PEACE ON EARTH

Regardless of what they say, I don't believe that every living creature must die alone. Although, a lot of us do. And will.
There is something to be said for human companionship, whether you believe in a supreme being or not. Whether you believe in an afterlife or not. Whether you don't know what you believe in. That is something you will have to contend with.

In the tangible. In the here and now. The surge of warm blood through our bodies demands the company of others. Skin against skin. If you don't feed it, your blood will grow cold. The interesting thing is that once you have that. Once you have that assurance that comes with long hours and days of togetherness, there comes a relational leveling that could only be from God.

Nicole is gone now. Press junket in L.A. and then on to the Oscars. And I miss her. Despite my bitching the past couple of days. Her demands leaving me a journalistic cripple. Of course, in her absence, am I writing at all? Have a set aside quality time to concentrate on my projects? No, unless you count this measly blog.
My point is that before she left, she got pretty angry at me. First it was that whole Tori Amos thing. Then, yesterday morning she threatened to walk out because I wouldn't try her fresh squeezed vegetable juice. These are the things that set her off I guess. I'm more worried about infidelity and developing a need for Viagra. So there are definite differences that can cause slight riffs at times. What I try and make her see is...that's okay. Differences and conflicts only make things more substantial in the long run. Otherwise, what would a beautiful Australian movie star be doing with a hack writer who dreams about doing theatre.
Nicole, I love you.
It's quiet here, but now that you are gone for the weekend...I sort of want you to come back.

BEEKEEPER

There is a competition for my affection and it is stretching me thin. What with Nicole not leaving until tomorrow for L.A., this Eucalyptus thing is taking it's toll. I have a mind to call up Mr. Crowe myself and express my great disappointment at his setting this chain of events into motion. I could probably even snag his number off the internet now that Paris Hilton's cellphone has been hacked. Doesn't Russell know that the plight of our relationship (me and Nicole) rests in a healthy balance of time present AND time away? This film cancellation has put a major crimp in my style.
First, it was my writing that was abruptly disturbed last Friday when she showed up at my door. Granted, the weekend was okay between the two of us. I just hadn't anticipated having to entertain my heart's endearing passion for all of it. Concentrated, patient love like that takes a lot of time, and all I could think about was my projects falling behind. Call me a jerk, but none of this precludes the fact that I do love Nicole with all my heart. She just got in the way this time. Am I bad?

Now, the current problem. At least until she leaves tomorrow. The new Tori Amos album came out yesterday, and that has received all my focus. My writing is left behind. Every time Tori addresses the world, my world stops. I have to fill my ears with her luscious voice. You see, about 5 years ago, we met in a Borders Books. She was a real encouragment to me at that time. I was going through some hard situations in my life and my writing, I felt, really sucked. She read a play that I had written a first draft of and she actually liked it. Said that I needed to trust my muse and follow through. She didn't know, at the time, that she was my muse. But, we started to see each other a little and I fell in love with the person behind all those great thoughts. It didn't last long. She started to hang with sprites and fairies and the long walks in her garden became too esoteric for my own tastes, so we fell out of touch. Then she got married and had a kid and moved to England. All the things that stop love affairs. I still love her music though. And I am constantly looking for bits of myself in her songs. Anything to know that she still thinks about me.

So, locking myself in the house yesterday to spend time with another woman, if only in my ears, was too much for Nicole. She became irritable and frustrated. This, of course, made me irritable and frustrated. Maybe there is a place and time where two women are willing too share your affection in harmony, but the present is not it. I'm still listening to Tori right now, but she is singing about Mary Magdelene instead of her time with me. So, I'll keep buying her albums. In the meantime, I have a lot of catching up to do with Nicole before she leaves. Wouldn't want her to go out of town for this press junket and end up with Will Ferrell or anything. Then there are the Academy Awards on Sunday night, which I will be watching at home. Come to think of it, she has no right complaining about my time with Tori. I'll be watching Sunday, baby. Try to keep your hands off all those leading men. Remember, who you come home to.

EUCALYPTUS

So, my hibernation was a success. Sort of. I doubled the pages on one of my novels. That took 2 days. I was so pleased with myself, that I decided to work Friday as well. That's when things went down fast.
Nicole, the love of my life, flesh of my flesh, just...showed up at my door Friday morning at 11:00 a.m. I was in the middle of a real juicy passage about the fading smell of sex and the love of God when she knocked.
I guess you all have heard about it by now, but given my abstinence from media last wednesday and thursday, I had no idea. Seems the movie that my girl has been working on, down in her hometown, has come to a indefinite halt. The media said there were unsolvable script problems and that maybe they were worried about my belle playing a 19 year old. There might have been some personality conflicts between Nic and the director. Nicole might have been a difficult siren.

Well...I'm here to set the record straight. Nicole had nothing to do with it.

