Proust Says ...

"Art is a selective re-creation of reality according to an artist's metaphysical value-judgments. An artist recreates those aspects of reality which represent his fundamental view of man's nature."

Marcel Proust

From Oakland to Oakley

Tai has been my friend since I was 11 and we survived our teenage years together in Hollywood. Many times, while standing before my parents, wishing them good night then retiring to my room, there would be a full set of clothes under my nightgown. Tight jeans and a hideous florescent green tube top or something of that nature. I had a balcony that was fortuitously positioned next to a tree and would stand on it looking down, waiting to spot the flickering headlights of Tai’s orange pick-up truck. And when I did I would tear off the nightgown, grab my lipstick and platform sandals, climb down the tree, and off we’d go for a night of cruising the Strip, blasting the radio, laughing hysterically, and flirting with cute boys in passing cars.

Now we ride horses and we cruise the trails. We still like cute boys, and after thirty years together, we have much to laugh about.

Here's Tai when she visited from Oakland this past fall. (Click for large image)

Almost Liberal

A conversation in front of Public School 187, Monday:

Katie: Do you say the Pledge of Allegiance every morning?

Annie: Yes, but when we get to the part that says, 'Republic,' I stop because I know we don’t like them."

Katie, "No honey, that's republicAN."

Annie: "Ohhh."

Three Dog Night

Returning home from a Friday night out, David spotted a three-legged dog standing on the corner of 67th Street & 10th Avenue. He was a big dog, a happy dog, and he looked up at his owner, I could swear, with a smile on his face.

What is it about a three-legged dog that makes me soften, makes me feel tender, and gives me a sense of comfort?

I did a quick Internet search of the three-legged dog and was surprised at what I found. There were three-legged dog stories, three-legged dog poems, and three-legged dog jokes. There were websites dedicated to three-legged dogs, and three-legged dog clubs. A tavern in New Orleans was called The Three-Legged Dog, and an article in The Hollywood Reporter announced that Sandra Bullock had adopted … a three-legged dog.

People project everything onto their dogs. Their emotions, their qualities, even their physical appearances. So perhaps what I see, and what others see in a three-legged dog, is that even when we are not whole, even when we are broken, we can still be okay, more than okay.

One night, shortly after my father died, I was lying in bed with my mother. We stared at the ceiling together and cried. I said to her, “I feel as if our family is now standing on three legs instead of four.” And she replied, “But it’s a strong three legs.”

Negotiations

"I'll let you bite my butt and cuddle me if you do this."
Annie Kosh

(when asking me to help her clean up her toys)

Katie Vents

My cell phone died, and although it's not a member of the family, a friend or even an acquaintance, the pain I have endured to replace it today nearly compared to a funeral, or at least a trip to sit Shiva on the sofa of a distant relative I never met. Forgive me if I'm over-reacting, but upon this writing I am a bundle of nerves, a pile of dust, a heap of broken glass.

