The Djinn is Alive

You know how in senior apartments they have these cute little ways of determining whether the residents are still with us? In my aunt's old place they had this cute little dolphin or some such mammal that you turned upside down every day to signify you were still able to do just that. In cyberspace, the blog has a certain similar role, methinks.

A good friend from the east (not Carnac for those of you who still remember the Johnny Carson show) e-mailed me today asking "R U Ok?" because I hadn't made any recent entries on the either of my blogs. Aside from being moved by her caring (I am most lucky in my friendships), it was rather interesting to see how I could flag a modification in my behavior patterns simply by not showing up in these pages. It was kind of a wow. Ok I am, but preoccupied, by events and tasks. So there WAS something going on, but happily it isn't anything untoward or problematic. And, most importantly, I, like the ladies and gentlemen who turn over their door dolphins, the Djinn from the Bronx is alive and well.

Some of the things that have taken me away from my three readers (and if you are all who ever read it, I am delighted nonetheless!) include unusual domestic chores, like trying to sell my dad's condo, whilst working and communing with my real estate agents. (because using office resources is not appropriate, I run to Kinko's on breaks to fax during the day, as necessary and where calling is necessary use my cell), those lovely nearly weekly visits to the Hollywood Bowl, a visit by the nearly adult daughter of a friend, she also from the east, some family issues (one of the former aforesaid residents of the senior apartments who happens to be an aunt has required the help of my cousin, she also from the east, and me), and the occasional late night call from friends that invigorate, but cause me to forget the idea of blogging. Finally, I reconnected with my very first friend, via Facebook and we have been exchanging stories and photos by e-mail, and seeing her face after so many years (which in my mind was still that of a kid; I last saw her in passing, actually, in the early 1970s), brought back so many memories, I have been swimming happily in the past. Life has been consuming me. And boy is that a lucky thing.

It is late as I write. Trouble sleeping has plagued me more and more of late. Some of it can be attributed to the fact that my miind never really stops going, a friend describes her experience of something like it as "monkeys in the head". And tonight, I was particularly frustrated by my own stupidity in trying to fix something on my computer to achieve a particular end, and messing it up royally, wasting some three hours and failing to find a meaningful fix. I found a temporary one, or more to the point, I found another way of doing what I needed to do and I am ignoring the actual problem until I can't anymore. I love logical solutions like that!

I wish I had the time, and the patience to give this blog the kind of attention I'd like, but I think it is all right just to muddle along, and some stories get told, and I enjoy the effort when I make it, and I hope the odd reader, meaning the occasional, not peculiar. . . enjoys it though it is often sporadic and rambly, as tonight's.

Exhaustion beckons, if not sleep so I shall now board my magic carpet bidding you, "adieu".

Comeback By Death

My office building is just a block and a half from the Staples Center. Yesterday, there was concern about how many people would be swarming by the venue for the Memorial for Mr. Jackson, such that there had to be an "administrative advisory" that it was "business as usual" and everyone who did not have a pre-scheduled vacation was expected to be at his or her desk. Of course, a fair number of people called in sick today in response to the management remonstration.

As it turned out, Grand Avenue was clearer than usual as I came to work a bit earlier than usual, just in case. Hitting the corner of Olympic and Grand and turning my head a bit right, I could see the gathering mourners. Except, really, from the outside, which is how I tangentially observed the event, it looked less like mourning than a festival.

I say tangentially, because I never got that close. At lunchtime I decided that this was a good day for people watching in the afternoon sun and I ensconced myself at the outside patio of a newish Wine Bar (alas no wine for me; twas a parsley lemonade--you'd be surprised how refreshing) and consumed a most delicious burger with a side of au gratin potatoes. Up to the moment I showed up, the Wine Bar, Cork (which btw, I recommend highly) was empty. But as the people who had attended the show emptied the facility, they wended their way to parking lots in my area, carrying various licensed and unlicensed memorabilia, and I watched them to the sounds of Michael himself singing on a loop of CDs or MP3. There were at least three helicopters (they began yesterday, making work very difficult) low flying and circling, over and over.

