L.A. 2002: Journals - Post # 20: In The Good Ol' Summatime

July 25, 2002: Back from lunch, catching up on the trades, including Variety aka ‘The Other Paper’ as it's called in the THR newsroom .The  prime -time game show Dog Eat Dog made it to the Top 10 in the ratings this week and 6 episodes beyond the original 13 weeks were ordered. I’m sure the host, Brooke Burns, is thrilled. She’s likable and she’s a single mother, too; charismatic and could play Carly Simon in a bio-film for sure. The same production company that does  Dog Eat Dog also does Weakest Link. I guess the arena-concert lighting and industrial set was a big clue.

I like  Spy TV. It’s not as exploitive as it was last season. A recent show had a bunch of guys bringing in their friend ---a notorious road rage driver---into a fake intervention with a fake psych doctor. The road rage guy didn’t know this and he kept denying to the psychiatrist that he had a problem. He’d say he had no anger and the psychologist would respond with pablum-treacle like, ‘Don’t transfer the rage. Own this!’

Finally, with all of his friends acting very emotional and pleading that he get help, the road rage guy broke down  and said, “I really don’t like to drive. I hate traffic. I don’t even want to go outside.” It was hilarious but he at least let it out. He didn’t seem traumatized when they revealed it was a prank.

August 1, 2002: Chilling and talking with Bebbles last night when Bebs decides we need to go to a big store in the San Fernando Valley and shop. The store is near Bebbles’ job and that’s a 3-hour round-trip commute. Bebbles said, “You’ll be able to see what I go through….”

I said I’d go if I was up to it. Bebbles insisted that I go. There was nothing fun about the idea; just ‘You’re going.’ Bebbles thought I was a hard-ass because I said, “Why do I want to go on a three-hour commute, on my day off, to go to a store near your job? You want to know what I’VE been through?” Our schedules are to blame for some of it but Bebbles can be boisterous and I’m a bigmouth.

Bebbles made a joke earlier in the night about their obnoxious commute and it was funny as hell. I laughed so hard that it made Bebs re-think the humor and say, “We’re going to have to get another car. We have to. I’m going to need another one or I’m not going to be able to make it. I won’t survive!”

 I said, yes, we do need to get another car. Bebbles said, “I didn’t sign on for this 3-hour commute.” I said, “I didn’t sign up for a LOT of things. None of us do. I agree we need the car. No one is making you do that trek to and from work. I’m not asking you to do it. You don’t want to work there, then don’t work there.” Bebbles knows I’m always on their side but by this time Bebbles felt I’d gone beyond the original argument and I’m wondering how our night got fucked up.

Went to work today dressed to the nines. I haven’t had the luxury or desire for the maintenance needed to keep toner and newsroom equipment from messing up my dress clothes.  Bebbles told me, “When you wear dress clothes you become another person! It's a great look you should sport more.” Bebs said I always make sure their wardrobe is hooked up so Bebbles is taking me on a clothing spree this weekend. The only caveat: NO JEANS. Bebbles is tired of me wearing jeans. I think they’re practical in my regular work environment but I do see the point.

Got to work today in a vest and tie with nice slacks. Chris Marlowe, our tech editor, saw me and joked, “Going to court?”

L.A. 2002: Journals - Post # 19: Monday with Janey

July 15, 2002: I got invited to a political documentary  that's screening at the L.A. International Film Festival. The director, *Janey Stewart*, called me and asked me to come this Sunday. She was given unprecedented access to the Bush White House and there’s been considerable buzz about the film. I can’t attend; I’ll be working in editorial this Sunday. Janey said, “Documentary filmmaking is so hard. After making this movie, we can’t afford a cup of coffee.” She has another documentary in the festival, on a separate topic, so she’s not just working the political beat.

