sort of knew them, having gone there for several years for maintenance and repairs. I had also gone there a while back, when they had the "Cash for Clunkers" extravaganza. It turned out my truck qualified, and I was really on the market for a new one, but when I discovered that they were going to kill my truck (literally, they would pour a chemical in the engine so the truck would be scrap metal) I just didn't have the heart. Sure, the explorer had seen better days, they don't make trucks like they used to, and even though it was only a few years old, once the warranty expired, things started to fall apart (coincidence?). But it wasn't ready to be put down. Taken out back and injected chemicals that would kill it. I just couldn't do it...

I went to all the car dealers on Brand Blvd, in Glendale, the Auto Row. I looked at several trucks and had more or less decided I would get this Jeep Cherokee that I sort of had a crush on, and it was only $8500 (plus tax and licensing). I love the Jeep logo, and the truck was a silvery blue which I quite liked.

But I had this friend who owns a car dealership in Santa Monica. While I was literally worrying about my truck situation, he butt dialed me and my phone showed "Jeremy car dealer". I took it as a sign from the universe and, while I knew that he was mad at me (long story, but basically because I wasn't moving at the same speed he was moving at (ie lightning") so I texted him that I had totaled my truck and needed a new one asap. He texted me that he had a truck for me, for $3000.

Monday morning I drove out to Santa Monica to see the truck, but as soon as I saw it I knew it wasn't the one. First of all it was gold. and it had a padlock on the back. Jeremy suggested that I take the insurance money and buy this truck and have some left over. But when I told him it was important for me not to feel like I was dumbing myself down, he understood.

He got online, a special 'car dealers' sites and checked out the upcoming auctions. He ended up finding this SAAB 9-7X, which as soon as he clicked on it, he said, this is the truck for you! Even though it was significantly more than I had been planning on spending. He said, it you're going to pay $8500 for a 2002 Jeep Cherokee, which isn't worth that, you should pay a little more and get something really worthwhile. He called the dealer in Santa Ana (about an hour from my house) and negotiated a deal.

So the next day I somewhat reluctantly drove to Santa Ana, still more or less intending on buying the Jeep Cherokee, waiting patiently for me on a parking lot in Glendale, but I said I would check out the truck. While I was on the freeway, the Ford dealer called me to see if I could come in and I told him, I'm going to check out a truck in Santa Ana, and then I will come to you.


But once I got there, the truck really felt right. And of course it was much nicer (and newer) than the Jeep. It basically took the rest of my day to work out the details, but a deal was finally hammered out. the only hitch was that I had to wait for the check from the insurance company to come. I called them and they said it would be in my hand the next day. By now we are getting down to the wire, it's Wednesday and Phideaux arrives back from the UK on Thursday morning.

But the check arrived Wednesday around noon, as the insurance company had promised, I took it to the bank and I took Phideaux's car in for a tune up. My friend Colleen drove me out to Santa Ana and dropped me off, she said she would stop in Anaheim and visit her dad. So it all worked out.

When I arrived back in LA, I picked up Phideaux's car, took it to the car wash, filled it up with gas, took it back to his house, parking it in his garage, fed his cats and left the keys. Walked to where I had parked my new truck (next to the car repair shop) and promptly drive to Pasadena to see a movie (of course!). What else would I do in my new truck?

I do want to take a road trip to Las Vegas to see the Beatles Love show, which I have see a couple times already but it's the most amazing spectacle I've ever seen. (and it has a great logo!)

When I woke up this morning, my new truck was in my driveway, all shiny and clean. Waiting to chauffeur me into the next phase of my life. I feel like it's a little better than I deserve, or at least what I'm used to (it's by far the most expensive vehicle I've ever owned, or perhaps even been in) but I've decided that I will rise to match the level of my new truck.

Except for the logo, which I hate. It’s an eagle (?) with a worm in it’s mouth, on a navy blue background. Now, I’m an artist and I can appreciate all colors, but navy blue is the worst color ever. Once I had a BF and a year after we’d broken up and become friends again (not always easy, not always possible) he told me his favorite color was navy blue. I said, “you know, you could have saved us a lot of time if you’d only mentioned that in the beginning.”


The other lesson I think is to be grateful and live in the moment. Because you never know when this is the last time you will see that person or the last time you do this thing that you've done a hundred times. This just is, it's not necessarily a bad thing it can certainly be a good thing. I'm reminded of the saying,

"This Too Shall Pass."

©2010 Rod Reynolds RocketManLA.Com

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