Archives for posts with tag: Jennie Ketcham

Robby R

Perfectly lovely day in So Cal.  The blue sea, the warm breeze, the humming birds in the Bougainvillea outside my window.  What more could a man want?

With all obsessions now safely stowed, with all unsavoury thoughts banished, with the metaphorical razor wire restored for my own safety, with God back in charge…I could just sit quietly and enjoy the day.

Started out with breakfast and therapy.  After so many months of anger it was as if when the storm passes I hadn’t experienced anything negative during the past year at all!   I am making huge progress with my mad head.

We discussed steps 8 and 9 of the 12 step programme which are all about making amends.  Admitting when we were wrong.   Making a list of all we had harmed.

I love those steps.

Moreover I knew that I was a billion times better because I didn’t fixate on yesterday’s ‘comment’ – I just let it, like it or not, that’s PROGRESS!  I didn’t spend the day wondering who it might have been and how I might defend myself.  I just didn’t care.  Let’s put it this way:  I have finally flushed that toilet.

After breakfast I met Jennie in Venice.  I am so proud of her, she has her book deal and is writing avidly.   We sat in the sun drinking coffee and eating delicious French pastries.

I remember when I first got sober how much pleasure it gave me to feel the sun on my face.  Simple pleasures.

I drove home and filled the plunge pool.

Agent meetings to organize after lunch.  We are trying to find the right writer for our film.  Not an easy task.   We discussed some structural problems in the treatment (synopsis) and the potential remedies.

Dinner with the God Children:  Lamb chops, quinoa tossed with nuts and slivers of fennel and snap peas.  An odd combination but perfectly delicious.

I have to see the doctor on Wednesday as I am experiencing some discomfort down below…sure it’s nothing to worry about.

SH and DR

Suddenly enthusiastic.  Suddenly full of LIFE.  When I got sober I chose life over death…so I better get on with the living.

Yesterday ended up in steam room with the MOST GORGEOUS MAN.

I shudder at the recollection.

This morning he is sitting beside me writing.

Had long conversation with Jennie K.  It was so great to connect with her again.  I love that woman.

Mostly talked about what happens to a testicle when it is removed.

It is cremated.

My friends Joey and Chase have written an album that I love so check it out ..they are called:  THE BLACK SOFT


Had long chat with CP about film.  I am going to have a stab at it before we hire a writer.  Cheaper that way.

Had dinner with SH uptown in some ghastly Korean restaurant.  I love that boy.  So lively and intelligent and good-looking.

Taxi to East Village.

Dan and I sat around giggling when I got home.  Loving living on 10th St.

Having chat with lawyer today…about STUFF.  Let’s see.

As is things couldn’t get any worse I fell in the garden yesterday and ripped the tendons in the back of my right leg.

Thankfully Ashley was at home and wrapped me in ice.  I dare not go to the hospital because it will bankrupt me.  Now at home totally incapacitated.

Began to panic about getting back to the UK with one functioning leg and a dog.

Have to go via Paris again.  Not even directly to Paris but via NYC to go to court to get the money that Jake owes me.  This really stinks.   Everything conspiring to make life more difficult than it needs be.  It was such a silly thing to do.  How did I do it?  I tripped up the path and instantaneously I could feel the tendons detach.  Pop.  Oh God.

Ashley cooked dinner for us.  Her friend Emma arrived. They made steak and greek salad.  After all that meat we ate chocolate and drank hot tea.

It rained heavily all night.

The night.  Plagued with nightmares.  A kitten hidden in a chair.  Me as a child wandering into the road outside my Grandmother’s house in Herne Bay overlooked by my step-father.  Torrential leaks from the ceiling coursing unchecked through the house.

This year has been ghastly.  Made more so by Jake’s despicable antics.

Unthinking, callous, selfish.

I sometimes wonder how his parents put up with his lying shit?   Of course!  They love him unconditionally.

This leg situation is going to take at least a month to fix…more without treatment.

I wrote to Jake’s father asking him to persuade his son to just pay me the money.   We have a court date fixed now.  This is fucking bore.  He is holding onto me.  Refusing to let go of the final tendril.  The last vestige.  Let me go Jake.  Pay me the money so I can go to the UK and get on with my life.

I am sure that he feels the same way…we were perfectly synchronised.

The drawings are by Jennie.  She sent them yesterday.  Drew them when we were in rehab. They have a real Picasso feel about them.

So, all packed and moved out.  I left the apartment empty and covered in dust. I have to go back tomorrow to collect deposit and hand over the wi-fi thingy.  I am pleased not to be going back there.

When Jennie and I moved into The Chateau de Fleur we did so to escape the lives we had and wanted to change when we went into rehab.  For Jennie it was the beginning of a life away from being a porn performer.  For me it was to escape the exquisite monotony of Malibu, the pornography, the internet hook up sites and the gruelling symptoms of sex addiction.

Amazingly, for the longest time, I steered clear of the worst of my sex addict tendencies.   Until, of course, I met Jake and collapsed..once again..into active addiction.  As much as I try..I cannot forgive him.  I was doing so well.

I tell you, I hate him now more than anyone I have ever been wronged by.  More than the vile people who ran over The Darling Big Dog and more than I ever harboured for my step-father.

Masquerading as an innocent, timid boy JB knows exactly what he is doing.  I would urge anyone that gets involved with him never, ever believe a word that comes out of that mouth.  His lies are not even very amusing.  An amusing liar, like Leigh Bowery or Diana Vreeland can enhance a dull world but a tepid, self-serving liar like Jake can only make the mediocre a paler shade of taupe.

The only good thing that came out of his mouth was my cock.

I though I might write about the day my dog was killed in front of that building, in front of me and the little dog..but I can’t, not least because the memory of her written on the same page I write his name would sully the memory of her.