Arriving at my door, fresh from a red eye, she was in tears. Poor thing. Seems a Mr. Crowe, (also attatched to this picture, also an aquaintance of Nic's from down under, also a real asshole) is the one who is screwing this all up for her and everyone else. Taking a helicoptor ride the 10 miles from his beach house to the set everyday? Come on! Nicole said that he wanted to completely change everything already in place. He wanted to have the script bulked up to have him look better. He even tried to put the moves on Nicole when she was just trying to run the lines with him. Russell Crowe, you are destined to be the recipient of my fury.
Needless to say, the black mascara running down her pretty eyes kept me distracted. I never returned to my work on Friday.
Nicole has some advanced press to do for Bewitched this week, so maybe the whole hibernation project will be started all over again. Anything to take my mind off what I really want to do to that perverted arrogant Gladiator. Beautiful Mind, my ass! And Nicole, if you get a chance to read this today...Not only would I memorize all the species of Eucalyptus for you...I would start new ones from the strands of your beautiful hair.

THE EXPERIMENT

I'm going away for a couple of days. At least a couple of days. Away from the information super highway. Away from friends. Away from food. Away from this blog. And away from Nicole. I am not looking forward to it, but it must be done.
I have writing to do for 3 plays, 2 novels, 2 feature length screenplays, 1 short film and 2 blogs, not to mention all the freelance work I am behind on, and the press releases I have to put out for Nicole everyday. I am swamped. I am also lazy, but I have found a solution to my problem. Thank you Sly Stallone. But maybe I am a bit premature. Let's see how I do before I go acknowledging someone like Rocky Balboa.
You see, someone told me that Rambo himself was once a struggling actor. (Who would have believed that?) His salvation came when, in order to force himself into a chance at stardom, he painted all the windows black in his basement apartment in Queen, NY for a month. During that month, free of all distractions, he knocked out the screenplay for Rocky. Wham - Bam - instant success. Can I please be in my own movie?
So, that is my destiny. Not fame or stardom or even acting opportunities. I've got all the excitement I can handle with Nicole. I just need to bear down and get some much needed writing finished. So that's where I will be for the next few days. In the dark den of my small apartment...(I'll shut the shades - I'm not going to paint any windows black because my landlord will kick my ass)...writing.
To those of you who depend on my words as a daily source of nourishment...I have decided to give myself the gift of blogging on Friday. (But only if I get an enormous ammount of writing done.) So, wish me well. It's hard to give up Nicole, but I need to recognize my own limitations. Sometimes love is incredible, as my Valentine's moment last night can attest to. Sometimes love is bold, as expressed in the movie Hotel Rwanda. And sometimes, love just gets in the way.

THERE WILL BE SORROW

It's the day after. Last night I saw the film Hotel Rwanda. Primarily for the Cheadle factor. You see, Mr. Don Cheadle, character actor extraordinare, has the ability to lift most films out of common banality into mostly entertaining. Hence, the Cheadle factor. (ie. Out of Sight, Boogie Nights, Traffic) But I wanted to see Hotel Rwanda because of the recent media coverage and award nominations, and also because I wanted to see if Mr. Cheadle could carry a film.
Well...he pulled it off. But I wasn't, at all, ready for the harrowing reality of what was going on in Africa in 1994. This movie, dare I say it, had the most heart and moral expression of love than any movie I have seen in a long while. And it wasn't even nominated for Best Picture. That, in my opinion, is the big loss of this award's season. Does the Academy have something against pure, unselfish Christian kindness? Especially given the fact that our current situation, (AT WAR), begs our involvement, in whatever form that may come. This movie actually caused me to second guess my views of the ongoing conflict in the middle east, but I am not ready to talk about that one yet. Just...go see this movie. Have an open heart, and expect to be moved. Even without the Cheadle factor, this movie should push us to action. We should want to do more. Whatever that is for you.

Meanwhile, it is also the day before Valentines day, and Nicole has been crying through the night. It started when she witnessed the atrocities on the movie screen last night and has moved on throughout this afternoon. Big, fat wells of water on her face. The conviction of a life I find to be perfect. If I dare ask her what is wrong, she just wails more. In the end, there are more pains than those begat by her monthly circular visit. There is a vastness that I will never be privy to.

I pray that tommorrow, with all the red and pink hearts of candy and chocolate. With all the red and pink bouquets of roses and fragrance. With all the misdirected love thrashing about between silk sheets. That our real hearts will be filled with compassion. And if any of you spend a single dollar in that dastardly S***b**ks, (I've decided to do away with my Starwax euphamism and instead show the severity of my true feelings by s***ing out the letters with hatred for this unGodly institution), than I hope you choke on your Grande Soy Lattes. Happy Valentines Day.

