This is Day 16 of a 21-day effort to see the good in what might, at first, look like an irredeemable drag. Its name comes from a classic bit of dialogue uttered by actor Kevin Bacon in a classic film of my generation, Animal House.

I don’t know whether to chalk it up to the writing gene or the bad-brain-chemicals gene, but all my life, I’ve grappled with depression.

It doesn’t hit me as hard as some of my smarter friends or those relatives further over on the Irish-Swedish side of the spectrum (thank god for being sort of a dumbass and half-Jewish, I guess); in me, it’s less of a steady condition and more of a trigger-driven one. Too little exercise or too much sugar/caffeine/bad food or too much passive media intake and I’ll slip into what Truman Capote so perfectly named “the mean reds.” Always liked that better than “the blues.” The blues are for sadness and wallowing. The mean reds are sons of bitches on a covert mission to fuck up your soul.

I hadn’t had a bout in a long time, so they sort of crept up on me this past week without my noticing until they’d really taken root. And once that happens, uprooting them is like battling a flea infestation: slow, painful and largely Sisyphean.

There is not much good to a bout of the mean reds, other than coming out on the other side. The last round of them happened after 9/11 and stuck hard—so hard, in fact, that my therapist came very close to “firing” me. Just the thought of having to go on meds put the fear of god in me (I swear, our mom raised us like Christian Scientists); I did a ton of internet research on depression and came up with a mix of exercise, media blackout, stimulant/depressant fast and vitamin cocktail that lifted the horror long enough to get the talk therapy to work.

I’m off the good insurance now, so talk therapy (outside of the once-monthly session I can afford) is out. Fortunately, my new pal, Arno J. McScruffington, is in (see above for photo of my strikingly handsome savior.)

Within five minutes of meeting him, I felt the clouds part. Just being in the house with him shifts the energy of the place, and makes it a better, healthier, happier place to be. It reminds me of how much I need to get my own house in order, so that I can create my next living space: something with a separate room for an office; a space to house large gatherings of my friends; and an animal companion.

I have never been a Dog Person. Or perhaps, I never knew I had it in me to be one.

So here I am thanking those motherfucking mean reds for introducing me to the miraculous healing powers of the canine rescue pup. (Can you believe someone could not love a face like this?)

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to get me a good dose of Arnie…

xxx
c

Image by The BF, with and via his iPhone. Yes—all this, and an iPhone, too.

TOPICS: 21 day salutes, Arnie, thank you sir may i have another, The BF.

So about three years ago I bought this couch: Big. Red. Room-dominating. Expensive as hell. (What can I say? I was going through a phase about shedding my infernal cheapness. And fuckery. So you see.)

Anyway, it was/is a magnificent couch in its way, but it had no business being in my smallish, mid-century apartment. And as my lifestyle changed—acting replaced by design and its attendant computer sprawl, random fuckery replaced by The BF—it actually became sort of a nuisance as well as an anachronism.

After an unsuccessful attempt to dump the behemoth on my sister’s boyfriend (not literally—he’s nice!), I turned to the master of fuckery—er, craigslist—The BF.

In the two years I’ve known him, The BF has successfully converted a staggering array of used, half-used and unused items to cold, hard cash via eBay and craigslist. Within ten days, he had moved The Behemoth to his place (no mean feat, given the crazy number of stairs involved), put it on wheels (don’t ask), and sold it for cash money (from the buyer) and a Taylor’s steak dinner (from me).

Part of The BF’s high success rate with selling is patience. Selling used goods, like undertaking large-scale home improvement projects or raising children, requires a tolerance for tedium I lack in spades. Not only is The BF not afraid of tearing down an interior wall or making babies or selling used crap, he does it all with panache. Such photos! Such an exquisite sense for pricing! And mainly, such a gift with item descriptions.

Here, for example, is his most recent listing:

Ugly Rug Cheap! 5×8 Pottery Barn Rug All wool - $20

That’s right, you can have this incredibly ugly rug for only twenty bucks! It’s all wool, I don’t even want to think about how much we paid for it originally, but it can be yours for only $20 if you call before I take it down to Goodwill or Out of the Closet.

It’s 5×8, check out the picture of the label, it really is a pottery barn carpet and was decent at one time. It does have some stains which may or may not come out - I don’t want to find out. Personally, I’ve never liked this rug but my wife thought it was OK for the back room, but that’s another story. Now we have another rug and you can have this one for your project room, or garage, or whatever.

From my own experience, I know what a treasure trove of fascinating characters craigslist can be. (I found mine via the fuckery pages, but whatever.) And you don’t have to go to Rants & Raves or Best Of to find them: they’ll come to you, if you say the magic words. Which The BF knows by heart, it would seem. Hence, the following exchange, reprinted exactly as it transpired (email addresses and CL legalese redacted):

From: xxxxxxx@aol.com
To: sale-243280408@craigslist.org
Sent: Sun, 3 Dec 2006 7:03 PM
Subject: Ugly Rug Cheap! 5×8 Pottery Barn Rug All wool - $20

you are funny

***

On Dec 3, 2006, at 7:09 PM, THE_BF@xxxxxx.com wrote:

too bad I can’t make a living at it.

***

—–Original Message—–
From: xxxxxxx@aol.com
To: THE_BF@xxxxxx.com
Sent: Sun, 3 Dec 2006 7:17 PM
Subject: Re: Ugly Rug Cheap! 5×8 Pottery Barn Rug All wool - $20

have you tried organizing it in that way and going for it?

