Saturday, February 28, 2009

David thinks the dog looks like:

Klaus Kinski ...

A Morlock from "The Time Machine..."

An old hippie who's had a thousand bad drug trips...

Evil hand puppet.

What do you think?

Friday, February 27, 2009

From the ashes

After Annie called me from the park, crying because one of the boys from her class picked her up and dropped her on the ground, I tore out of the apartment and took off running. By the time I got there the boy was gone, and Annie was sitting on a bench being comforted by her friends. Also by her side were the two seventh grade "mean girls" who only two days ago were shoving her and calling her names.

I was angry and confused, until they handed me this note.

Sitting at the sidebar

Don't drive an SUV-- let SMV take you there instead.

What the voice in my head says

Even if it seems impossible at first, when you meet someone wonderful, you don't just walk away. When you meet someone wonderful, you just don't do that.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Argentine sky

In Cristian's backyard there was pomegranate and jasmine, and this.

Sitting at the sidebar

I was commuting to work in my car everyday when this song was released in 1998, and whenever it was on the radio, I'd turn it up and sing. It was top ten mainstream, and because I'm a snob, I only enjoyed it in the privacy provided by sixty-five miles an hour and the windows rolled up.

There are other things I've been compelled to hide--emotions thought to be steps backwards that actually propelled me ahead, a romance that looked like idle fantasy but that sounded an alarm so loud I had no choice but to wake up--and today, a seemingly impossible connection to someone on the other end of the world, that is the closest to active love I've ever been.

It's easy to take notes of all that seems wrong--it's not easy to put down the pen and let "what is" reveal what's right.

I wasn't sure if this song was good or if it was bad, all I knew was that it made me feel, and so today I stop apologizing for my choices--in my career, in men, and in music.

Today I'm slowing down the car and rolling down the windows, and regardless of how the song is perceived, if it makes me feel, I'm turning it up--and I don't care anymore who hears.

Music player is to the right of this post .

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Mission accomplished

I don't think Annie will be having anymore trouble with nasty 7th grade girls.

Spy moms

Yesterday I learned that Annie is being harassed by two evil 7th grade girls. Today at 2:20 pm., I will be waiting outside the schoolyard wearing my dark glasses. I will follow the girls as they follow Annie, I will take notes, and once I've gathered enough evidence, I may even have a word with the little witches.

Annie is in on the plan--stay tuned as the case unfolds.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Sitting at the sidebar

Last night, while this woman was dreaming of flowers, a man sent her the song, "While My Lady Sleeps."

It's by John Coltrane, and it's a favorite.

Click the music player to the right of this post to listen.

In my dreams

Last night I dreamed I wanted to take a nap, but instead I walked into a garden, planted some seeds, and within an hour, I had grown a bunch of wildflowers.

I dreamed I was doing yoga in a high rise New York apartment, and through the window, across the way, I spotted Eddie Van Halen looking at me lasciviously.

In her dreams

My friend Tai told me: I had a dream last night that you and your mother were staying at a resort in Jamaica called "Josephine's Sister." Your mom sent me a postcard that said, "You've got to walk like the seaweed on the beach."

Monday, February 23, 2009

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Any given day

When I tell myself I have no business writing a novel, I remember the story of Jessie Lee.

Friday, February 20, 2009


Three years ago today, with a little labor and a slight push, The Half Note was born. Like most babies, it was small and cute, and of course I could only see it for what it was, never imagining what it might become.

Three years ago today, I was a woman who lived with her husband and child. I was loved, respected and supported, and I was dying inside. I was close to my family and friends, but no one, except perhaps my mother, could see the light in me was a flickering bulb--a far cry from a girl destine to shine.

Three years ago today, I posted much of what I post now. Astrology, an ode to coffee, a quote by Gore Vidal and a remembrance of my dad.

I was unaware that by writing the things that were funny in my head, they would become funny in my heart, or that by posting an image of a flower, I could smell a flower. Each day of my week became an excuse to open my eyes and take notice, of every window in every building on every block in my town. A man carrying roses became a story, a crayon drawing became a pulsating piece of art. I could hear a song when two dogs barked, and how the sparrow singing alone made a melody.

I was unaware that by uncovering my past, I would remember my past--and when I remembered my past, I would remember me. I was unaware that when I spoke of my ideal marriage, I was holding my breath, trying to convince myself of the very things I expressed.

For the next six months I posted sleep quotes, sex quotes, and declarations of love. There were cartoons and confessions, famous painters and favorite films. Jokes were told by a magical child, anecdotes and love notes, and then I wrote this.

The baby took her first step.

The Half Note
has been my dirt and decor, my grief and my grace. It's been an immersion into the deep waters of fantasy, and the flimsy lifeline that floats close to wherever I am. It's my quarter note, my whole note, and my thirty-second rest, my place to dry off when the wolves have their way, and my refuge after a friendless night.

Three years ago I could not see color on canvas, hear music in a song, or taste sweetness in a kiss, but now I wear white dresses, board planes and arrive unannounced. I ride in cars with rock stars and talk about reality--I eat red licorice and figs and I fall in love.

The Half Note
is my perfect note, my conductor and my eyes, and even when the orchestra travels an erratic path, I am always returned--scarred but unscathed, brave and alive, in perfect time.

Now I can hear the violins, let them play it loud. Add the flute, it's graduation day--I think we're ready for something sweeter, I think it's time.

Thoughts in real time

The Half Note is like my soul mate and Facebook is like my whore.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

The secret

"It's so cool to know that even though it's sometimes hidden, the sun is always shining."

~Annie Kosh


I am not as open as I thought I was.