THE NOTEBOOK AND THE VIRGIN

Automatic called to check on me this morning. Feeling a little under the weather and all. Plus a long distance death on my hands. It's nice to have a friend. I'll probably stay under the covers most of the day. And convince Nicole, through my pitiful sighs, that she needs to care for me. We men are such babies when we don't feel good. Movies and hot tea with lemon and warm blankets and tiny toasted sandwiches with the crusts cut off. The weekend doesn't look much different, but it's just as well. This neighborhood is no where I'd want to live anymore. I might not go out for days. Consider the occupants:

1. A crazy Polish lady who screams at you when you try to park in front of her house.
2. Two Mexican G-Dogs who drive alongside your car and point at nothing, just to make you paranoid. Perhaps they were perplexed at my "God is not a Republican or a Democrat bumper sticker.
3. A teenage mother who claims to hold the 'second coming' of Christ in her womb, but still wont stop drinking Jack Daniels all day long.
4. A couple of beautiful young people who are desperately in love with one another, and want everyone to know it.

Okay, I have to admit, the first 3 I could do without. But this last one. The couple. They make me want to belive in the power of love, past a stupid Peter Cetera song. This in no Karate Kid. This is real life. So if these beautiful kids have the real thing going on, it might just be the only reason I'm still sticking around. Beautiful and terrible at the same time. I have this thing that makes me want to only romanticize tragic relationships. But I just might give these two a chance. Them and Nicole.

SKYLIGHT

So I guess it's inevitable. The end to this mortal coil. If you've ever known someone to die in your lifetime, you have to admit that the realization can just get bizarre. Not even sorry or loss as much as weird. So weird, it's stupid.
The man who is responsible for part of my education. At least, the financial part.
The man who bid me permission to steal his 18 year old virgin.
The man who plays Poopaw to my 9 year old daughter.
My ex-father in law...well, he died yesterday.
Fell off the roof of a building, 20 feet up, through a skylight and then just left this world. At the age of about 60, I think. Who knew? God alone, but none of us mortals. We're just scratching our heads.
So now I have this very strange feeling. About life and all, not death. And how the skin and scrapes that make up a man can go away in an instant. Like Curtis went away. And now he has a wife and 3 children and 5 grandchildren and, believe it or not, a mother, who are all wondering what the hell happened.
I do feel for them. And I will send my ex-wife a sympathy card this week. Along with her child support. But I just keep thinking...this is so weird. Would I respond the same way if I lost Nicole. Or would I explode. Crying and crying. Inconsolable. I guess we'll have to wait and see. Could be any time now. Especially if life is as strange as yesterday's events make me believe it is.

BARFLY

Automatic said he doesn't hate people. He just feels better when they're not around. Or maybe that was Bukowski. I don't know. The lines of brilliant people seem to all run together in my collective consciousness. And out them is born my flawed exegesis of life's novel. Observe:

i took a wrong turn somewhere
the path got short
dead-ended into dead-lock
what's with this on-star system
some glich some where some more
than others who have this whole thing down
power-windows get you air
get you space again
and i can't fit this handle back on the crank
to get a little space
i've talked about breath before
the boar that has me cornered
the bore that has me trapped
everyone ending up at the mall
fueling fucking alcohol
and one taste of what i know to be good
abandoned in the cracks of the floorboards
sustenance and flavor and favor
if i can just get turned around
off-road off-track off-ended
driving again
well take the trail marked on your Father's map
full-tank full-moon full-filled

BREATHE

Automatic said stop for just one second. Paraphrased : Check yourself...before you wreck yourself. And this time, I listened.
What a whirlwind weekend. Did you ever wake up straight into heart palpitations? You life is all a-flutter and you don't dare stop for fear of death? When things need to be done all at once, there is no real choice other than to suck it up and do them. All at once. That is what I did. And it almost killed me.
Nicole was home all weekend. And I was away. There is a new call on my life and it's name is action. No longer will I sit by and let the majority of the work be completed by the minority. Before last year, two things were obvious.
1. Nicole Kidman was just a face on the screen.
2. I would never be politically or socially active.
Now...both of these things are staring me in the face. I have a living, breathing relationship with Nicole. Although she brings me close to death, she also gives me life.
I am also adjusting my training wheels for the soapbox derby of political and social activism. Wherever that might take me. Bashed up with spit in my face. I am ready. And that's what this weekend was all about. That's why Nicole stayed home, drinking wine and reading. She's still trying to get past that whole Church os Scientology thing anyways. One could hardly blame her. I didn't.
I attended 4, count them 4, political, social and religious rallys. With no time inbetween. At the center of all this was Jim Wallis. My new man on the street. He was challenging and inspirational and conversational at the same time. Reminding me, once again, that God is not a Republican or a Democrat. So what is he then? He's a progressive. And that's what I am. For now. Until another leader comes along and takes my breath away. As for Nicole...she can still have my heart.