When I entered the Verizon store on Broadway and 79th Street, I was welcomed by a female security guard with such bad body odor it filled the room. I took a number, sat down, and was literally in shock. How could anyone think it was acceptable in any way to leave this woman at the front door to greet people? A minute later I noticed that her odor was gone and so was she. Had she just been hired moments before and then, once the manager realized his mistake, was fired on the spot? Did a psychically inclined co-worker suddenly call her to the back room and ask could she please fix the problem? Or was she just on a break? In any case, as I continued to wait, I felt my blood pressure rising. Was it particularly noisy in the Verizon store? Or was I just overly stressed this morning, therefore making the normal sounds of the room seem amplified? I checked in with myself and decided, yes, the Verizon store, though quite small in size, was unnecessarily loud. There was music coming out of the speakers overhead, not elevator music, but a kin to it. It’s the kind of music you hear when you food shop, the kind of music that is bad and melancholy and reminds you of something unpleasant from your childhood. Like riding the school bus, the mean girl from across the street, or the sick feeling you had when you listened to great soul music and couldn’t understand why it affected you the way it did. (OK, so maybe that was just me). It's like Kenny G, Christopher Cross & Hall & Oats all mixed into one, but maybe I’m not describing it correctly. So, while that’s playing, a giant TV screen in the shape of a mobile phone displays Pamela Anderson, and she's talking and talking and talking about what to do if you have the need to see her every day but don’t have a TV or magazine handy … that now you can see her on your new video phone. And on and on she went, and soon I begin to notice the startling sounds, an orchestra if you will, of dying cell phone batteries around the room. And just then, as I lay my head in my hands and contemplated running out of the store and giving up my phone altogether, an unappealing young woman on crutches plops down on the seat beside me and seems to think that I'd be interested in hearing her talk and talk and talk about how she dropped her phone into the toilet, and how she should have just lied about it because her insurance doesn’t cover water damage, and could I believe that her phone costs $289 … and that was without the pink jewels! And while the music played, and the phones beeped, and Pamela yapped, and the unappealing woman croaked ... a customer left the store and set off the alarm. And security, (not the one with B.O.; she was still on break or fired or whatever) couldn’t manage to disengage it. And when I finally got my new phone and returned to the peace and quiet of home, my dear housekeeper Hanna greeted me at the front door, asked me what kind of cleaner should she use on her Plasma TV., (I’m not even sure what that is), and why don’t I buy a bigger apartment. She scolded me for working too much, alerted me to the fact that there was a blemish on the expensive dresser, told me I should call the manufacturer and complain immediately, and informed me of the best place to buy high thred-count, Italian sheets. Beep ... beep ... beep ...

Happiness is NOT a warm gun ...

IT'S TWO BABY OTTERS! Sorry, I just couldn't control myself!

Crappy School Day

Poem by Annie Kosh


Everyday at school
We do the same old thing.
We come in and we work like sick dogs.
Until lunch comes, then we eat like sick hogs.

After school we do more work!
And today we had a test.
Tomorrow will bring the same old thing.

Once again, we will come in,
We will get yelled at,
And be forced like slaves, to work on arithmetic and spelling.

My teacher will one day have to bow down to the mighty over-lords of children,
And she will have to pay because one day we will bring her down!

Ms. Petrausch is our cuckoo-brained teacher if you might have wondered.
If you ever see her, you’ll wish you never had.
She looks like she’s been dead a thousand times.
She will give you a zero even if you did all your homework.
Everyone dislikes her because she is the cruelest person to ever walk on this earth.

Here is the exact opposite of her: Sweet, cute, pretty, kind, generous, fashionable, adorable, (which she never will be even if she went back in time to when she was a baby. Even though I think she never was a cute, adorable, thumb-sucking, drooling baby).

One day, my friend, Christian Gonzalez-Bayer, told me that when he was watching the news he heard that when babies drool it means they’re thinking and it means they’re smart.

I don’t think that when Ms. Petrausch was a baby, she ever drooled.

I hate school!!!!

The End

It's Just Me

Me

A thousand words ...

This is a photo I took a few years ago of our friend Nigel and his daughter Eve. I thought it spoke volumes about little girls and their fathers. Click on it and see what I mean.

Sleeping People

"The good people sleep much better at night than the bad people. Of course, the bad people enjoy the waking hours much more."
Woody Allen

The Oak Man Cometh

The time has finally come to introduce Oakley to the blog. For those of you who don't yet know him, he is my beloved 5-year-old half Belgian Draft, half Quarter Horse. Presently, he has grown a thick wooly coat and spends his days eating hay and rolling in mud. Although I find him most adorable this time of year, for those of you who prefer a more refined animal, stay tuned for spring, when the coat comes off and he gets his first bath of the season. Oakley is sweet, gentle, responsive and funny, and everyone should have a friend like him.

Foot Fotos

Yet another example of Oakley's fine character and outstanding good nature. Here he is getting his hooves trimmed by Bob the Blacksmith. Notice how patient Oakley behaves, it even seems as if he's trying to HELP Bob. Or perhaps he's just aware of the carrot that's been strategically placed in Bob's back pocket ...click to see the big picture.

