I’m posting today about “Bipolar Bare,” a memoir by my friend Carl Davis–a man whom many of you know from his presence as an artist and architect in Los Angeles. As you’ll see, it is not an easy read, but one that I found insightful and rewarding. Because his story is so very personal and […]
I can vouch for the truth that there is no better way to celebrate a birthday marking the all too swift passage of the remaining years than a jaunt with beloved family to the Getty Villa. We went yesterday, Ellie and I, with our daughter Sarah and her boyfriend from the Netherlands and her rambunctious young 10-year-old, Luka—another constant reminder, if one were needed, of my own declining years.
I am a reluctant driver these days, in Los Angeles. I’ve had enough of rude and clueless drivers, of endless traffic snarls around road works, of mad speeds on the freeways. The drive west from where we live at the far east end of the Hollywood hills used to be a pleasant, easy, even somewhat romantic drive along Sunset Boulevard. Nowadays, it’s a nightmare.
I read mysteries. I love the genre, and have done so ever since starting out at a young age with Sherlock Holmes, Father Brown, Hercule Poirot and the rest of them. I wrote a couple myself. They’re a part of my literary heritage. So it was with pleasure that I read an early birthday gift […]
But first, can I share a secret? It’s relevant. This is something I have never told anyone in my life before, not even Ellie, who knows everything about me, because I always found it acutely embarrassing. And here I am, about to say it out loud, in public. It’s a pleasure to be too old […]
I picked up a copy of “The Anomaly” by Hervé le Tellier at our local bookshop on the basis of rave reviews and touted best-seller status (“more than a million copies sold world-wide”!) I should have known better. It turned out to be what’s known in the lit biz as a “novel of ideas”—look it […]
I was reading an interesting essay in yesterday’s new NYT Opinion section (replacing the Sunday Review. Why?) about the recent surge of interest in the use of hallucinogens as an aid in psychotherapy. It reminded me of my own (single) experience with LSD back in the 1960s.
If you have been living in the Southern California area for a while, you’ll surely remember the Big Rock. It was a media frenzy in its day. News cameras greedily recorded every hiccup in the perilous journey of this massive, 430-ton granite boulder from somewhere in the desert to its destination at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.
I have been reading about the rise of feminism, particularly in the art world but also in the culture at large in the late 1960s and early 1970s. More about that when I’m finished reading. In the meantime, though, I’m reminded how much I regret the absence of a corresponding rise in masculinism.
This is one of those books I wanted to like more than I did. Evison is at his best in his evocation of the wild mountain landscapes of the North Cascades in Washington State. The winter winds will chill your bones, you sink into the muddy surface of the meadows in the spring thaw, you hear the rush of streams, the call of birds… Such scenes transport you. All good.