VERTIGO'S WITNESS

I am feeling the pain of diappointment, and the only thing I can do is go the movies. Automatic said take heart. There will be other dates. U2 will rise again and make that journey to Chicago. But all I see is red. Pain and fury at the same time. Not only did these arrogant pre-salers make it impossible to snag any tickets for Bono and company's visit in May, but they care so little about what they hold in their hot little hands, that they were already trying to unload them on ebay before I even had a shot to get them themselves. $1000 a pop. Can you believe it? And I thought Ticketbastard themselves were bad. I mean, I am a fan, but I'm also unemployed. Can I get a witness?
So The Aviator was in the cards for me instead. And Million Dollar Baby. Drowning my sorrows in celluloid. Both very excellent films and deserving of their nominations. (Including Mr. Eastwood, who I had unknowingly belittled earlier) Even though Scorcese is my favorite director in the entire world and little Leo and Cate Blanchet were captivating, and this 3-hour opus on Howard Hughes was unbelievable and technically stunning, it somehow lacked the heart of Million Dollar Baby. The Aviator made me say, "wow, do I love Marty, and isn't he such a genius." Whereas Million Dollar Baby made me say, "ouch, that kind of stung, I've got to seriously start thinking about the fraility of life." See the difference. (Warning: Million Dollar Baby is sort of depresssing. Good, but depressing. And a lot better than Mystic River, in my opinion.)
Anyway, I was in the bathroom at the CineArts complex in Evanston, IL. Between the two films. Emptying my bladder of all that Sprite. I was the only one in the room at the time. I thought. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of movement in the mirror. I finished my business and turned to see what it was. I felt kind of creepy. Like I was in a Peter Weir movie or something.
Well, squating on all fours, in one of the stalls, crouched and huddled, staring out through the crack of the door was a boy. Just staring. Like some Sixth Sense or Ju-on sort of thing. I pushed open the door the rest of the way, because he wasn't doing what he was supposed to be doing in the stall, and I thought he might need some help. And, at the risk of being accused of some crime, I felt I should intervene.
He said, "Hi".
I asked him if he was okay.
He said, "yes, could you please shut the door - I'm waiting."
I asked him if he needed anything.
"Please leave me," he uttered plainly. Just this flat statement. Very adult. And very creepy.
I left, but I felt like I needed to do more, so I got the manager of the CineArts complex to check it out for himself. I was going to wait around for him to go in and then come back out, only to say there was no kid - nothing. Kind of had that feeling. Like maybe I saw what I wasn't really supposed to see. Maybe the whole ticket fiasco and 3 hours with Mr. Hughes' deteriating mind and undigested kettle korn was doing a job on me. But I just went into the next movie and let it wash out of me. That whole thing was just too weird for explanation. And to think, I could of gone to see Hide and Seek.

MOONLIGHT DRIVE

Nicole is under the weather. Seems the pressures of this life are too much for her. That whole thing with the bug didn't help much either. Now she has a different kind of bug. Anyway, she's inconsolable. I tried bating her out of her dark den with chocolates, but that did no good. Then I tried to tell her that everything was going to be alright. Even did that little Bob Marley Rasta jig and everything with it. Shot down. She screamed at me. Well, not really, but when someone that you desperately care about says "thanks alot" while you're trying to comfort them, they might as well be screaming at you.
It was our first really good day - weather wise - in a while, so I finally coaxed her outside for a long drive. She agreed, as long as there was a promise of presents at the end of this long drive. (Why do women, who seem to have everything, always love, even crave, this notion of 'presents'?) So, I'm working on the whole 'presents' deal in my mind - post promise - and we're off.
Before I know it, two hours have passed and the gas tank is past E. Riding along Lakeshore Drive, far north of our home in Chicago, and the moon is bold. I never even saw the sun set. I look over at Nicole and she's almost asleep. A full smile on her face. I think of Jim singing to Pam. Singing about a love that defies our human exsistence. A love that has spiritual strains. A love that melts away the pressures of this life with a supreme peace. And I think...that's where I'm at right now. The moon and the quiet and the smile and Nicole.
I pulled off the drive and into the BP for petrol. I think we were going over the gas intake valve and she was jostled awake. "Where are we," she asked me.
"Far and Away," I replied with a smirk.
"And now..." She was in that half dream stage. Starting to go back out.
"Now, we go home."
"That's nice. I want that." And...she's back out. No screaming.
I pumped the gas and started back down the drive. No presents at the end of this trip. I hope she's forgiving.
I carried her back in the house. Put her to bed. Not much out of her at all, except for that beautiful beg she gave me in the driveway. And now I'm looking at her again. Smile still on that beautiful porcelain face. It's amazing the transcendent power of a little moonlight. The darkness of day into the brightness of night. Maybe she did get her 'presents' after all.