To think, he left his gf and flew to me.  I tended him, looked after him, cooked for him, dabbed at his tears.  I reassured him again and again that things would work out fine..and I am sure they will for the conniving little cunt.

Goodbye Hollywood.   Hello New York City.

Letter from Susan:

I drove my father to the Stiperstones last Saturday  – creamy golden late afternoon sunshine lighting all that hilly beauty – he was so happy. But all I could think of was the time we drove up there in his little Mini – I rammed the car off the road at a funny angle and we then draped ourselves around the seats and dashboard. Do you remember how much we laughed when people came to help and we woke up ? I still find it quite funny.

I do remember..and it was really funny.

After yesterday’s blog purge I felt a whole heap better.  I can now concentrate on my lumpy testes and getting my life back in order.

I spent 30 minutes virtually decoupling myself from the timid Beast of Westchester.  Facebook, Skype etc.  Of course I forgot that he owes me money from the UK tax refund but hopefully he will just do the right thing and send it to me.

The number of people who read my blog doubled yesterday.  Why?  Very odd.

How exhausting!  The entire thing with him from beginning to end was exhausting.  Relationships?  Who needs them?  Well, I for one would like one that works.  As I said before, we packed a twenty-five year relationship into the last eight months.  I really had no intention of publishing yesterdays incendiary blog but he sent me such a vicious email the only way I could be assured of never seeing him again was to tell it as it is.  He’s an idiot, I was all washed up yesterday afternoon.  I really wasn’t feeling very mean-spirited in light of my testicle problem but he riled me into action and out came Anthony (my angry alter ego) to protect my honor.

After I published the blog I met Sharon and we headed over to the Pacific Design Center where the Weinstein Company were premiering their new documentary,  The Pat Tillman Story.


Good God, if that couldn’t shake me out of my mad head nothing would.  What an incredibly sad story.

Pat Tillman the sporting star was used in life and death by the US government to support an unpopular war.  As the genius filmmakers made clear, the US Government probably wishes they hadn’t messed with the tenacious Tillman family.   You have to love them, the mother and father are probably the most patriotic, considerate, intelligent people you ever met.  They were the sort of people you want to believe all American are.

Watching their faces as they testified in congress, tangling with the likes of Donald Rumsfeld, Karl Rove and George W at the very pinnacle of government, laughing in the face of the toothless Congressional oversight committee.  It was a ghastly example of how ordinary, good Americans have been trampled and continue to be trampled by their very own government.

I will never forget listening to the young man who saw his best buddy Pat Tillman have his head blown off his shoulders just feet from where he stood.  The blood trickling out of Tillman’s neck like a drinking fountain.

I chatted with that brave young man after the film and was filled with admiration.  I have no reason to complain about anything when I meet a man like that.  He had the best line in the film, he said, “Afghanistan reminded me of Arizona but (pause) the people looked a bit different.”

I do hope that you all get to see The Tillman Story, that you get to meet Pat as his parents and friends remember him and hopefully be as inspired as I was after seeing this remarkable film.  It was very hard not to cry.

Before I went to sleep last night I thought how beautiful Pat Tillman was, not just his beautiful face but what made him really beautiful was his compassion, sensitivity and unusual intellect..a perfect example of how one can never ever judge a book by its cover.

His beautiful face and brutal death make him an example of what a hopeless, desperate, unnecessary war this is.  The waste of life and resources and time and ideals.

Yet, the oligarchs continue sending these young boys to their deaths, profiting from sorrow, emotionally blackmailing an entire nation in the name of patriotism, trading on their love for the American flag and nobody will lift a finger to stop it…this absurd ‘war on terror’.  Such nonsense.

Before I got caught up writing yesterdays blog I had planned to write about the people who rent my Malibu house.  The good and the bad but after I received his vicious email events overcame me.  Here is a snippet of what I will take time writing about at a later date.

The renters.  When it comes to renting the house through VRBO there are far more Dodi, Richard or Jan’s (appreciative and complimentary) than there are Irene, Vikam or Dave’s (unappreciative and demanding).

The good renters love the house and realize that they are getting a great deal for their buck.  They write glowing reviews in the visitors book.

The bad renters, with exactly the same house, same EVERYTHING seem to feel duped.  They think the house is dirty, they complain about the modern art, that the TV is too small.  They complain that there are personal effects in the house, that a hose is not wound properly.  They demand their money back without ever checking their contract.  Worst, is when they break things and never ever like to pay for what has been broken.

They seem to forget that they are getting the house for up to 7 people for $250 a night rather than the houses they can see below them for $3,000 a night.  They also forget that I have rented that house to hundreds of renters and most of them are perfectly happy with their experience of the house.

There is one particularly insane woman in Hawaii who tried duping me…bad move.  As we know very well I am not easily crossed.  Bad boyfriends or bad renters..they are all the same to me.  More about Hawaii woman at a later date.

Listen, the complainers, thankfully, are not as frequent as the those who just love it there.  Who, when they leave, leave a sweet smell behind them, who obey the rules and don’t smoke or throw clandestine parties or break stuff or try claiming that the house was not as described.

It confuses the hell out of me when people just turn on their heels and leave the house without even staying one night.  Thankfully that has only happened twice in the three years that I have been renting.

I slept late this morning, made coffee, took the little dog for a long walk.

Jennie and I had a luxurious conversation.   She is in good spirits about getting into University.  And so she should be, she is a remarkable young woman.

Oh yeah, before I forget…who is Adam Patch you ask?  Don’t worry, I didn’t know either.  Check the Beautiful and the Damned by F. Scott Fitzgerald and you’ll understand the literary allusion.  A 1920s socialite and presumptive heir to a tycoon’s fortune…you’ll see that the timid man and I had more in common than even we realized.

Am I being snippy?

Yesterday I was on HLN with Jane Velez-Mitchell debating whether it was cool or not for Montana Fishburne to have released her own porn film.