Janey offered to send me a screener and asked me where I was from. I told her I was from Washington, D.C. and she said, “I’m from Virginia!” She moaned about seeing “half-naked girls” at ticket booths in L.A., and said, “everyone is so vapid and it’s so sad! What do you think it is?”
My answer was, "Maybe it has to do with lack of seasons in L.A. Some of the superficiality over substance is by design and not actual stupidity on their part.”
“L.A. really is a different place…” she said, quietly and small, like ‘Your father is never coming back from the war…’
“Look on the bright side,” I said. “L.A. has the highest per capita book sales in the country.”
“Yeah, but you know what the joke is about that, don’t you? Everyone here buys the most books and then just carries them around or puts them on a bookshelf for show. All the books in L.A. look brand new because no one’s even cracked the spines or read them!” Janey cackled.

I didn’t pursue the snarky angle since all of my books are loved, handled and read. I got vibes

L.A. 2002: Journals - Post # 18: No Illusions

July 7, 2002: In the newsroom, with an hour left on the clock. Work has been extraordinarily busy for this time of year. My partner on the news desks, Selena, and I are carrying a lot of additional work, with not much time off. We’ve had a redesign of the magazine; Selena and I are averaging 1,200 news calls a week. Our parent company has a no-temp policy since 9/11, even though our company gave $250 million to relief efforts.

July 10, 2002: “Truth is no theory, no speculative system of philosophy, no intellectual insight….Truth is exact correspondence with reality.” – Anonymous Hindu quote

My manager is out and I’m doing 16 hours overtime within the next week. The editor put in a request with our New York management. It should be an easy decision but NY is notorious for penny-pinching on the vitals. I’m working six days straight and still in work clothes at 10:30 p.m.

July 14, 2002: My boss, the magazine’s editor, is attending a dinner with our publisher next Saturday and can’t make an agency party invite he received. He passed the invite on to me to represent for the magazine and I’m going to go. I’ll make introductions and I’ll be ready.

I’m reading Marsha Mason’s autobiography Journey– it’s heavy on the New Age if you were expecting a strict industry story, but she’s honest and likeable. She dates her decision to leave her Pacific Palisades home from when she went to a celebrity birthday party, saw her reflection, and felt ridiculous. She admits her career was stalled at the time and that’s a brave thing to do.

It’s amazing how regardless of what adventures you lead in life as an artist, it comes back to whether your career is alive or dead – it’s either one or the other. Mason was able to afford her move to New Mexico and she’ll be alright. It makes you think what if you’re not lucky enough to leave Hollywood in style? I hope I never have to deal with that.

My career as an actor is nil; I’m now a worker bee in a newsroom. I’m profitable because of the entertainment news gauntlet I help serve, not for any role I’m playing. It’s a huge difference and a trade-off. As an actor, I’d never have met Earth Wind and Fire. As a news professional, I did. I work 10 hours in the newsroom and then cover the event circuit. The Hollywood Reporter gave me a platform to truly see past the smoke and mirrors. Trust me, all of my illusions- the ones I had left- are gone. I know the dog and pony show aspects. I know that there’s a percentage of the powerful who’d be considered idiots by many measures but it’s their turn at bat and their ride. I do my job.

L.A. 2002: Journals - Post # 17: Me and Toothy McGee

Last week of June, 2002: Attended multi-hyphenate comedian *Toothy McGee’s* CD- release party last night. It’s a CD with a mix of R&B/hip hop and gospel tracks. Toothy isn't on the CD vocally. There are some name artists on the album, like Mary J. Blige, and some new acts that Toothy is promoting. Toothy is on the CD cover.

The party was at the utilitarian and colorful Pacific Design Center. There were 13 valets at the entrance when David and I got there. Most of the guests were parking on the side streets, leaving the valets mostly idle. There was an SUV with a wrap of Toothy McGee’s face plastered across the passenger side; a very conspicuous here-I-am vehicle that would take some balls to ride in. I hope Toothy doesn’t.

