Posted by trules in academia, ageing, american culture, baby boomers, death, john lennon, old friends, pensions, retirement, teaching, theater, when i'm 64
on Jun 7th, 2014 |
It used to be the “C” word. C-c-c-ommitment. Normally a young man’s word. Why ever get married, settle down, have a family, limit your (sexual) options? What about freedom? Opportunity? Spontaneity? Improvisation? Living in the moment? Be here now? What about the 60s? Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll?
I’ll tell you “what”. Life is what. It has a way of catching up with even the best (free-est) of us? Leaving us older, lonelier, less and less healthy and attractive with each passing year. Maybe even sadder, wiser, but more isolated… eventually, if we...
Posted by trules in academia, american culture, art from the fabric of my life, clay the dog, clint eastwood, college graduation, death, family, frank capra, hip, los angeles, movies, solo performance, students, teaching
on May 24th, 2013 |
may 17, 2013
beware. this is a story of curmudgeonliness turning into beatitude.
let’s start with the first.
it’s the merry month of may. time for college graduations. i never go.
never went to my own, never will. you know the routine: 1969… the me generation, protest, stick it to the man. my parents made me go to the college i never wanted to go to, just to save the dough. i certainly wasn’t gonna go to make them happy. i was socially inept, volcanic, and generally, i had a hard time making it out of adolescence. i didn’t need a diploma, recognition from an institution i didn’t respect. i...
Posted by trules in ageing, clay the dog, death, family, friendship, gratitude and appreciation, LA dog beaches, obituaries
on May 13th, 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...
Posted by trules in ageing, american culture, art, art from the fabric of my life, baby boomers, Bali, culture, death, theater
on Oct 20th, 2012 |
“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...
Posted by trules in academia, ageing, american culture, annihilation, art, art from the fabric of my life, baby boomers, bobos, charlie chaplin, culture, death, gardening, gratitude and appreciation, jews, los angeles, nightmares, teaching, theater, when i'm 64, wizard of oz
on Feb 21st, 2012 |
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...