My point, contrary to the other more morally confused commentators, was that it is perfectly OK for Montana to make a pornographic film.  That her father Laurence Fishburne‘s career will not be hampered by difficult questions on the red carpet.  That as far as I was concerned Montana’s decision was a ‘feminists dream’.  Of course I was being deliberately incendiary but it’s a news entertainment show.  That’s my role.

Seriously though, we are only ‘shocked‘ and ‘outraged‘ because a rich girl decides to make a pornographic film.  Why are we shocked?  Because our preconceptions about pornography and women in pornography are blown out of the water.  We still believe that women who make a choice to go into porn have no choice at all.  That they are the naive victims of unscrupulous men and to be sure, there is some truth to this on some occasions but not all porn is the same.

I am perfectly sure that when my friend Jenny Ketcham made porn she knew exactly what she was doing.

Montana Fishburn legitimizes pornography and scaily, for some people, may encourage a different sort of woman to make pornography a legitimate career choice.

Montana’s choice blasts the lie of the ‘sex tape’ out of the water.  Let’s face it, both Paris and Kim knew exactly what they were doing when their sex tapes were released.  They were complicit.  The tape would never have been released without their consent.  To be sure Rick Hilton never lost any sleep about the impact on his career after his daughter’s tape was released.

We live in Hollywood, fame and celebrity (even notoriety) is the goal for most people who live here.  To live in your father’s shadow when you too crave what he has but your options are few…what’s a girl to do?

Porn has become a legitimate way for a starlet to reach a mass audience and become a star.  The press is more than willing to collude with the associated lies.  That both Paris and Kim shot their sex tapes covertly merely attempts to disguise the truth.

I take my hat off to Montana Fishburne.  Let’s hope she makes a whole heap of cash.  The kids of the rich and famous are notorious wasters.  If this girl is as clever as she seems to be she’ll never ask her father for another cent.  For the time being Montana Fishburne will glory in the spotlight that until now has been reserved exclusively for her father and my guess is that more people, in the long run, will see her film work than his.

Therapy, collect cheque, Jennie Ketcham for breakfast.

Jennie and I walked the length of Abbott Kinney, found a new collar for the little dog and chatted about our various relationships.  She, of course, has a relationship..I do not.   She is in love and making a TV series and I am off to Paris with a friend.   A friend, nevertheless, who makes me smile.

Last night we saw some cool live music on the roof of the Standard down town..that would be Ryan, Justin and I..then we ate dinner at Bottega Louie.  I ate pork chops.  Somebody sent us a Shirley Temple with delicious cherries floating around in it.

I have to be discreet about the location but Prince and Lionel Ritchie played impromptu performance on another roof in another part of seems that Prince is always up for an unexpected gig, I have seen him perform at hotels and bars and in that huge house he rented with purple carpet everywhere.

The night we saw Prince and bumping into Barbra Streisand in the Pacific Design Center are perhaps my most startling close encounters with celebrity..oh, and befriending Roseanne in Starbucks.

From out of the woodwork crawl all sorts of characters from the past and this week an old friend called after he lost his job.  It was all the more interesting because we had not had a cordial end to our friendship a year and a half ago but time heals and we said our brief apologies and got on with being friends again.

There is probably more to gain from knowing me than not knowing me.

Time is the greatest distance between two people. Tennessee Williams wrote that.  It is time that will end up miraculously mending all the smashed Ming vases that I am surrounded with.  Remember what I said about love being like a Ming vase?

Joan brought me a rather splendid Japanese tea-pot for my birthday that arrived in a huge box from Memphis.  I felt like a five-year old again.  Opening my birthday presents.

This day last year the darling big dog was killed.  Ripped apart in front of me under that truck..she kept on trying to live, trying to stay alive for me as we lay together in the back of my the flat-bed.  Jennie drove us to the animal hospital on Ventura Blvd and the nurse put her down with a lethal injection as I sobbed my little heart out.

The next day we collected her from the freezer and I cried all the way to Malibu, apologizing to her, reminding her of all the great time we had, crying and laughing until we buried her in a coyote proof hole in the garden she loved.

Sarah sang a beautiful song.  The little dog said his goodbye.

This year has been all about death.  The death of friends, the death of my dog and of course the death of love.   Tomorrow I want it to be different but I cannot be sure.  All I know is that I am trying to be the best man I can be, let go of the past..even the recent past, and forge ahead.

I am happy today.  You know there are so many good things happening to me and more importantly to those around me.

It’s so easy to write about being miserable.  It’s easy to indulge our fears.  It’s easy to blame the world for all of the bad things but I ALWAYS forget to tell you when I am happy.  Perhaps I am not sitting at my desk when the happiness comes?  I think that may be the truth because I am out in the world experiencing my joy.

I am with friends, climbing the canyon, writing and reading.

My joy is NOT dependant on any one person.  My joy comes from listening to Joni Mitchell, sitting in the sunlight of the spirit and reveling in the triumph of watching my friend Jennie celebrate her one year of continuous sobriety.  Oh, and before you say it, I am sure I am not meant to be discussing her ONE-YEAR publicly but I am.  After all she has worked so hard to get to this place of authenticity.

Most of you witnessed how she changed on TV.  How we all began this remarkable rescue mission-rescuing ourselves from oblivion, self-hatred and isolation.

Change comes in great gobs never in dribs and drabs.    So this change is all about not wanting to be at the mercy of others, understanding that I can never trust my perception.  It is always wrong.   This change comes from giving into not wanting to change the way I feel.   I have put a lifetimes of effort into separating myself from everyone.  Emotional Boom and Bust.

By watching Jennie flourish I can hitch my wagon to her well planned recovery.  I learn from everyone who comes into my life.  Everyone.

If I have to be on my own then so be it.  But I needn’t punish the world by keeping those around me at arms length.  It’s time to let you in.  Let you be my friend, my colleague, my lover, my mother and my brother.

