I took this picture so many years ago that I can’t remember too much about it. We had run across a group of buildings that all had these trompe l’oeil murals. This one is my favourite because it’s almost Montmartre. In preparing it for this post, I realised that I could crop the top and bottom and it would look like no more than a bad copy of a Utrillo, but then the point would be lost.

Trompe l’oeil has always fascinated me. There must be that willing suspension of disbelief as one stands in front of the fakery. That’s what makes it fun. What if you could just walk into and down that street? Would that be the ultimate extension of Existentialism? It’s tempting, to walk into another dimension and out of the so-called real world.

Yes, the reality of it becomes all too real when your head hits the wall. But, what if you could walk right in? Of course, everyday we are faced with this very dilemma: real politik is an exercise in existentialism. (more…)

I’ve been scanning old photos. I’m trying to leave something for posterity, even though I realize that I’m the only one that cares about these images. When I came across this one, I started to wonder how much of all of our lives are kept alive in these old images. Let me explain.

The cake is for a 3rd birthday party, my 3rd birthday party. It looks like I made a good, but not overwhelming haul that day. The little box in the upper left looks like jewelry, maybe it’s a ring? I’d say that the one in the lower right was probably a book. Six presents for a 3-year old isn’t bad at all.

The most important thing in the photo is, of course, in the center: it’s the cake. That cake has assumed hagiographic proportions in my memories. It was a very special cake that had been ordered from the City of Paris bakery in San Francisco. The City of Paris was a department store where I would have one of my better tantrums as a child, but that’s not what this photo was about. It’s a beautiful cake. It’s almost too beautiful for a 3-year old. Therein hangs a tale.

Since my birthday was celebrated on the 4th of July, my cakes usually had a patriotic theme. There are three drum majors on the left of the cake. They are probably plastic. The red, white and blue roses, however, were definitely not plastic. They were made out of pure sugar. Evidently they could be saved “forever and ever.” Why anyone would want to save them forever and ever is beyond my comprehension. Yes, I ate them. I popped them in my mouth and thoroughly consumed those little American beauties. (more…)

I’ve never been one for making New Year’s resolutions. I am an inveterate list-maker. Throughout the year I constantly make lists. Since I don’t see myself as being at all disciplined, I am always gobsmacked when I actually complete all the tasks on my latest to-do list. Not that I do always manage that.

This last year was a case in point. I finished most tasks, but farted about with the most important task of all: I didn’t finished revising a book. I meant to, I wanted to, I even made headway with it; but when it came down to it I didn’t finish it. It has assumed the top spot on this year’s first list. It’s like a big blot in my copybook and every time I go back to that page I can see it. (more…)

Some say that the eyes are windows on the soul. I know better. They’re windows all right, but we don’t see with them. We see with our brains: the eyes are just windows. How do I know this? Well, my little ‘windows’ aren’t wired properly to my brain. I am amblyopic. I have a dominant eye and an amblyopic one. The amblyopic one looks lovingly across the bridge of my nose at the dominant one.

In the great scheme of things, this isn’t all that important. Most of my life I could see just fine with my one good eye. True, people at a distance of more then 5 feet away thought that I was looking at something over their right shoulder rather than at them. But, I could live with that. I did insist that photos be taken on my right side as it lessened the effect. Also, I never allowed it to be said that I had a “lazy” eye. ‘Lazy’ eye inferred that if my eye could just get its act together, all would be well. If only.

As a small child, I was taken to the famous Dr. Hans Barkan in San Francisco where we lived. He operated on my eyes when I was 3 years old. That procedure was only cosmetic, it didn’t fix the eyes. That solution would only be somewhere in my brain, my twisted little brain.

After we moved from San Francisco to Los Angeles I was sent back one June when I about 8 years old, on my own, to see Dr. Barkan. Well, I wasn’t entirely alone. I was put on a plane by my Mum and sent to Oakland because my Aunt Fritzie was there. Aunt Fritzie was newly married to Uncle Paul. Uncle Paul was a paraplegic and they were struggling financially to get along. It was made clear to me immediately by my auntie that I was an imposition, a burden. (more…)

I was just watching “Rashomon” again. Our separate realities is a theme I keep returning to in my meanderings. It lives side by side with my view of human relations as an existential exercise: we create our realities.

