Our own private Los Angeles

The symptoms of the cold broke the other day. It's remarkable, the ability of one's body, however poorly one treats it, to re-stabilize and heal itself. Good piece of Evolution, we are. During my last cold, i felt the exact moment that my immune system achieved 50.0001% victory over the invading virus/germ combo. Just like that, i felt the fever break. This time, i was asleep during the moment of victory, but it was so very sweet to wake up sans pain and the accompanying annoyance.

to celebrate, i've spent the last couple of days with TFG, her beautiful son, and the twins. Not much sleep, not much quiet, and a whole lot of love. We ate very well, watched some interesting TV ( i don't own one, personally), lounged, talked, debated, and loved. And now, i'm ready for some privacy and quiet to balance against the loud voice of raw life and the constant kinetic motion of children.

I love kids. always have. i have taken pride in the fact that small children and animals have always trusted me. i felt, somehow, that a more true barometer of one's trustworthiness (?) is yet to be developed. i also need time away from them. i wonder what type of parent i'll evolve into: a reclusive one, approachable only in emergencies, or an available, gregarious one, outside of my own private nature ?

While enjoying the most recent episode of Hell's Kitchen, my inner sociologist marveled at the faces of those being served in the petri-dish of public fine dining (fully comped, we assumed). "Do the people in Los Angeles understand that they're the only people in the universe," i ask TFG. "Of course," she replies. A native of ten years or more in the Valley (a geologic formation she pointed out when we stilled the screen, explained in ever-confusing detail), she instantly understood my disparaging commentary of the singularly-minded in the world.
Yet, who among us isn't an Island, the exact center of our Universe? among who else can we draw our opinion of the world around us? can any of us ( the Dalai Lama aside) really understand the view through someone else's perspective? probably not. we can imagine, we can conjecture, we can impose our own view upon the supposition. but to really see? not this man. maybe you can, Dear Reader. help me understand the mythic, the plastic, the one-cell-deep exterior shown to us by the Only People. tell me that they're deeper than they appear. tell me the same thing about myself, Dear Reader.



Phil Leotardo had it comin'.