I met *Phaedra*, the head of Toothy’s media relations. She’s very together: Toni Braxton haircut with bronzed bangs, nice smile and a raspy voice. One of the guests said, “Phaedra, weren’t you just working at Nickelodeon?” Phaedra said, “Girl! That’s been so long ago, don’t remind me!” I checked in with her. I’ve helped her a lot as far as forwarding and pushing through a lot of Toothy’s press releases and activities.

I’d say that all of the male editors at THR like Toothy and his contemporaries. Toothy is one of the larger Black brands in TV, although I’ve never seen more than 5 minutes of his last series. The only reason his show is off the air is because he ended the run on his own. He has said in the press that he was going out on top and that’s why he ended the show. I also think that Toothy truly had valid issues with the network that was airing his show. I know that he felt ghettoized because his show was more wholesome than people assumed yet didn't get the push he felt it warranted. Toothy hadn't arrived yet and Phaedra told me he was expected at "around 9 p.m. and I’ll try to get you in to see him.” No problem.

Went into the party, about a half-hour after it’d started. There was a nice crowd already on the outdoor terraces and inside the venue. There were at least four full-service bars, green rooms set up for press interviews and booths/tables set up for guests.

Former LAPD police chief Bernard Parks was sitting with his elegant wife, listening to the promotional CD the DJ was playing for the guests. I introduced myself to them both and I thought he was very nice guy considering all that he’s been through in the last several years. I liked them a lot.

The appetizer menus were pretty exotic and I didn’t try many: crab mango salad on cucumber slices was one of the easier ones. I tried one and David said, “Karl, just chew it and don’t trip. Just eat it.” I did and finished it quickly, never to try again. David tried some pesto chicken with avocado sauce on toast slivers, topped with a tomato, without even knowing what it was. I told him he’ll just eat anything and laughed. It could be ostrich nethers in a wonton and David would eat it or at least try it. A server came up to us with a tray of salmon tartare and caviar on top of barbecued kettle chips. David tried that, too, and said, ‘You’re right, Karl. I'd never had that caviar before - my azz will eat anything!” and we guffawed.

Right across from us, less than three feet, were Verdine White and Ralph Johnson of Earth Wind & Fire. They’ve been in the band for all of its 31 years and look great. Ralph’s wife was with him and she has the sweetest smile-- it’s so good to see couples in the industry who’ve stayed together and are the same age.

David has every EWF album ever made and I was raised on them. Who doesn’t like Earth Wind & Fire? I shook their hands and made bowing motions with my hands. I told Ralph Johnson that their music was such a constant in my house growing up that I even caught ass-whuppins to it. We all laughed and I told them they have such class that is sorely missing today in a lot of the music scene. They nodded in agreement and were very gracious. I don't get starstruck much but meeting them was one of the highlights of my entire time in Los Angeles so far.

It was just last year when I was temping at UCLA and bought the Billboard issue commemorating EWF’s 30 years in the business and wishing I could meet them. The wish came true. David and I were moony-faced like kids; when you meet icons who transcend all expectations, it’s amazing and rare. Makes the hustle and occasional hell of L.A. worth it. That’s the magic, I guess: the presence of talented people and communicating with those who influenced your pop-culture tastes.

L.A. 2002: Journals - Post # 16: Making it work.......

June 25, 2002: I survive all the funk – comedy is everywhere. My sense of humor helps. Bebbles told me to catch up with a mutual friend of ours the other night and later said that we don’t go anywhere but to industry events. It rankled me to hear that, but I have to keep in mind that we’re apart at the very least 13 hours a day and that due to our schedules I’m never at home by myself – ever. Bebbles knows that my job require more industry events than even I had planned on; the longer I’m there, the more the invites will come. Bebbles doesn’t want to do the Industry thing or go to the majority of them. Bebbles retracted the comments upon hearing my rationale because I always try to include Bebbles and it's Bebs  who doesn’t want to go. I’m juggling the time demands the best I can and we’re trying. We’re forfeiting a lot of time right now but it’ll be so much fun when we head out to Vegas with Ellie. We’re also going to a house party this Friday that Bebs will like.