Being happy does not mean that I ignore suffering, ignore inequity, ignore insensitivity but I don’t have to make it mine.  I needn’t own the suffering of the world and use that as a reason to ruin my own chances.

There are hurdles, great ravines and deep chasms that hinder the direct path that any man needs to take in the great journey of life.    But rather than dwell on what may or may not get in my way I can enjoy the wind in my hair and the sun on my face as I get to where I am going.

I would rather wear a compass than a watch-after all it is best to know where I am going than what time I get there.

When I am scary I am most probably scared.

I don’t want to be that scary man I can be.  I want to be free and if I only get a glimpse of freedom today and just for a few hours then as least I have experienced the feeling and have something to work toward, something I am capable of.

Have a great day everyone.  Remember that there is a solution-so start living in it.

Malibu Spring

Woke up this morning in a wonderful mood after a lovely evening with Anna.  True friends are too few in this life.   I woke up in my own body.  Does that sound familiar to anyone?  Doesn’t everyone?  I woke up in the moment, not in some delirious fantasy about what could be.  I smiled to myself.  Gently.   I imagined myself walking the pavements of Notting Hill Gate.  I imagined looking into the beautiful homes there.   I thought about London-because I am happy.

A beautiful spring morning in Los Angeles.

The fact is I don’t live in New York.  I live here and for the foreseeable future I will continue to live here.  I have to make this work as best I can.   Any other plans to move will have to be made because it suits my sensible self.

My great friend John has gone travelling and I miss him being around.  He reminds me to be awake, to no longer sleep walk through life.

I loved seeing Jennie this week.  It was after all this week last year that I entered Sex Rehab and the adventure began.  The journey of self discovery, the great revelation, the great insight, the life of many choices, the decision to love myself, the strange and wonderful experience with reality TV and of course my relationship with the inspirational Jennie Ketcham.  The love affair, the language of recovery.  The list goes on and on.

To love someone selflessly is hard.  To live without hope is very hard.  To put a lid on my feelings for another seems almost impossible.  If I think back to the end of my most beautiful relationships there are weeks of debilitating sadness, sad songs then emerging from the pall with my head held high.

Today is Saturday 3rd of April.  I pay my rent today.  I go to my Saturday morning meeting and see my friends.   Do you have a group of men or women around you who can hold you when everything seems desperately bleak, when things are going so well that your feet scarcely touch the ground?

Several of my readers really helped me yesterday with their comments.  I read about limerence and it was painfully, embarrassingly familiar.  I particularly liked Leslie’s comment.

“What are the three most dangerous words? ‘I love you.’ By saying these words to another, we give them power. But the power is two-fold: the Other then has the power to destroy us, to kill our heart. The Other then also has the power to create us, to give our heart life. So what is the love we give when we say those dangerous words? It is peace, patience, mercy, trust, fidelity and forgiveness.”

It is hard to explain to those who are close to me how important this blog is.  It is a relationship with the world.  Reaching out daily to those of you who read what I write and honour me with your comments and opinions-good and bad.

So, Anna and I sang sad songs and laughed out loud and when I went to bed I no longer had any yearning in my heart.  After all, what have we got to look forward to?  I’ll tell you what-today, this moment..right NOW.   Like so many people I have lived so much of my life regretting the past and hoping for a brighter future without really paying attention to what was happening to me right now.

Golly Gosh.  I was ready to write an obituary.  Now there’s some hope in the air and it smells so sweet-like winter flowering Jasmine.

To my readers:  I want you to understand something.  You don’t know who I am writing about.  You can guess but you’ll be wrong.   Even if you are right-you’ll still be wrong.

Men together?  I don’t understand how that works.   Can it work out?  Need I worry?  Just go with God’s plan and see what he has in store for me.  God’s plan never ever includes meeting a normal nice man with no issues who can be ready and willing to deal with mine. hahahahh.  Fuck you God.  Have I ever told you just how much I trust how God works in my life?  That whatever happens everything is going to be ok?   It’s all going to work out just the way it’s meant to be.  God, can you PLEASE not torture me by making me learn how to be patient? By making me be the one who has to be selfless?  Can you just give me a frigging break!

The problem with long distance relationships?   There is no comfort what so ever in the time spent apart.  The distance, the anticipation and the disappointment.  It drives me BONKERS.  In the Land of Needy I suddenly become King.

Wonderful times spent together are mirrored with miserable times spent apart.

Added to all of this it feels like I am being given the mighty heave ho.  Why oh why are relationships so DIFFICULT.  It’s not just me.   I know it.  Why can’t everyday be like getting up in the Jane Hotel feeling complete?

Now I understand why you don’t get involved with certain kinds of men.  Well, we all have to make our own mistakes don’t we?  One day you walk away and you don’t look back. But I can’t walk away from this one-there’s still fuel to burn.  It’s not exhausted.  Yet.  As much as I want him to tell me that’s it’s over.  There is something intoxicating about being loved.

It’s not who you think.  It’s nobody you have ever met.  Nobody I have ever introduced you to.  He’s a different man.

Yesterday was rather wonderful despite emotional long-distance telephone calls with this young man that I recently met in NYC.

I had a deliciously long cup of coffee with an occasionally tearful Jennie… tears of joy I hope.  We looked each other in the eye.  We talked recovery and lost love and new love and what it was to have sex whilst being present.

By the end we were hugging and smiling and everything was just how it was meant to be, you see… what ever real friends go through they remain real friends.  The foundation of our friendship was constructed almost exactly a year ago when we entered Sex Rehab.

It is obviously unshakeable.  The Lord and the Porn Star.

So, I arrived at Amanda’s for dinner, she was in a fractious mood but I think she may just have been hungry.  She has lost a ton of weight.

