Oct. 12, 2012

Today is Archer’s first birthday. He’s my second grandson.


I heard Patti Smith play a set yesterday at Amoeba, a music store in Hollywood.  It was great.

Patti Smith and her band at Amoeba Bookstore in Hollywood, Oct. 11, 2012

Before that, Cat took me to the Hollywood YWCA, which has the best workout machines I’ve ever played on. Fun! AND a steam room and sauna–both in the women’s locker room, so you don’t have to wear anything. It was so rockin’.

Then, me and Cat went to a gals meetup at Cat’s friend, Crazy Cat’s house. I like L.A. We drove all over the place, getting there.

Crazy Cat and Beverly at our little girls night out soiree in Hollywood. Oct. 11, 2012

At the party, I got stoned and kind of told  Catherine off at one point: she may be an Aspie since she has the annoying habit of preaching to people (“the little professor syndrome,” it’s  called). She was lecturing me about Gypsies in Europe, and I guess I like to think I’m some kind of expert on that subject (which I’m not) and I was, like, “I know ALL about this,” etc. ad nauseam. It was OK.

Billboard in favor of porn actors using condoms. Safety in the workplace. Hollywood, Ca. Oct. 2012

Catherine says where she lives is the epicenter of Hollywood. Yeah. You just walk out her door, go 2 blocks down Las Palmas and you’re in the heart of Hollywood. It’s super-cool.

__________________Photo (above):

Tom Williamson, USC graduate at Catherine’s in Hollywood where he delivers and opens fresh coconuts for Catherine once a week. He’s an independent business man. Tom and Catherine connected through TaskRabbit.com. Oct. 2012


Here’s something that’s funny, and I’m not sure why, but everywhere I go, people will say: “This is the best place in the world.” Of course, it’s super charming that people love their home-towns, but it’s often the people who have never lived anywhere else who feel this way. Do they just not know anything else or are they truly and eternally satisfied and contented with their lives in one single place? Whatever it is, I wish them well. I may not be like that, but I’m very happy for them that they’ve found such happiness.


I have honestly and literally spent the first 66 years of my life convinced that I am usually doing the wrong thing and that there’s something fundamentally wrong with me. When and how did this start? I don’t know, but at least I can testify that this lack of self-confidence has been steadily growing weaker over the years. Gradually, I have gotten rather cocky and full of (faith in) myself.

This growth has been accomplished with a large dose of “fake it ’til you make it” gamesmanship. I’ve found this to be an extremely helpful practice: pretending to be, say, confident, and eventually, VOILA!, you are confident. It happens slowly,  but it happens. Visualize your own, private, vast reservoirs of courage.


Reading Talk to the Snail: Ten Commandments for Understanding the French (2006) by Stephen Clarke. It’s very funny, and after all I am, intermittently, a francophile. I get distracted by fantasies of Italy, but then I return to an illusion of what it would be like to live in France for a few months a year.


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