I’m reading Alannah Nash’s biography of Jessica Savitch, Golden Girl. I haven’t read Jessica’s own book Anchorwoman, yet because Nash debunks a lot of what Savitch wrote in her book. Nash actually brings the passages up to the people that Savitch wrote about and they say she stretched the truth, they didn’t give her diamond engagement rings, or they didn’t say what she attributed to them.

Golden Girl’ is different from Gwenda Blair's equally excellent Almost Golden  in that it’s less a combined story on the history of the network/ local news business.  Golden Girl is more about Jessica and how she was truly miserable in the only job she thought she loved. Countless people tell about how she was a nice woman but always on the verge of hysteria or self-destructive behavior. The details are sharper: the author traces Jessica’s steps into her house before finding her husband hanging by her dog’s leash, in the basement.

Davitch found her husband hanging with his back turned. She turned his body around and both of his eyes had hemorrhaged. Jessica ran screaming from the house and later said that all she heard was someone screaming – she didn’t know that it was her screaming the whole time. It’s a sad but fascinating story about a persona that was a fallacy. I love Jessica Savitch yet hers is a great cautionary tale about having work and professional ambitions without anything else close to real-life or relationships to back it up. She let herself get consumed by the vacuum.

E! featured The Love Boat on  TV Tales: pretty banal retrospective but I didn’t know that Lauren Tewes aka Julie your Cruise Director spun as out of control as she did back then. She was only 23 when she started the show and nearly 30 when they declined to renew her contract. They didn’t say it was cocaine that was the reason, but she’s said it herself many times on the record. Lauren was saying how they told her to look, wear her hair, that she was never good enough and that the supporting cast were expected to play second bananas to Gavin McLeod, the ship and the guest stars. I hate to see my favorites fall off! I had a crush on Lauren Tewes back in the day!

Covering a party by *Toothy McGee* party for work later this week. I've been told that Toothy can be a pill at times but he should have no issues with me. I confirmed all the arrangements with his company manager. The dress code is white linen, which I already told his team won't be happening for me - I'm in a newsroom all day, so keeping white linen white surrounded by toner and magazine print all day is a fantasy I can't make happen. I'll wear the closest color I can: beige. I hope it's a good time.

L.A. 2002: Journals - Post # 15 : Bad Theater for Good People

June 22, 2002: Doing international payroll in the newsroom for the month. My boss, Howard, invited me to an editor’s lunch today. I wasn’t opposed to it- I think I was more startled than anything- and took a rain check since I’m on an earlier deadline than the editorial budget meeting.. Howard said, “Well, we’ll do it some other time.” It was a nice offer.

Went with my producer godmother to a play I’d been invited to by *Kelvin Brooks*. The play was called *How You Gonna Hear The Bells Ring?* and it was written and directed by Kelvin. The star of the play is a former female Motown star, *Maisy Holloway*. Maisy’s guest list of comps were late- very late- arriving and Kelvin held the curtain for her. By the time Act 2 started, it was 10:30 p.m. I walked out of the play not five minutes into Act 2. The show was supposed to start at 8 p.m.

Kelvin is a very confident guy who puts out badly written, overacted plays. The cast didn’t stop for laughs, there’s a lot of cheap laughs and hammy gags. The show was completely regressive. Leaving the theater with Sharon, I had to walk past Kelvin who was sitting in the same row I was in, in an obvious spot, watching his own play. Gross. Maisy looks great for her age despite her face being thisclose to a face-lift reveal. She was stunt casting and the actors had bad acting tics.