Amanda and Lady Forte had spent the day with their grown up children looking at universities.  There was some unexplained drama around how easy it was to buy yourself into UCLA.   Anyway, had long chat with Charles about helping him make a film this summer, a short film to get into film school.  I would rather like to do that.  In lieu of teaching at UCLA this year which I really miss.


Time to reconcile, to forgive and forget.  Time to see Jennie.  Time to catch up, to make up, to explain.  Time to confide and wear dark glasses again.

“Let us suppose that I have wept, on account of some incident of which the other has not even become aware (to weep is part of the normal activity of the amorous body), and that, so this cannot be seen, I put on dark glasses to mask my swollen eyes (a fine example of denial:  to darken the sight in order not to be seen).  The intention of this gesture is a calculated one:  I want to keep the oral advantage of stoicism, of “dignity” and at the same time, contradictorily, I want to provoke the tender question (“But what’s the matter with you?”); I want to be both pathetic and admirable, I want to be at the same time a child and an adult.  Thereby I gamble, I take a risk:  for it is always possible that the other will simply ask no question whatever about these unaccustomed glasses: that the other will see, in the fact, no sign.”

Living in love, in a state of grace, in acceptance.   Living outside of pornography, fantasy, catastrophic thinking-living in truth, trust and kindness.


In Europe things, economic things are getting a whole heap better.  House prices climbing, job prospects improving.

It’s funny listening to British people complain about their lot.  They really have no idea how lucky they are.  They are blissfully unaware what is going on here.  Nobody really reports it-no journalist can bring themselves to say these words:  America as we knew it is over.  America where all our dreams would come true.  Where the promise of freedom would be fulfilled, where truth and equality would be respected.  Where innovation and hard work would be rewarded.

What happened?

There has been an economic catastrophe in the United States of America, brought on by endemic greed, corruption and false Gods.  The American people are angry and rightfully so-but because they are so badly educated their anger is totally misdirected.  Because they have no democratic choice their vote is meaningless.  Because their government is utterly corrupt they have no voice.   Their youth are disinterested in anything other than instant fame, fast food, sexual gratification.

The elections have become Corporate America’s great firework charade, costing millions, lights up the night then all smoke and ash leaving things just the way they were before.  Conning the dumb people into believing that they have choice and change they can believe in etc etc.

The last election was the most cynical of all.  Listening to Obama make any promise he could to get those folks to vote for him then watch him and his party of fools renege on every one of his election promises-knowing that the American people will never lift a finger to defend themselves from their worst enemy-their very own government.

Today I listened to Tim Geitner finally admit that the millions of lost jobs were not coming back anytime soon.  Just as I predicted.   When as my ‘smart’ white AA Palisades friends were looking down their suburban noses at me telling me that things would be back to normal in a year or so.  I looked back at them in utter disbelieve.  Who were they trying to convince?  I would gently remind them that nothing was going to return to ‘normal’ any time soon.  They sneered at me.  They laughed because they didn’t understand.  They are complicit you see.  Complicit in the demise-in the USA’s financial melt down.  Do you think they just totally underestimated the depth of the deception?  The greed?  Or was this a risk the rich were prepared to take?

I don’t trust Tim Geitner, I don’t trust Rahm Emmanuel, I don’t particularly trust Obama.  But in a world of distrust I would rather have these bandits than the last mob.  The characters in this administrative pantomime are more entertaining than the last.

This ‘Democratic’ administration cast by Ari Emmanuelle.   Make up


The flight back home from New York was 45 mins early, which made up for the 6-hour delay on the way there.   The staff were sweeter too.  One of them gave me free food.  If you could call it that-processed crap.

I had had a lovely time in NYC and even though it rained and rained I felt at home, like I always do, in the big city.   I loved it.  I really did.

For my last night in town Joan took us all to the Spotted Pig.  I sat next to Lady Rizo and opposite Joan’s husband.  He told us how he once dated a girl Elvis was dating and even though I had heard the story twice before I was still captivated.

Jake mooned over Lady Rizo’s husband.

I woke up overwhelmed with resentment.  Furious.  I hate that.  Starting the day feeling angry.  But as it turned out the day got a whole lot better.

It started like this:

Oh Fuck!  Why did I do it?  Why did I respond to his advances?  Why did I give up my sexual sobriety for him?  Why did I convince myself that he could be the one?

I woke up not wanting to hurt myself but wanting to hurt him.

My friend Sarah is staying here so I managed not to look at pornography last night, obviously I don’t isolate when people are around.  So I don’t let those dark thoughts get the better of me.

Then I wrote a fuming email to Him.

After half an hour he wrote back and it was obvious that I had petrified the poor boy with my vicious note so after a lengthy and what turned out to be a very positive and unusually healthy email exchange it seems that we can now move forward as friends.  Just friends-even though we still both care very much and, rather amazingly, fancy the hell out of each other.

I had a long conversation with my dear friend J about the nature of love and why it inspires such extreme emotions in me.  All family of origin stuff.  When I start to get that crazy feeling my entire body feels like it is going to reject every organ in my body.   I heard the words ‘i love you’ in such appalling ways-whispered late in the night.  It should come as no surprise that I have such problems with it.

It was just the kind of conversation that aids recovery.

I finally understood that if I had self esteem (something at which I used to sneer at the mere mention) and could truly love who I am then I would never let unhealthy people into my life. I act as if I have no choice. I have plenty of choice.  And what of past loves?  I have operated an open door policy for the vulnerable and the damaged, to assure yourself a place in my lovers hall of fame tell me you are straight then tell me that you love me and watch me drown in self doubt.

After the email exchange with Him and the life affirming conversation with J the day just got better and better.

Throw a sweet letter from Jennie K into the mix,  Anna coming to the house and shooting a spoof commercial for Lesbian Menopause Treatment that had us rolling around the sitting room laughing until we cried, tea with Joe on Cahuenga and hey presto we have a jolly nice day.  You see?  If I had killed myself I would be killing the wrong guy.