***

On Dec 3, 2006, at 10:00 PM, THE_BF@xxxxxx.com wrote:

are you my subconscious? why are you e-mailing me instead of appearing as the virgin mary like you usually do?

***

—–Original Message—–
From: xxxxxxx@aol.com
To: THE_BF@xxxxxx.com
Sent: Sun, 3 Dec:51 PM
Subject: Re: Ugly Rug Cheap! 5×8 Pottery Barn Rug All wool - $20

I am a virtual virgin reaching to you at Christmas
I am the ghost of christmas 40 years from now
when you didn’t go for your dreams
BECAUSE YOU THOUGHT IT WAS TOO LATE
OR SOME OTHER FRIGGING EXCUSE
BECAUSE YOU ARE SCARED

ME TOO—

***

On Dec 4, 2006, at 12:44 AM, THE_BF@xxxxxx.com wrote:

so I guess this means you don’t want my rug?

***

—–Original Message—–
From: xxxxxxx@aol.com
To: THE_BF@xxxxxx.com
Sent: Mon, 4 Dec 2006 8:24 AM
Subject: Re: Ugly Rug Cheap! 5×8 Pottery Barn Rug All wool - $20

never did
was taken in by the truthful/meaness of the word ‘ugly’
had to read it

***

On Dec 4, 2006, at 9:43 AM, THE_BF@xxxxxx.com wrote:

Thanks for writing! I’m not being sarcastic. At least I don’t think I’m being sarcastic. It’s hard to tell.

You are right, of course - it’s very common to not do something out of fear, and easy to make excuses. At the end of the day, however, the only regrets I have are those of omission, not commission. I’ve never said “gee, i wish I hadn’t done that” but I’ve often said “gee, I wish I had done this when I had the chance”.

You’re sure you don’t want the rug?

***

—–Original Message—–
From: xxxxxxx@aol.com
To: THE_BF@xxxxxx.com
Sent: Mon, 4 Dec 2006 9:52 AM
Subject: Re: Ugly Rug Cheap! 5×8 Pottery Barn Rug All wool - $20

give the rug to a poor person- some woman out of a shelter with kids who’s living with blankets on the floor- someone who can’t even afford to buy something at goodwill
at the end of the day i do say “I wish I hadn’t done that” so lucky for you
I have made some supremely bad choices that i now pay for dearly-
the humor I see in your paragraph was the kind that the writers on Everybody Loves Raymond’ used over and over again- after all- the whole show was a one trick pony- the stupid no nothing husband and the brilliant wife-
alot of humor is that- your one observation about the rug and the room and the wife were enough for a two part sitcom
you know that
it’s the work
either you do it or you don’t
either you want it or you don’t
nobody who makes it is weak

When I think of leaving L.A. these days, it’s only for a place that has a reasonably active craigslist. I mean, where else can you sell your shit, have a philosophical discussion and be insulted all in the same email exchange?

xxx
c

P.S. The rug is still for sale.

TOPICS: communicating, craigslist, The BF.

I am not so much for Valentine’s Day, just like I am not so much for St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Halloween, Christmas or even Thanksgiving, although I mind that one the least.

After many years of grappling with What To Do On Holidays, I have finally found peace with the notion that all days are equal chances to offer love and good fellowship and even—hell, especially—candy. But if I am to honor saints or presidents or martyrs (or be honored in their names), I would rather do it with words or pictures or hugs & kisses (especially kisses) than anything you can buy in a store.

That said, this little sketchbook is still my favorite Valentine’s Day gift ever. Until today, that is, when I get The BF back from duties that took him elsewhere.

And so, I am off to the airport. May you all fly with wings to the one you love.

xxx
c

TOPICS: The BF.

Ten-and-a-half months ago, I woke up hungover from what I hope will be my last New Year’s Eve alone. Not because I have a problem with being alone or even being alone for New Year’s Eve, but because on January 1st, 2005, I was lucky enough to meet someone so wonderful and so brilliant and so perfect (for me), the only hope I have left is that I’ll die before he does because the idea of a life without him breaks my heart.

I use the word “meet” loosely. I emailed The BF via The Onion personals; he answered via Salon’s personals. I, you see, am a dork and a hussy. The BF, on the other hand, is a geek and a gentleman—far, far too polite to turn a lady (or even me) down flat.

Sometimes we joke-wonder about why we didn’t meet each other 10 years ago. And whatever the reason, the truth is I wasn’t ready for the likes of him—so gentle, so true, so tolerant and supportive. Do you need something? Do you need it now? Or worse, the Hollywood version of ‘now’, which is yesterday? The BF’s got your back. I have learned to be careful what I wish for out loud around him, lest it show up on my doorstep, metaphorically or literally.

And of course it goes without saying he’s in the 99th percentile when it comes to brains, sense of humor and sheer sex appeal.

Let me tell you this: I don’t generally go in for corny sentiment. I’m generally a guy’s gal—the kind of tough, hard-talkin’ dame that makes John Wayne look like Jake Gyllenhal. But when my friend, Vic, inquired as to details of this fine romance, I replied without hesitation: The BF is the answer to a prayer I didn’t know I’d been praying.

A-fucking-men.

xxx
c

TOPICS: Daily Cosmic Shoutout, FOCs, online dating, The BF.