I have a sharp ear for bad dialogue. I’ve done theater half my life. Sharon called the show ‘burlesque’ and it’s true. It’s the fourth show I’ve left early this year. I can’t waste my time. I wouldn’t agree to a role in a play now unless I was allowed to read the entire script first. I wouldn’t work just to be working. Maisy Holloway should be in Vegas and not in this ridiculous show on a side street. I’m sure Kelvin felt dejected but I left as quietly as possible and wasn’t rude. My time is worth more than sitting through bad shows. I worked all day and have every right to walk out of shit. I’m interested in a wide array of material but I have my sensibilities and can’t be played. Friday night is a prime night off and it was already half pissed away.

The show is about interracial marriage and it’s played so broadly. At the end of Act 1, the black grandmother comes to the front of the stage, looks into the spotlight and says, “This may be hard, but I know this: I’m GONNA hear me some BELLS RINGIN'!” All she needed was a newborn baby to raise above her head. At one point a character is explaining a relative’s “apoplectic stroke.” Maisy then says, “What’s apple-plexy?!” Hee hee, see how funny it is when Black fold mispronounce words!? Shit like that. Sharon and I knew we had to go. This wasn’t August Wilson.

June 24, 2002: All of the world chaos seems beyond our current administration. Speech writers with treacly Americana that we know didn’t come out of the speaker’s head. Why not just nominate speech writers?

R. Kelly’s ‘Heaven I Need A Hug’ song almost made fall over in a rigid thud with the rhetoric about whether he had hits or not....Does God care in the grand scheme of life? 21 counts to face is severe.

Minority Report ended up winning the box-office race by $400k over Lilo &Stitch. There are people so breathless to keep Tom Cruise’s box office streak intact. The Scooby Doo sequel has taken in $100 million in ten days at a cost of $80 million; it’s all gravy from here on out. I took my friend and her son to see it and it is strictly for very small children.

Hollywood 101: Tell Your Side of the Story

A Summer Day, 2002: Some living and breathing Hollywood pathology from multi-hyphenate-superstar *Brass Tack$* publicist today. She was being extremely obnoxious: like client, like publicist. *Kami*, the normally patrician publicist of Brass Tack$, kept calling the news desks with increasing vitriol.

Today’s chaos with Kami is on the heels of recent developments in the music industry, namely Mariah Carey’s  leaving BMI. Another major label was making no secret of their plans to drop some acts, including Brass Tack$ ,due to poor sales from Brass’s team and moderate sales lately compared to platinum success of old. The last figure I was told that Brass has lost the label was “a conservative $60 million.” The background information on that was that it was one of the top three bloated deals being dismantled.

Eventually, the grumbling from the label came to fruition and Brass T. got released from their deal and it was considered very amicable compared to other dissolutions. The key difference being that no one doubts, say, Mariah’s current or future abilities or that she’ll do well. Brass T’s deal will allow him to keep his back catalog, masters and artist roster. Also included are interim-agreements where Brass and the label can still be of service to each other. It became a big entertainment business story because it’s a case of a company not being profitable to the tune of late eight figures.

Enter Kami, the publicist, who now  has to make statements to the press and do damage control for her client. She called repeatedly to the THR newsroom looking for our music editor and I politely told her that the music editor is on location at a conference. It’s true and I offered her voice mail, knowing that all voice mail inboxes are checked at intervals conducive to deadline. Kami says, “Well, Brass Tack$ will only be available for half an hour!” She kept going back to this half-hour window threat regarding a writer who clearly and legitimately is not available right now. I can't conjure an editor out of thin air to talk to her client.

It’s been my experience that people who try to play coy and cunning with the press are full of shhhh….They will *find* the time to talk on the record because if you don’t tell your side of the story, then other people will – other people in the mix that one may not want talking for them. Personally, I knew Brass Tack$ would be available until  well after midnight, if need be. Kami being histrionic and trying to get everyone into a frenzy was ridiculous. I told Kami that not only was our editor at a conference but that it was also lunchtime for most of the staff; that voice mail would be the most expedient.