Thoughts in real time

I am on good terms with every one of my ex-loves. I wonder if it's because the love was real, or if it's simply a mutual ability to forgive.

Can't sleep

Wednesday, February 18, 2009


"Eleexp I know how to spell!"

Click here, get wordified.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009


Annie: "When I grow up and graduate college, I'm going to have a lot of dogs and buy a brownstone apartment. You can live on the first floor and I get the top two."

Me: "Great, what neighborhood will it be in?"

Annie: "It's more than 10 years from now, Mom--how am I supposed to know that?!"

The way things aren't

I thought I saw a sign that said, "Over 3000 pizzas," but it actually said, "Over 3000 prizes."


At the end of yoga class, when we do Savasana, instead of being in a deep relaxed state, I am wondering about the lives of all the other people in the room, and imagining what problems they might have.

In real time

Annie's home this week, still asleep in my bed. I'll make coffee and go back to her--she's always so warm in the morning.

Monday, February 16, 2009

3 baskets

Normally, these 3 baskets sit in separate places in my apartment but somehow, today, they all ended up here. I like how they look together in the daylight.


He said to me: Take care of my little boy, so I can be the man, and I'll take care of your little girl, so you can show me the woman.

Image by runnerfrog.

Love grows

Sometimes a distant love can be a distraction or a denial. It can keep you suspended, deflect the truth and protect your frightened heart. And sometimes it can serve as a sanctuary--a place to begin planting, preparing the ground for something real.

Thirteen years

My father died on February 16th, 1996. His love fills me everyday, and the missing never goes away.

Saturday, February 14, 2009


From a hopeless romantic, an optimistic pessimist, a cynical idealist who knows everything but doesn't have a clue:

Happy Valentine's Day!

Man I'm low

The Love Actually 2 Film Festival, where my short movie, "Cold Tea" will be screened tonight, was listed by NBC online as something to do in New York this valentine's day weekend. Normally, such recognition would please me, but being mentioned alongside Barry Manilow's live concert at the Nassau Coliseum, well, I don't mean to be ungrateful, but I'm suddenly not feeling so well.

In real time

Going back to bed.

Art & love

Yesterday at the Metropolitan Museum, I visited the exhibit Art and Love in Renaissance Italy--portraits and artifacts dedicated to courtship, marriage, sad widows, and common whores. In the Asian gallery I saw Bodhisattvas with heads and no bodies, Bodhisattvas with bodies and no heads, and Bodhisattvas with broken hands. I saw many sets of Buddha eyes--sleepy and sweet, and in the Impressionist Room, I saw the lilacs by Renoir.

Friday, February 13, 2009

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Unbearable peace

Me: "Hello?"

Mom: "Hi honey, what's wrong?"

Me: "Oh, nothing."

Mom: "You can tell me."

Me: "I just can't shake this feeling."

Mom: "What feeling?"

Me: "This feeling of calm."

Sitting at the sidebar

I'm not easily influenced, but I've never denied my inner rock 'n roll--and when it's a dedication, well, what woman could refuse?

Green Eyes
by Coldplay.

In real time

Jet-lag and laundry done, now returning to myself--that takes longer.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009


He told me that until recently, he had a string of romantic relationships plagued by drama and dominated by grief. He told me that long before we met, he knew there was a change taking place and that peace was on the horizon.

Until recently, I have had a string of romantic relationships filled with anxiety, disappointment, and doubt, and although I had a clear sign that love was on the horizon, I had no clue that along with it would come peace.

I'm not used to it, and I'm not sure I like it.

The next chapter

Searching for work is a tedious task, so to distract myself I've created a new blog. A reminder, perhaps, that economic crisis and extended unemployment are really, after all, just words.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Leo Horoscope by Rob Brezsny

Week of February 12th

It's a perfect time to cast a love spell on yourself. You don't necessarily need to consult any pagan books about how to proceed. It may even be better if you improvise your own homemade conjurations and incantations. I can think of two main goals for you to accomplish with your spell. (But feel free to add others.) First, rouse your imagination into visualizing romantic possibilities you've been closed to before. Second, make sure you banish the curse that you yourself cast on your love life once upon a time. P.S. For best results, stand naked in front of an altar crammed with magical objects that symbolize both lust and compassion.

Short film, long life

My film, "Cold Tea" will be screening this Valentine's Day weekend at Love Actually 2--a short film festival dedicated to love, sex and romance.

Click here for details, and come join us if you can.

Sitting at the sidebar

I've been wedded to one dream for so long, but now it's time to change the course and be taken by what is. Like the rushing Rio de la Plata, where the water is clouded by mud--if allowed to sit in a glass, it will be pure by morning. Your direction will be just as clear.

It's winter in New York, summer in Buenos Aires, but This Old Love is from Autumn Flow by Lior.

Monday, February 09, 2009


When Cristian's grandfather built this house, for some unknown reason he placed the toilet paper holder high above the toilet. One thing I know about Cristian is that he is fond of things that are mysterious to him--perhaps that is why he doesn't seek the answer, but rather enjoys the absurdity (and the mystery) of what is.

Words of wisdumb

Me: "Can I tell you something that after 45 years of living I just learned right now?"

Annie nods.

Me: "If you put the peanut butter on the bread and the peanut butter is too cold to spread, just leave it there for a few minutes and it will soften."

Annie: "That's it?"

Me: "That's it."

How they do it

Outside the cities of Argentina, metal baskets are positioned in front of the houses. This is where residents put their garbage, which is collected each night by a horse-drawn cart.

Sitting at the sidebar

Panama by The Cat Empire

Sunday, February 08, 2009