Beautiful Freak

I suppose the next best thing to having a love song written about you is having one dedicated to you. David dedicated this song to me today, and although it might not be what most women wish for, I so appreciate it and just had to share it.


Beautiful Freak by The Eels

You’re such a beautiful freak
I wish there were more just like you
You’re not like all of the others

And that is why I love you
Beautiful freak, beautiful freak
That is why I love you
Beautiful freak, beautiful freak

Some people think you have a problem
But that problem lies only with them
Just ’cause you are not like the others

But that is why I love you
Beautiful freak, beautiful freak
Yeah that is why I love you
Beautiful freak, beautiful freak

Too good for this world
But I hope you will stay
And I’ll be here to see that you don’t fade away

You’re such a beautiful freak
I bet you are flying inside
Dart down and then go for cover

And know that i
I love you
Beautiful freak,
You know that i
I love you
Beautiful freak, beautiful freak

Blast from my Past

I just came across this photo; I took it when I was in Spain for the first time about 20 years ago. I was there for the annual Feria and it was sheer madness and fun. Staying up all night, dancing on the streets of Seville with friends, drinking shots of whisky, then, just after sunrise, tossing back massive amounts of coffee along with Churros con Chocolate. After that we'd all head home, sleep until the afternoon, wake up to a Spanish home-cooked meal, drink more coffee and return to the fair for yet another night of celebrating …I don’t think I ever asked what they were celebrating. In the picture, this old lady got stuck holding a bunch of horses while the owner ran inside to grab breakfast. I eventually went over and helped her out. Click to see larger photo.

Stranger Than Paradise

Observing Vladimir in Orlando reminded me of the great film, STRANGER THAN PARADISE, a story about America as seen through the eyes of "strangers". It’s about exile, both from one’s country and oneself, and about connections that are just barely missed. Perhaps Slackjaw should do a remake starring Mr. Subotic? Click on photo for larger image.

Gore Vidal Quote

"All children alarm their parents, if only because you are forever expecting to encounter yourself."

Roger Bowen

Roger Bowen
5/25/32 - 2/16/96

The following is a beautiful tribute to my father by a very dear friend, Aaron Gallegos:

Yesterday was the 10th anniversary of Roger Bowen's passing. Even though I don't feel I knew him that well, he was a big influence on me in a lot of ways. His daughter, Katie Bowen is a very important person in my life and through her I had the opportunity to get to know her father some in the late 80s. I don't think we ever had enough time together to get to know each other really well (he lived in New York and Katie and I lived in California), but I have great and lasting memories of him.

Back then he gave me an incredible walking tour of Manhattan, offering great detail about the history of each neighbourhood we passed through. Especially because of later events, I will always remember walking with him between the two towers of the World Trade Center. The buildings seemed so incredible to me at the time. Almost a force of nature in and of themselves. "50,000 people go to work every day in those buildings," Roger told me. I was totally awestruck. I don't even think the town where I lived at that time even had a population of 50,000.

Another time, after a fellow India Joze chef, Bill Forte, and I made a big Asian meal for the Bowens, Roger gave us one of the best compliments I've ever had about my cooking. "All of the dishes were great," he said, "but the rice was absolutely perfect and that's how you can tell it was cooked by a great chef." Or something to that effect. He also once surprised me by making a trip all the way to Princeton just to pick up a book I needed for my thesis.

Of course, Roger Bowen was also a famous actor. He played Col. Henry Blake in the M*A*S*H movie, was a co-founder of Chicago's Second City comedy troupe, among many other great accomplishments (see his biography link below). But that's not what I remember him for. The most important thing Roger Bowen taught me was how to be a great father to a daughter (or a son). I will never forget the relationship I witnessed between him and Katie. I don't even think they were aware I was watching, but Roger showed me what it is for a father to be loving, supportive, and emotionally present for his daughter, while at the same time respecting and honouring her as an adult with her own creative path in life. I always felt deeply honoured to be able to share in a small part of their relationship when we traveled to New York.