“Will she be IN today!?” Kami yelled on the umpteenth call.

“She is at a conference and she is not in. Would. You. Like. Her. Voice. Mail?” I asked.

“YES! I would like her----" Kami started to shout but the transfer button to voice mail ended that tirade, where she and Brass Tacks could sweat it out.

It wasn’t anything against Brass Tack$, but this is a newsroom. There is enough going on with other news and deadlines. I can’t be whipped into a froth on some idiot’s whim who isn’t listening. We weren’t going to print anything until the editor could talk to Brass Tack$ anyway, so I didn’t understand the shouting from Kami. We’re all on deadline. Maybe Brass Tack$ needs to spend more time making a dope beat to step to vs. being grandiose in the extreme. When our music editor got back, I gave her the real on Kami.

Three hours later, guess who is granting an interview? Brass Tack$! Isn’t it amazing how that half-hour window expanded? I knew it would. It was the only logical choice. If you really want to keep it real in a branding crisis: use logic and tell your side of the story without hysterical posturing. It's dollars and $en$e.

Books Read: 2002

     Long ago in Hillcrest Heights, Maryland, helping my 12-year old aunt Marta clean up her room, I came across a sheet of paper where she listed all the books she'd read that year and the number of pages of each. I liked the idea -this was also the era of book reports and elementary school book drives (remember getting pledges for every book you read?).

    I've loved books forever. My family had bookshelves in every house. I snuck looks in the Q&A portions of  Everything You Wanted To Know About Sex (But Were Afraid to Ask) after school;wondered what Marlon Brando was doing in Paris because I didn't see a tango, just a nude embrace with heads tilted in rapture, I cried and watched the pictorial crucifixion of Jesus in the coffee table book Jesus of Nazareth. When I wanted to read like the kid I was I read  Freckle Juice, The 18th Emergency, The Great Brain series and stacks more from the library.

   As an adult, I spent my acting earnings on books - Amazon becoming my sleuth savior of every book I'd ever wanted and written down , out of print or not. My sister friend Elana's bookshelves are like hugs.

 The first novel I ever read was Jaws when I was deemed to young to see the movie....did you know that Hooper has an affair with Mrs. Brody and has oral relations with her between shark killings? I didn't either until I asked, "What's cunnilingus?" from the backseat of the family '76 Toyota Corolla. No one took the book from me and the rest is kind of history. Reading informs what you don't know or confirms what you do. I'm still analog--give me a paperback or hardcover anyday. I like the space they take. They've been my silent friends all my life.

  In keeping with the chronological order of my flashback posts, here is my 2002 list of books I read. They weren't all great, but seeing as news and magazines are my life and research, it was great to have that sustained, quiet bond between author and audience.

1) All Souls' Rising - Madison Smartt Bell [note: I was so moved by this book that I wrote the author. He wrote me back and I treasure it. The first book of a powerful series]

2) Make Your Own Luck: Success Tactics You Won't Learn in Business School - Peter Morgan Kash

3) The Tale of the Body Thief - Anne Rice
4) Fifth Sunday, Stories - Rita Dove
5) On Spec - Richard Rushfield
6) Anais: The Erotic Life of Anais Nin - Noel Riley Fitch
7) City of God - E.L. Doctorow

8) Live Rich - Stephen M. Pollan and Mark Levine

9) Almost Golden - Gwenda Blair [note: one of my all-time favorite success and cautionary tales]

10) The Same River Twice: Honoring the Difficult - Alice Walker

11) Tricks of the Trade - Ben Tyler

12) Hit & Run - Nancy Griffin and Kim Masters

13) Easy Riders, Raging Bulls - Peter Baskind

14) American Owned Love - Robert Boswell

15) Golden Girl - Alannah Nash

16) High Concept: Hollywood and the Culture of Excess - Charles Fleming 

17) Journey - Marsha Mason

18) Caucasia - Danzy Senna [ note: one of my favorite books read in any year]

19) Keys to the Kingdon - Kim Masters

20) Great Writings of Goethe- edited by Stephen Spender

L.A. 2002: Journals - Post # 14 : For Bebbles or Worse

May 28, 2002: 13-hour day yesterday poring over a month’s budget worth millions – a new duty since one of those managers is at Cannes. The international assistant quit and I’m trying my best to get it all in order.

