R.I.P, Clay the Dog, 1998 – 2013

R.I.P, Clay the Dog, 1998 – 2013
 It ended the same way it began. On a hard, linoleum-covered wooden floor. Me lying next to Clay, the Dog. Comforting him at the very beginning. And comforting him again at the very end. Clay, my homeboy companion. My escape artiste extraordinaire. Clay, the canine outlaw of Echo Park. The cat killer and coyote enforcer. The sweetheart and heartbeat of Elysian Heights. Clay, the Dog, who is no more. I remember the first night on my brown-diamonded, linoleum kitchen floor, high above the lowlands of trendy Echo Park, that locals used to call “Red Hill” (for its Commie-leaning, rabble-rousing...
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dancing with L

dancing with L
i saw her first on the BMT line the RR to be exact, heading uptown from 23rd to 57th street she’s sitting… diagonally across from me wearing bright red and white candy striped pants   balloon size, with a white tuxedo blouse and tiny red bowtie her hair, flaming red her face, like a fleshy, scandinavian beauty full figured body with a tiny waist i couldn’t resist   i get up, cross the train car, and sit down next to her i feel like an intruder “excuse, me, i usually don’t do this, but i really like the way you’re dressed” right there on the RR...
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act three?

act three?
“act 3”, you know, of a play? it follows its 2 predecessors: act one, which brilliantly sets up what’s at stake for the protagonist. followed by act two, in which the play develops with tension & suspense as it builds in “rising” action, when finally, you have, “act 3”, the climax and resolution of the play. if it’s a good/happy ending, the play is called a comedy; if it’s a not so good, bummer of an ending, the play is called a tragedy. in either case, act 3, the “falling” action and… the end of the play. now being a college theater professor for the last 26 years, i...
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the klown, the motorbike, 9 lives times 2, and good karma

the klown, the motorbike, 9 lives times 2, and good karma
when i travel i like to clown. like wear the 3 foot wide sombrero my first time in tijuana. or like jump into the giant stone central plaza in guadalajahara with the white faced, black and white stripe-shirted mime & improvise a duet with him in front of 200 gaping guadelajarans. sans makeup. or like call all the touts and locals “boss” wherever i go in the 3rd world, after they’ve called me “boss”, stepen fetchit style, like say in denpasar, bali, or cuzco, peru, but never in 1st world rotterdam, holland, where i took my infamous klown company, the cumeezi bozo...
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mountains and ocean and hollywood sign… and yet?

mountains and ocean and hollywood sign…  and yet?
   look to the right, exactly 90 degrees from the terraced hillside back deck of lucretia gardens, and there are — the san gabriel mountains — gently looming over the hazy glendale flats. turn 180 degrees back to the left and there’s — the glassy silver rim of the pacific ocean, dividing the big sky of another multi-colored california sunset from the slightly high-rise sprawl of snarky century city and the equally-hazy flats of LA’s toney west side. turn back another 90 degrees to the right, and there, straight ahead, is the white dome of the griffith observatory, the shrubby...
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the slow fade of the perfect easter lily

the slow fade of the perfect easter lily
one of the true, inalienable gifts of the end of summer is the harvesting of home grown garden tomatoes. bright red, succulent, juicy-delicious, it’s a gift that actually comes in all shapes, colors, and sizes: the  omnipresent heirloom, the muscular beefsteak, the green zebra, fuzzy peach, red boar, the hillbilly, grape, plum, campari, even the diminutive cherry. all can be planted easily in the spring, watered abundantly through the brunt of summer, and ultimately & gloriously harvested, often, thru the end of september. personally, i can’t think of anything much more satisfying than...
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confessions of an ageing rage-aholic, part 2: the mad prof

confessions of an ageing rage-aholic, part 2: the mad prof
most of my friends, and probably all of my enemies, think i have an easy job. cushy. secure. even… lucky. i teach theater, something i still love and am passionate about, at a major university in southern california. i’ve been doing it for a quarter of a century: 17 years as an “adjunct”, 8 years as a full time professor. i don’t have tenure, never will, but somehow my contract seems to get renewed every year. i like to think that it has something to do with the fact that i’m a good teacher, i teach something valuable, self expression & creativity, and perhaps i make a difference in...
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confessions of an ageing rage-aholic, part 1: when i’m 64!

confessions of an ageing rage-aholic, part 1: when i’m 64!
i’m a civilized man. intelligent, educated, compassionate, even, some might say, sophisticated in the ways of the world. i’ve traveled a good deal of the planet, survived cancer; i have a good job at a major university, i married for the 1st time at 54 years old; hell, i have a lot to be grateful for. then why, oh why, dear shiva-allah-buddha-yaweh-whoever the fuck is in charge, is my goddam temper still on a such a short leash, threatening to explode in the most unpredictable, humiliating, and inopportune times? am i a fool? or am i just cursed? it’s a good day. the boys are in town for my...
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lenny, me, and the “N” word

lenny, me, and the “N” word
so it’s the first day of the new semester the first day of the new semester at the university of immense hubris the well endowed, private university that’s received far too much attention recently for its crimes of negligence and indulgence on the football field and for the appointment of its new greco-roman president and its immaculate new athletic director                                                                                            —————– it’s the first day of the new semester and i’ve returned...
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end of the empire?

end of the empire?
anyone ever read “the history of the decline and fall of the roman empire” by edward gibbon? probably not. me neither. but i did listen to a mouth-watering chunk of it on “books on tape” while driving through life along the LA freeways at the zenith of the american empire at the beginning of the 21st century. anyway, gibbon’s masterpiece of interpretive modern history first published in 1776 is a sprawling, 6-volume account of the period of theroman empire after marcus aurelius, from 180 to 1453 AD, concluding in 1590. it conjectures about the behavior and decisions that led to the decay and...
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