I need to get my act together.  I have wasted too much time this past few months on YOU.  Now we are friends-as we should have always been. wasn’t too hard was it?

All I have to do now is write my book, finish my film and I might not be a washed up old queen tied to the trauma of ‘i love you’.

Let’s see if I can be loved this year.  Allow myself to be loved.  Let the words be heard.   Bring it on.

I get asked all of the time what the other guys in Sex Rehab were like to live with.  You know, we shot the show so long ago I almost forgot but I’ll tell you my impression of all of them here.

Frankly if I hadn’t been on the show I would never, ever have met any of them.  All of them were out of my social or geographical orbit.  I was only one degree of separation from Amber as it turned out but still, I don’t think we would have ever made time to get to know each other.

Nobody smelt badly except maybe James when he arrived.  Nobody had appalling table manners.  Everybody was mostly courteous, kind and inclusive-even Kari Ann.  Remember the way the show is edited tends to exploit the best and the worst of who we are.

Whilst I was there I hung out mostly with Jennie and Kendra but I had long and involved conversations with almost everyone.    Why did I hang out so much with Jennie?  What was it about her that I loved so much?  Well, for a start, she is hungry for life, for education and for new ways of thinking.  She devoured ideas and suggestions, she listened when I mooted Film School and I still believe that if she plays her cards right there is nothing that she couldn’t do.

Jennie has the correct balance of ambition and talent and the show opened a door into her hidden soul.  Listen, do I love her painting?  No, but I respect her for getting up every day and picking up a paintbrush.  Do I think she errs toward overblown prose? Yes, but she is a 26 year old ex-porn star starting over with a huge amount to learn, look at and consider.  With consultation she will get exactly where she needs to be.

There are still dark forces determined to unsettle her, unseat her ambition, and refuse to let Penny Flame forget where she has come from.  These vile bodies write vicious posts on her blog, they rewrite her wikipedia page.  I am well aware of these embittered, desperate people-they try to do the same to me but they can’t touch me now because, in the words of Quentin Crisp, I am one of the stately Homo’s of England.

There was so much time where we did nothing in Rehab and by nothing I mean no group, no therapy, no planned activity.  We mostly filled our time playing dominoes or cards.  Nicole was a genius at dominoes so I’ll start with her.


Jennie and Nicolle really did not get on very well.  They shared a room but there was a tension that bubbled up between them and actually came to a head as we were standing in line off camera moments before we filed into Rehab Graduation.  I didn’t and still don’t understand their gripe but I suggest it has something to do with class and pre-history.  Nicole is one classy broad, elegant, chic, fierce.  One of those gals who came to Hollywood in search of that ‘Hollywood Dream’ and ended up being one of it’s finest victims.  Her Colin Farrell sex tape caused her to feel tremendous shame and ultimately isolated her from her friends and family.  She faced Hollywood’s dark forces head on.  Sex tapes are so often a double-edged sword, nobody really knows who, if anyone, will benefit.  What I found out from most of the women I shared time in Sex Rehab with was just how many of them had sex tapes with celebrities squirreled away for a rainy day.


Kendra and Lucas are the sweetest couple and live with hundreds of rescued dogs and cats in a sprawling house in Northridge.  Kendra has devoted her life beyond ‘Kendra the Stripper’ to helpless animals and causes that fight injustice head on.   Whatever may or may not happen to our friendship I know in my heart that she will always be there for me.  She is the sort of woman who stops at the side of the freeway to open an abandoned cardboard box in search of kittens and puppies.  She rescued my dog Luna twenty minutes before Luna was going to be destroyed.  She has a huge, huge heart but seldom makes room in it for herself.  I know that her philanthropic life is at odds with what she has to do to earn money.   I am sure she is only moments away from the kind of woman she would like to be.


Kari Ann needs to get the fuck away from David Weintraub. Her tendency toward men like him will destroy her life.  Now she is Miss VH1 super bitch I fear that no one will ever get to see the girl she could have been.  With men like David Weintraub crafting her existence she may very well end up dead, drowned in her own vomit whilst David parties in a joining rooms.    This deadly scenario is all too common in Hollywood.    One could imagine an altogether nastier narrative for David documented with grainy TMZ videos of him being hustled, half dressed and sweating into police cars crying foul.   I end up writing about Weintraub when I wanted to write about Kari Ann, there is a terrible irony to that-that he and men like him will always eclipse her.  Her meth antics on Sex Rehab were not as constant as the show editors wish you to think.  Sometimes we would just lay outside quietly chatting, giggling and smoking.  I will remember her best like that.  A sweet little girl with a meth habit.


Phil Varone, don’t you just love him?   We all loved him.  What isn’t there to love?  He concisely articulated every problem he and others had.  He was and is a superb diplomat and sensitive to boot.  Watching him with his Dad has just made me love him even more.  Phil and I played Mexican dominoes with Nicole and it was over those plastic tiles we got to know each other.  We never locked horns, as I am wont to do with other males.   Phil went to Sex Rehab to do the recovery work.  If we had not been there I wonder if that work you see and relate to would have ever happened?


During the interview process I told the producers that I likes surfer boys and lo and behold there was James.  The big problem was that I never found him attractive.  He, like Kari Ann, had arrived after a protracted period of drug and alcohol abuse and three weeks really wasn’t enough time for him to figure stuff out.  He had been paid a great deal of money to wear certain clothing whilst on the show and that initially galled me.  Maybe I shouldn’t have judged him so harshly.   After the ‘rape the shit’ comment he made to Jennie we got on very well and I even taught him how to knit.  Even though I didn’t get to know James as well as the others I respected his dolphin like sea talents.   We spent a day at Huntington Beach.  Watching him surf was a joy.