       I worked late and got home to Bebbles watching Court TV - in stereo - a police dog barking for three brain-chipping minutes while we got ready to work out. I finally sat down on the bed and said, “That dog barking. Jesus.” Bebbles turned the stereo off. This begat some unsettled salt that latently unearthed itself as we worked out. Bebbles did a mile almost entirely uphill; I lifted weights to exhaustion.

 We got home and I kissed Bebbles and complimented how hard we’d worked out. I went to get some ice from the freezer.

“They’re frozen,” Bebbles said.

“They are not,” I said, pulling out a tray full of semi-frozen cubes.

"They are! Now you’re taking the caps off the ice tray underneath,” Bebs said and stormed into the kitchen, grabbed the tray from me, snatched the ice clinging from the tray and threw it all into a dirty glass by the sink.

I said, “That’s not my glass. I don’t need help.”

Bebs grabbed the ice tray and talked smack until the ice process became so ridiculous and was being taken by BB as such an affront that I snapped and said, “Just get out of my way! Get the *@#& away and let me just get my gotdamn ice!”

“I’ll get the (*@!#) away from you,” Bebbles declared, throwing the ice into the sink and the trash for good measure, walking away with “Cranky ass…”

We ended up cussing each other out full of soul  and with some bombs. I dropped an mf bomb. It’s over 2 hours later and I’m not even mad at Bebs cursing at me because I know I have the mouth of the worst sailor sometimes. It was just our private drama for the moment, thank God. Bebbles has had some disappointments recently and the chores, work around the house.... and ice trays become a source of nagging pride. I’m too tired for a long fuse these days and need an editor myself.

      I love Bebbles. I try not to be intrusive and give people their space and conveniences. I can’t watch all the crime shows and I can't and don’t care to police ice trays. Bebbles and I don’t need to work out together anymore, I know that. That’s history.

June 1, 2002: Bebbles got news of a financial setback and it was maddening for us both. Bebbles took it the hardest and cried for the first time in years. Bebs admitted to feeling that it was straining us and said, “I’m losing it here.” I’ve seen what Bebs has faced and I know the disappointments hit hard when it feels like fuck-overs all the time. I comforted Bebbles and said that these are trials as old as humanity and that God has ultimate victory.

      It was a long day but we got through it together. I know I chose a solid and strong companion. Our lives are joined and we will make a way. When the cards collapse, we have each other; God has got things under control. I have to believe it. We have to survive. For worse or for better, we will.

L.A. 2002: Journals - Post # 13: Wilshire Days

May 9, 2002: Working hard at THR and my bosses telling me I’m one of the best. The magazine demands a good 65 hours a week.  Last week was the first week of Cannes. I was in L.A. and read two books – not magazines- but books. I love them and miss not reading more of them lately.

May 12, 2002: At my desk, being my info-gathering self and organizing the huge stacks of paper on it. Came back to work from a summer cold, what Steve Brennan would call 'The Hollywood Flu'--those pre-summer kind of colds. One of the editors asked me if I’d really been sick. I looked at her, thinking ‘what?’ She said, “No, I just worry that you’re sick of us....we really like you. Paul McGuire, those guys at the WB, they all say you have a great voice and we should put you on tape.” It was a nice message of support and I'm keeping the quality of my work up.

