Easter everywhere

While in the desert, Mom and I we’re alerted by the neighbor Brian looking after Bessie. He identified an irregularity in her front paw.

To her credit Mom sprung into action right away. She partly cares/owns for Bessie and was undeterred by my concerns about cost. I gave her the name of a local Pet Hospital. Poolside on the lounge, Mom had scheduled Bessie’s visit and agreed to sedation for a visit in Los Angeles, in the next two days.

The way the Vet, Dr. B. described the sedation cycle, it really was like she, was only under-anesthesia for likely less than ten-minutes. Then, they essentially Narcan her, back awake, instantly.

At any rate, Bess is already walking around much-better. Doc described her in notes as a “Wonderful” patient.

She is now wowing the neighborhood with her $1,400.00 paw surgery, super-manicure.

Figure 8

Joshua Tree, in L.A. Times story, double exposure; photo overlay.

“We’re from the desert, you know.”

I have loved this elder woman delivery of that “desert” headline line since first becoming semi-obsessed with this movie. Recently I thought of the movie again after enjoying the book “Devil House” by the multi talented John Darnielle. The book revolves around a journalist character who buys a house where a gruesome murder occurred, in the town of Millpedes (sic).

In the “devil/satanic” realm there was also the famous Holy Roller wellness letter that I received freshman year from Palisades High-School friend Matt B.

USC freshman year roommate Pete S., a film school mentor to me– thought it would be fun to send a devilish reply letter to Matt and his Philadelphia parish of choice.

In a sort of adult version of the anti-gender fluidity “don’t say gay,” I think Pete sensed the letter had the veiled motivation of Matthew essentially thinking, “you know who needs some Philadelphia, PA., Christianity, it’s that little Hollywood/Brentwood, Jewish faggot, Jer.”

At one High-School party in Matthew’s, Bundy Drive backyard, in a game of spin-the-bottle, I landed on kissing Nicole. Later I was told by Ollie or Ivan P. super multiple/twin, that Nicky D., delivered her review of the kissing exchange, with a “thumbs down.” Essentially the “Rotten Tomatoes” of it’s era.

Literally and instantly behind-my-back, to the delight of the small party fueled by what I recall was a Coors Light keg. I could be wrong about the exact brew form.

Pete who did not shy from the black arts– grabbed a book about satanic ritual, that he possessed seemingly for screenplay material, to include in a letter back to Matt B.

Matthew was so traumatized by the detailed reply, that he flagged me down at the start of our 25th high school reunion to inquire about my spiritual health. I quickly assured him it was an elaborate “joke.” I had not really revoked Christianity in the name of the Devil. He told me he was married with five kids, so obviously we are taking life’s course in different directions.

For the 50th milestone birthday, Mom and I, returned to the Palm Springs and Joshua Tree area. It had been many years since I was in the desert– including before my 2016 hospitalization mental breakdown. At that point the idea of the open expanse of the Mojave Desert seemed very serene compared to being locked up in the Westwood, UCLA hospital flagship campus, psychiatric ward.

Kyle Y., incisively described the film “T.H.O.T.D.” timed as “all hell breaks loose, in the third act.”

I turned 50 years old on April 11th, outside the confines of Los Angeles, in Rancho-Mirage, Palm Desert. We stayed at the Ritz-Carlton, paid for with Mum’s frequent credit card miles.

I indulged our stay, with the most expensive 50 minute massage, of my lifetime. Clocking in at an astounding $240.00, it did include a “complimentary” flute of champagne. Inflation, realization. Her name Erica- is what it means.

E., was very personable and genuine in her craft. I broke the ice with jokes about carpal tunnel syndrome and Coachella surge-pricing/price gouging. She was keen to hear about my experiences of Shiatsu type massage.

I recounted, the now defunct “Tao Healing Arts Center” on Main Street, Santa Monica. Then I mentioned the character Rachel in “Six Feet Under” being a shiatsu advocate. Going on to say the show is about a family run mortuary– but not a total bummer. I also told her about the Gwyneth Paltrow approved Milk and Honey on San Vicente, massage experience.

We talked HBO and drugs after I alluded to my starting the series “Euphoria.” She then incidentally revealed that she had just installed the app HBO/MAX specifically to see “Euphoria.”

I tried to reference the famous marijuana advisory movie “Reefer Madness” but I stammered and the title eluded me. I gave my two-cents, advising that at least weed doesn’t kill– like the Fentanyl scourge. Also that edibles can be overwhelming.

Mom chatted up a gentlemen in the motel hallway who explained that his puppy was a therapy dog in his Oncology medical practice. Prior to my disability and retirement status this encounter might have been a rich networking opportunity. Oncologists always need qualified Medical Transcribers.