Amber had a profound effect on me.  She reminded me of a very beautiful version of my mother.  Her emotions close to the surface, her aquiline elegance and sweet demeanor and real desire for recovery.   Her story is harrowing and desperate.  The enmeshed relationship she has with her mother, the loyalty she has for her mother, the huge price she paid for her addictions.  Hearing her story would make me cry.  The anger workshop we did, the paint in her hair, the way she almost flew through the air like an angel when she was throwing the paint and the eggs.  I will never forget the impact she had on me.  Amber, Phil and I had lunch recently at The Ivy.  I am always slightly in awe of her.  I always will be.


Jennie, what more can I say?  We were, are and will always be friends in whatever shape God intends.  I am sure that my protectiveness will get in the way like it did when I now famously approached David Weintraub at Cecconi’s and challenged him after he was rude and demeaning with her.  I want her to soar higher than I ever did-even though I get envious when she does.    I want her success to fit her like a loose garment.  I want everyone to be as amazed as I that a woman with so much talent could have buried herself so deeply in the sordid world of pornography.   It amazes me that she touched the lives of so many men as a porn actress even if these broken men wanted to fix her with cheap, meaningless promises.    I have not and will not see her in her porn incarnation, I met Penny Flame briefly but do not want to meet her ever again.   I am privileged to know Jenny Ketcham.   Our relationship is not without it’s hitches but we are addicts right?  We are blighted by the disease of perception.  Both of us.


Which brings me, the eighth member of the Sex Rehab cast.  You know what addicts are like, they either hate themselves or love themselves too much and I am no exception.   I could make huge and grandiose statements about myself or I could tell you that I am a piece of shit.  I wrote that and I laughed out loud.  I really have no idea what the others would say about me if they could right here right now-but I could guess.  Kendra might say that I am a flakey friend who says he is going to show up but always gets way laid.  Amber might be suspicious of me and Kari Ann would say,  ‘I love you to bits but you talk shit about me’.   Phil would find something totally loving and appropriate and Jenny might too. James would howl and say something dudeish and give me a huge hug.  I would say, about me on sex rehab, like I have many times before, I am so glad that I got to go on the show and change my life because of it.

I get to write this blog and today, this very lunchtime, I get to thank strangers in the street who show their heartfelt appreciation of sharing all the work we did so honestly and publicly.  Thank you all so very much.

Jennie, Saucy and The Big Dog

I spoke with my Mother today.  It was nice to hear her voice.  We have not spoken for ages and it tends to be like that-months of no contact then a flurry of emails and phone calls.  I must admit that I have been keeping my distance from her during the past few weeks as the Sex Rehab show airs.  Hearing her voice brings up a great deal of…a great deal of…a great deal.  She sounded happy about the show.  Apparently my brother had seen it and all is well.

Whenever I write I wonder what my Mother might think and then that begins to get in the way of the writing.   I have to write freely and honestly and without shame.  I can’t do that with me imagining my mother looking over my shoulder shaking her head.

Relationships are complicated when you are me.  Perhaps I over complicate them.

I received an email today from some stray reader who suggested I was being passive aggressive with Jennie about our relationship.  I have not been reading what she writes about me but I can guess.

When we were in rehab we were pretty much inseparable but rehab is not real life.  We really helped each other in there.  I could not have done it without her.  When we left rehab we moved into the same building and see each other most days, when we don’t see each other we talk to each other and when we don’t talk we text.

There was a golden moment when we were best friends but then something happened that was totally beyond our control.

A couple of months after we left rehab my darling Big Dog was hit by a truck in the street immediately outside of the building where we live.  I saw her pretty much torn to pieces in front of me.  She lay on the sidewalk hanging onto life.  I ran upstairs and woke Jennie; she drove my truck to the local pet hospital with The Big Dog and me in the back of the truck.  She stayed with me as they put her to sleep.  I begged them to help her live but they could not save her.

The following day I buried her in the garden in Malibu.

One might think that this would have brought Jennie and I together in a deeper way than we had been previously but actually the opposite was true.

I simply could not bear to be near any of the people who had seen so destroyed by grief, as I was that day and the ghastly days after.  In many ways the tears I shed were not just for The Big Dog but also for every time I had not cried when I really should have.   I could give you a million examples but it is just too painful to list them.

For relationships that ended badly, for ungrieved deaths, for lost love, for a shattered childhood, for injustice.  I sobbed uncontrollably for a week.

So Jennie saw me like that and afterwards I couldn’t look her in the eye.   Every time I pass the place where my darling Big Dog was killed I am flushed with the same feelings.  Every time I see her I remember that day.  I revisit the same emotions and it is too overwhelming for me.  Can you understand that?  It’s not fair on her but it’s the truth.

Time passes and the memories fade but not that one.  It stays as fresh in my mind as if it happened yesterday.  I think about it every day and it tempers my relationship with Jennie, Eric and Hillary.   But it is Jennie who is most hurt by my distance and inability to connect.

Personally, I think we have a good relationship.  It is not without it’s complications and petty rivalries but we are close in a way that say an ex husband and ex wife are.  We have shared a remarkable experience and a tragedy.  It’s not her fault that I reacted so badly.  I just did.

I don’t want any of you to think that I don’t love her because I do and I am so proud of her achievements and her courage to step away from porn and the money she made and forge a life beyond that cesspool.  I have written here in this blog how much she means to me and how sorry I am that I can’t, at this moment, give her more than I do.

Malibu Sunday

The day Sex Rehab airs I read twitter posts avidly.  East coast viewers are the first to start letting me know the content of each episode.  Today, for instance, I know that Kari Ann’s Miss Teen America tiara arrives in the Rehab.  A request I made of her so I could wear it.  I have always wanted to wear a Miss America crown.  The irony is not lost on me.  The gaudy iconography of a teen queen.  As soon as I knew Kari Ann I wanted her crown.  I have no idea if my requests will be screened but she really had no intention of bringing the crown into rehab until I demanded it.