     Assistants, in general, are sometimes not made to feel a part of the process that any editors know or care about, as far as the amount of work involved. We’re not treated badly or chewing our hair anxiously; it’s more that time-honored notion that can deem what we do as petty or grunt work. The truth is that assistants keep the office running smoothly and as ahead of the competition as we can fielding news calls on the news desks. In TV, it's called being an associate producer and Mary Tyler Moore played one on her show. Anyone who has ever worked an assistant gig knows this is an historically-echoed thing.

    Today’s moguls and signatory powers were assistants 30, 25, 15 years ago. Hollywood isn’t the same creative community that it was for them since now it's mostly as corporate as an accountant convention. Personality and evolutionary risk-taking are seen more as scandalous  as opposed to when those traits actually allowed people to make inroads. Knowledge and great efficiency has kept me in the fringes of this industry. I’m learning all the time and paying my way without industry mentors. The pressure is enormous and a challenge but God fortifies me because it can’t be done without Him.

May 13, 2002: Had a good lunch with another co-worker, Wes, on the 7th floor. Made him laugh by taking a corny comedian’s one-man show screener out of the recycling bin and pulling the tape out by the handful. Nice day at work getting tips and news.

May 19, 2002: Bebbles and I working out tonight  when our apartment manager came through with his child and wife. “Someone’s been playing their music loud again, huh?” he said. I wasn’t amused and called bullshit, with apologies to his kid (who wasn’t paying attention to us anyway). The apt. manager said he wasn’t worried about it. I said, “Good. I don’t get home until 9 at night. It’s not true.” I separate truth and fiction everyday. Who wants to hear bullshit, much less during a workout, on a Sunday evening?

May 24, 2002: I’m going to a barbecue tomorrow that I don’t want to go to. Bebbles is barbecuing for it so I’ll be there with a book and a muted personality. I’m too tired to socialize and Bebbles is going to owe me for this. I was under the impression Bebs was cooking for a small gathering but it’s bigger than that. The last time Bebbles cooked at an open house was when Marla Gibbs thought I was a server and asked me for more carrots.

     Reading Hit & Run  about Jon Peters and Peter Guber and saw that  one of my former talent managers, years before we met , along with Victoria Sellers,accompanied Heidi Fleiss to her first court date on the madam charges. That explains the 8 x10s of Victoria that she had in her office.

May 26, 2002: Just watched In Memoriam,  HBO’s 9/11 documentary. Intensely sad. It’s not even been 9 months and it’s still so vivid how devastating to the collective human spirit is was to witness that carnage. It’s still a huge wound for the country and I think some outlets have been a bit trite in its wake. At work I expressed in editorial conversation that some of the summer entertainment war game flicks had no rationale as ‘entertainment.’ I got two typed e-mails in agreement. The waste of some of these fake war film franchises and the way it makes Hollywood look greedy and hypocritical is worth mentioning.

     Work is fine. The Joni lyric comes to mind: ‘I deal in dreamers and telephone screamers.’ The difference for me is that I listen and gather so much information that it’s instinctual and  easier. I know the names of the people, what they specialize in, the work they do and who they are. No one is that unpleasant that I can’t work with them and be right about my instincts. It’s a demanding job but the actor in me thinks of it like the pace of a soap-opera: a daily issue wraps every day, just like an individual episode, five days a week. The character arcs are different and every day is a tape day--except this is real life and real deals. It's news. I’m cool with everybody and do the fu&k out of my job. People respect realness and a sense of humor.

     Went to an advanced screening tonight about an abused waitress who learns karate and wears a crazy wig. I didn't see the whole thing because it was straining all credibility and it's a real issue women are dealing with and I witnessed as a child. I walked out quietly. Talk about an insult to people really enduring that abuse. I say take your  abusive spouse to it, say you’re getting popcorn and drive off. The movie is long enough to get you a nice head start. Saw Peter Falk and his wife, Shera Falk, coming out of the Beverly Center; Shera in a turban, jeans and wooden high heels, holding hands in the parking lot. Nice to see a happy couple glad to be together.