In “Rashomon,” whose story was true? The thief, the wife, the husband? Was the woodsman, in the end, telling the true story, even though we find out that he’s a thief? Or, did they each create their own reality because that was what each of them could live with? In statistical analysis, triangulation gives a semblance of the reality behind the numbers. In “Rashomon,” there is no triangulation. It’s true that the thief and woodsman both say the thief killed the husband. But, is that just what conforms to what they each need to be the truth? (more…)

Here in the land of Anon, we are starting to think about the season again. Barring any unforeseen glitches, Christmas will arrive: God willin’ and the crick don’t rise. I have a conundrum though. We are in the snowy depths of NYC right now and I’m lovin’ it! Snow everywhere, freezy breezy, frosty breath, Jack Frost nipping at your nose: the whole works. We get inside and a hot toddy feels so good. There’s only one problem. Tomorrow we head back to Santa Tourista. It’s going to be sunshine and palms trees.

Now, the HB loves sunshine and palm trees. He can take that for all seasons. Anon, however, is of a different mind. I’m in the mood to go cross-country skiing. I want to make snow angels. Bottom line: Anon loves the cold, HB hates it. We are so amenable on so many levels, but not when it comes to winter weather.

The thought of lawn chairs under the tree are his idea of how to spend the holidays. When we get home, he will put the hammock back up and enjoy the sunshine. I’ll be inside pretending that it’s snowing and playing Harry Connick jr’s Christmas CD. Deep sigh right about now.

Speaking of CDs, I just got new solo one from pal Dom Chapman. It’s not released yet. It’s totally great, especially the cut, “You and the Stars.” We had a wonderful meal with Emilia and Dom in the Village the other day. I had my favourite drink: key lime martini.

Breathe in, breathe out. Life will now proceed as usual.

The HB got me to laughing yesterday. We were walking up the stairs and he mentioned Liz Taylor’s nose. Why would that make me laugh? Well, it’s another Mummy story.

When I was growing up, Mummy would often say, “Your nose is just like Elizabeth Taylor’s. As a matter of fact if your eyes hadn’t turned colour, you’d be taken for her.” Her attitude about my eye colour was that it was an act of defiance for me to let them change colour. Yes, Mummy was delusional. But my nose is my only feature that I am pleased with. I never believed her, quite about Liz Taylor’s nose. But, in the back of my mind I had always wondered. Then, one day I had the chance to see if anyone else believed it. (more…)

I say HOORAY for technology! I made it through this election cycle without picking up the phone and finding some push-poll or political operative on the other end.

As I’ve said before, I have no shame when it comes to avoiding annoying telephone calls. Furthermore, I have no patience for telephones games of any sort. I will put up with a legitimate telephone poll, but they are few and far between. As to the others, they can get stuffed! My ear drums will not be assaulted!

So I have done everything I can to avoid unwanted calls. I’m on the National Do-Not-Call list. I have distinctive ring tones on my mobile for everyone whom I may or may not want to talk to. Finally, I have caller ID on the home phone.

If I get any call that says “unknown caller” or even if I don’t recognise the name and/or number, I let it ring. And ring. And ring. I have no guilt whatsoever. Let them deal with my voice mail. My meals have been so peaceful. My television viewing has been blissfully uninterrupted. Conversations could take place without annoyance. When I did go to vote, I had a smile on my lips.

Now if there were only a way to stop junk mail. Of course, I laughed maniacally as I shredded the junk mail from the candidates. I was Zen-ed out during the whole run-up to the election. Ah, peace! I’m in my happy place. Caller ID: it’s a good thing.

We used to live in the hills. When you live in the hills, you know the rules of the road like the back of your hand. You know what I mean. When you park, bank your wheels. Put on the emergency brake. Keep your car in gear: preferably reverse. If you have a dodgy battery, always park going downhill so you can pop the clutch to get the engine started.

It’s all fairly easy and really logical. One of the most important things to remember is that the person coming up the hill has the right of way. Makes sense when you think about it really. If you’re coming up the hill and you have to stop, you lose momentum. This is especially true if you have a manual transmission. (more…)

Yesterday’s little jaunt down memory lane jogged my brain cells. I remembered another Uncle story. This one happened during World War II.

Uncle had joined the Army Air Corps at the start of the war. He was mustered out rather quickly. The story that he told was that they found that he had flat feet. Never quite believed that one myself, that was his story and he stuck to it. (more…)