Consequently Kari Ann taught me how to walk like a Princess, answer teen queen catwalk questions, sang the pageant anthem as I sashayed around the rehab garden wearing her crown.  I loved it so much.   I loved her crown even though it was a bit beaten up-when they took away her title she had thrown it at the wall.

Don’t you just love that scene in the movie when the teen queen throws her crown at the wall?   It’s a great scene.

“Miss teen America is founded on the principle that the future of our world is dependent upon the leadership qualities of today’s youth. We believe that involvement in community service should be both encouraged and rewarded. We further believe that in order to become a strong leader a young woman must be a well-rounded individual. She must challenge herself scholastically, she must be poised, and she must be comfortable with herself in respect to her learned and natural talents. She must possess a strong desire to effect a change in her world, and to set an example for others to do the same. In the spirit of competition, she must be gracious.  With this in mind, we provide the forum for young women to challenge themselves to be their best, and we reward them for their efforts.”

Poor Kari Ann, how was she ever going to be all the above snorting meth every day?  Engaging in soft pornography and making sex tapes with Rebecca Gayheart?  The problem is:  she was a nice normal girl before LA bit her in her fat ass.

Gloria Steinham might disagree.  Feminists might say that she is merely empowering herself.  I doubt it though.  Jenny Ketcham is empowering herself.  She is an American Writer and will only grow in stature and relevance.  Kari Ann will become even more irrelevant than she already is.

As much as she was a pain in the ass I really became fond of Kari Ann.  I know that this might be hard to believe but when you get to truly ‘know’ a person-regardless of wether you ever see them again-they tend to linger in your heart.

When Kari Ann wasn’t teaching me how to be a Miss Teen America I was teaching James how to knit-which he took too with some gusto.  My grandmother taught me how to knit when I was five years old.  The surfer dude was a joy to teach.

Fuck!  I hate how the editors have edited Sex Rehab.  It’s a pile of shit.

Update.  Eric, Jenny, Justin and I went to b’day party in Santa Monica.  It was situated in a dance studio.  There were gays for me to goad and straights for me to tease.  We left before midnight.  I slept well.  Strangely the little dog preferred to sleep on the sofa.  Whilst we were at the party Luna stayed in the bathroom with her bone and damage, when I returned, was minimal.  I think it gave the little dog some time away from Luna’s frantic puppy behavior too.

Did not fret about blood clots.  In fact, gave them very little thought all day.

More will be revealed.


Getting up in the morning to a camera shoved in my face totally validated my existence.  It was the one component of being on Sex Rehab that I hadn’t reckoned on.   As soon as I had my microphone pinned to my shirt I felt alive.  It was the thing that I missed the most when I left the Pasedena Recovery Center and the one element of making the show that I felt ashamed to admit.

I thought often of Andy Warhol during the three weeks that I was in the show.  I dressed accordingly.  Picking unusual and colourful shirts and pantaloons.  If ever there was evidence of narcissism in my life this was it.  Obviously I kept quiet about it.  I didn’t want anyone to think that my intentions were not 100% honorable.   The other unexpected bi-product of being filmed 24/7 was to tell the truth.  I might have altered a few things-simply because I wanted to protect myself from unwanted attention when the show was over but 99.5% of the time I was truthful.  That, in itself, was a revelation.  Telling the truth, being true to oneself and being of service to those around me governed my experience.

The women taught me a great deal.  Obviously I had a great deal in common with the women.  We had similar stories.  Similar dealings with men.  There was a pecking order amongst the women that went something like this:  The Playmates looked down on the porn starts, the porn stars looked down on the prostitutes but the Playmates had been, at one time or another, prostitutes.  It was a fascinating dynamic.


My relationship with Jennie blossomed when we both realized that neither of us would‘miss’ being in treatment; that we would do the work and unsentimentally move on.  The others, within a couple of days, were already projecting to the end of the experience and talking about how much they would miss us.  Of course, by the time it ended Jennie and I were the ones who would miss the experience most.



The moment I met Jennie I realized that she was born to be more that the woman she was.  Infinitely talented she, like many women, only expected so much from her life and it was a joy to critique her writing, her painting and encourage her to free her thinking.   It was a joy to see her flourishand as her friend to this day I continue to watch her grow.  Occasionally I am really jealous that I had not met a man like me in similar circumstances when I was her age who would have taken the time-but, the truth is I met many men who spent hours trying to help me and I pushed them all away like the petulant child I am apt to be.



I have always existed at the edge of society gay and straight.  Outspoken, sober and eclectic my complicated life was fashioned about me like a force field that kept only the most tenacious from getting to know me.  I had deliberately and successfully made low budget, gay art films for gay art house festival audiences all over the world.  I used the language and locations of my gay, rarified life and suddenly here I was thrust violently onto a reality TV show that millions would see and hear me speak the most unpalatable truths.

The saddest part of being on the rehab show has been the untamed anger of the more entitled of my gay breatheren.  Petrified of  change, scrutiny and self awareness.  Bristling with sanctimonious fury they tell me in no uncertain terms to mind my own business. To stay out of their underwear.  The majority of the gay media will not even acknowledge my existence on the show.  The party boys who control our gay press do not want to go near sobriety or sex conduct.   It is all too confronting and worse-may lose them precious advertising revenue.


Did I think that I would one day try to spread this sex addiction message?   No. When I was out there balls deep in popular gay bar/club culture getting what ever I wanted could I have imagined a healthier life?  No.  Did I give any of this a second thought when Joe and I buried our 100th friend from AIDS complications?  I did not.  Was I just as imperious and entitled as the men who now routinely brand me homophobic and self loathing-yes I was.  But the truth is we live in evolving times.  Our understanding of unhealthy, destructive behaviours has become more astute.  We cannot continue to live in the same way just because we always have.  GBLT: A coalition of the unwilling.  Gays hating Bisexuals, damning trannies, ignoring lesbians.   Who are we?