Joe at The Royal Palms Hotel

Luna, who eats everything she possibly can whenever I am vanished from her immediate view, surpassed herself today by eviscerating the packaging of my new beard trimmer.   Saves me the trouble I suppose.

We are in Malibu and it is raining torrentially.  I love it here on the side of the mountain when it rains.  Sitting in a cloud.  A waterfall gushes through the property and I poke at it with a stick like I did when I was a kid.  Any brook or stream I chanced upon.  Everything is sodden.  Within a week the hillside will be covered in lush grass and wild flowers and it will feel like I live, for at least a couple of months, in the French Alps.

The lil dog has damaged his dew claw.  He is dolefully licking at it avoiding the rough and tumble he usually enjoys when he is here with Luna.  Sometime when it is quiet at night and I am walking up the drive I can hear The Big Dog padding behind me and I reassure her that everything is going to be okay.  I know that if there is a heaven then she’ll be waiting for me.  Speaking of which-that image has totally broken the dream I was having in the car home from Phoenix yesterday.  In the dream I KNEW that the ghost of my grandmother was living in Luna so I was being extra nice to her.  Odd?

I had a lovely time with Joe in Phoenix.  My friend Gabe invited me to a 9-course dinner he threw at a gallery in down town Phoenix so I dragged Joe with me.  Gabe is only 24 and very, well, he’s very Italian and devised a huge dinner of gooey burrata and rolled pork and polenta with beef sausages and pasta stuffed with butternut squash and it just kept on coming until we were STUFFED and it was 2am and we headed back to the Biltmore Arizona hotel and to our room through the village of Frank Lloyd Wright inspired cottages.  The air was crisp and clean.  The beds were huge and comfy.  I slept like a log.

The following morning I was forced to buy a paper cup of drip coffee for $5.  The Biltmore coffee shop of horrors.

Arizona Biltmore

The hotel was full of people who obviously watch the show and sort of, kind of wondered if they knew me from anywhere.  They were all bull built manly men.  In other times I might have sought out a little company but I am committed to my circle plan.  Hotels, Stations, the streets I bid you all adieu.

We had a delicious brunch at the Royal Palm Hotel on Camel Back Road.  DELICIOUS breakfast-very reasonably priced.  I had home made Brioche (lemon scented) French toast and chicken sausages.   Gabe was very funny and lifted me out of a ghastly depression that started after I hacked a huge irreparable hole in my beard.

Must briefly mention that I received my first (sort of) hate mail yesterday that I thought about posting.  It occurred to me that whatever people may or may not think of me good or bad I have to not take any of it personally.  In it’s essence it was accusing me of being a fraud that I wasn’t really a nice guy, that I was in fact cruel and heartless.  Of course I agreed with everything he/she wrote.  As much as I am vulnerable and sensitive I am also angry and resentful.   He/She suggested that I could never be available to all the people who wrote to me and of course-he/she is right.  I can’t.  I can only do my best and just being on TV seems to be enough judging by the huge volume of messages of hope that I receive everyday.  I welcome your messages of hope because they lift my spirits.

Did not watch the show last night.  Had no real interest. It kind of retraumatizes me all over again watching the therapy.  A journalist interviewed me from New York Times about Dr Drew.  However much I tell anyone who listens that I think he is a great guy and the show really helped I suddenly had a moment where I realized that I am also supporting the artifice that exists around ‘reality TV’.  I have kept quiet about the chronology having been wildly altered.  The introduction of the ‘sexy’ trainer deliberately to titillate Phil and James.  Kari Ann’s continued inclusion in the show even though she was thrown out after the first week.  Drew’s recycling of Jill’s lines when he began to flounder.

Gabe the Chef

I am so glad I did not make Sex Rehab in England for if they do throw me under a bus at least it won’t be a London bus.

Seen so many depressing films lately, The Road, Up in The Air etc.  Films that seem obsessed with trying to articulate our isolation.   I have no idea what the solution is for that.   We have collectively painted ourselves into a corner.  Contrary to what everybody else thought of Up in The Air I loathed Clooney’s measured performance-all teeth and pomade.

It’s bloody freezing over here in Malibu.  I am going to drive home and make a hearty stew.  My balls ache which makes we wonder about cancer..again.

I came here to write but it’s far too cold.  Will head back to Hollywood soon.  Luna just picked up a glass bowl and smashed it on the terrazzo  floor.  Bad Luna.  Bad dog.