The crowd was amazingly well the only word I have is an old one, for I am sure there is something far more hip--yuppie. Pretty well heeled folks who naturally win lotteries. The vendors hawked their sausages on the corner and the T-Shirts. Water bottles for a 1.00, cold and refreshing. I preferred my parsley lemonade, thank you. A couple sat next to me, and their copper holographic wrist bands announced they had been among the random chosen. I asked them how they liked it. Other than a "it was terrific" response, there was no further conversation or suggestion of its being wanted. They ordered and perused their souvenir booklet with shiny pictures of Michael in better, live days.

In a kind of sad contradiction, well, sad for Michael and not so sad for everyone who has lived and will for the future live off his legacy, he was as popular as he ever had been at the height of his career. No, more so. Legend status. Legend status with a reverence that he had not experienced when he was breathing for many a year, so much so that he had left the country for years. Today, he was Saint Michael, and the very press that had villified him for his relationships with children were now noting how doting a father he had been. What do they say when a royal dies.?"The King is dead. Long live the King!" Canonization at the Staples Center, after years of gleeful jokes about what must have been a tormented life without a single concern for those children that were brought out to maximize the sympathy, and perhaps not parenthetically, the bucks. AEG apparently is resisting contributing to the public coffers for all the police and security and blocked streets. They probably need to see how much they made before they can be generous to the little people whose taxes made the day possible. And what of Michael? He's made a comeback. Too bad he won't get to enjoy it. It wouldn't have lasted long. Somebody with a telephoto lens would have snapped something worthy of questions and attack.

Abba What Happened to the Music and the Less than Super Diamond

My friend, Len Speaks, wrote about this mutual episode. I haven't looked at his entry yet, the better to avoid plaigarism. He'll have more, and better quips and I don't want to steal. I am quipless. Now, one might ask why would the two of you go to a faux Neil Diamond/Abba Concert? Hope springs eternal. Hope was badly disappointed. There have been good clones of groups. I remember seeing one that did the Beatles back a bunch of years ago, and it was like listening and seeing the real things. So, it COULD have been wonderful. Well, actually, because as usual, it was summer at the Hollywood Bowl, it was wonderful. I told the stranger next to me that I never really care what is playing, or who is playing. The atmosphere is enough. Cooling summer air, bristle of leaves and the mountains of Hollywood. And that was true on this occasion, only I wished I had a lot more wine to cushion the not Abba, not Neil sounds.

The Neil impersonator failed to impersonate. It was Tom Waits doing Neil Diamond. Lacking even the basic rhythm, as the man next to me said. (He and I became transient friends). A few of the songs were unrecognizable, even though they had been hits. A couple of times, he almost had it--nope lost it again. I have seen Neil Diamond in concert, in Forest Hills a million years ago, and he was electric. I felt bad for the guy because all I felt was plodding strums and croaks. It isn't just the song that makes it good. It is the singer of the song. (Suddenly I am put in mind of Tony Curtis in Spartacus saying in a Bronx accent attempting to be Roman (did people sound Roman?) "I am a sin-ger of songs". Tony might have made a better Neil Diamond. But I don't think he can warble a tune. Of course, I don't really know.

People ate. They always do that. People talked. This they don't usually do during the performances. I think there was one song I liked. I can't remember what it was.

Then Abba the Music, to make sure that we all know this wasn't the real ABBA who broke up in the 1970s. Except I think the people behind us really thought this was Abba. They were better than SuperDiamond (his title). Which is not to say that I was awed, and that though they used the same exact arrangements. The best part of this group was when they brought on supporting members of the original ABBA band and you'd hear the energy, albeit from 60 plus year olds. That's ok, because I am close to their age. They flew in a guitarist and a sax (I think it was a sax) player from Norway. They really were grooving to the old sounds, and in those moments, so was I.

I feel kind of mean. I am not usually mean in these pages, but let me give these imposters their due---that they demonstrated as nothing else could how wonderful the originals were, and in the case of Neil Diamond, are. And, for all, they were enthusiastic, and they get points for that. But I won't be hiring them for any parties.