Another friend of mine who recently lost his father told me that his dad was and always will be his hero. He said that seeing the pictures on baby Amado on this blog eased his pain. "Now it's our turn to be heroes," my friend told me. Now, as a new father, I am so thankful that Roger Bowen showed me something about how to do this.
Peace, love, and blessing on Katie and everyone who loved Roger as we remember him at this time.

Here's a link to one of Roger Bowen's film biographies:

http://movies2.nytimes.com/gst/movies/filmography.html?p_id=7728&mod=bio

Cold Tea Photos

The Talent
David Nelson & Julie Fitzpatrick

On Set Photos

Vlad & Marcus
DP & Sound

Interior

Cold Tea Now in Post Production!

Walking through Ft. Tryon Park one cold winter day, Edgar, a lonely young man who nevertheless knows exactly what he wants, sees Eve gazing at the Hudson River and wearing no coat. He immediately falls in love with her, and tells her so. She invites him to tea the next day to prove it.

When he arrives at Eve's home, he finds it's as cold as outside. Even though Eve's lips are a bit blue, the temperature doesn't seem to affect her. He keeps his coat buttoned and his gloves on as she serves him cold tea and shows him her most treasured possession, a photo book filled with odd pictures of bones and brains. This is who she really is, she tells him.

He's put off at first as he leafs through the book, at the sight of all those bones and brains, but then he starts to see how different and beautiful they really are.He pulls off his gloves, unbuttons his coat, and drinks his tea. And when he kisses her, she does something she's never done before...

...She melts.

Cold Tea is a short film shot on digital video and is headed for the short film festival circuit upon completion.

Cast & Crew:

Director & Editor: Katie Bowen
Writer & Producer: David Kosh
Eve: Julie Fitzpatrick
Edgar: David Nelson
Narrator: Guillermo Ayesa
Director of Photography: Vladimir Subotic
Original Score: Gary Regina
First Assistant Director: Marshall Korshak
Production Designer: Natassa Chrysafini
Line Producer: Edward Roy
Camera Assistant: Kristian Gonzales
Sound: Marcus Black
Key Make-up Artist: Maia Kern
Costume Designer: Marcia McIntosh
Production Assistant: Robert Spaulding

Pour My Heart

I’ve just had my coffee and now I'm loving you-
I’m ashamed to admit it but we both know that it’s true.
Coffee is the thing I need to turn my cold heart warm-
And pull from me the sunshine in the middle of my storm.
I’ve just had my coffee and now I’m loving life-
And to think that just an hour ago I was an unfullfilled housewife.
Now my heart is full of love and how I'm loving you-
All because I had a cup of caffinated brew.

Leo Love

What happens when two perfect people meet? Well, they fall in love and then, eventually find out the truth about one another.

I recently received my astrological chart from singer/songwriter and Jungian Psychology buff, Francis Dunnery. Much of it was so accurate it got me thinking. What if there was a dating website where member profiles not only included the lies people told about themselves, but where the ugly truth was slipped in as well? Think anyone would get a date?

Here’s a possible profile based on my chart. Some fact, some fiction, some pulled right out of a Libra Moon:

I'm 42, physically fit, sexy and charming. I'm a great source of comfort to those in need. I'm a homebody but also enjoy having cocktails in basement jazz clubs on hot Greenwich Village nights. My need for perfection is an enormous source of anxiety and often takes over my life. I'm in constant need of an audience and my emotions are untamed. If I see you talking to a beautiful woman, I will be jealous and get pissed--guaranteed. I’m looking for a man who will fulfill my dreams and help to sustain the fantasy world I prefer to live in. He must make me feel special, loved and whole, and be a father figure to my overindulged, bratty 8-year-old daughter.

To respond to this ad, please click here. Here … click here. Click here I said! Hello?

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