BOT BULLITS & CHATGPT


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MISADVENTURES OF TODAYJob boards alerts for the JOB I am perfectly suited for, are in Tallahassee or Wichita and require AI experience, and about seven variables of programs written as unrecognizable anagrams. I am only in my fourth month of job searching digitally, days of in person interviews are akin to eight-hundred-page novels.

My resume is professionally edited, posted on all the legit job sites and about ten questionable ones. I write personal letters to the museums, galleries, foundations and event planning departments, no reply, or the feigned friendly formal answer, ‘Thank you for contacting us! We do appreciate your time. We’ve chosen another candidate.’ The algorithm cadets are pushing me in the slush pile. Can you blame me if at least one day a week I scream silently. The bot bounty hunters are shooting me. Set this aside and see my phone, the icons on the home page change weekly, by a phonebot, and google decided to sync five thousand laptop photos on my phone. Now when I have to scan for a return to Amazon because they sent me two fans instead of one, the scan is where?

On my knees praying this laptop continues to behave or I will scream outdoors and be reported within seconds by a resident because Solana Beach bodies seem to obey all the orders. I tend to test authority, like not renewing my driver’s license for two years, and lying to my Doctor about my state of mind, because he’ll advise therapy and I self-analyze myself about everything, so why hear it twice.

The new modest home serves me what I came him for, ocean breezes, quiet, and private, neighbors that seem to harmonize, we can just say hi, is ok. At the intersection where I live, athletic, toned, and tanned looking males and females run, jog, walk, bike the sidewalks and streets in identical outfits. Sort of like a stage play and it’s inspiring to see that health is the way to live, I just don’t remember that culture dominating when I lived here. What I don’t understand doesn’t bother me, it’s a curiously about moving back home and feeling misfitted. Those of you who know me, have heard me say this about every location I move.

The ocean breeze, fan blowing against the curtain panes, bougainvillea bushes that colorize my terrace, the phone calls from friends, and edits sent by my publisher tranquilize the BOTS AND BOOBOOS.

Misfitted and anxious for acknowledgement due to not having ten thousand followers or whatever is the number, an author’s marketing team (everything seems to be in teams) contacted me with an offer to represent my book, Cradle of Crime-A Daughters Tribute published in 2017. Here’s the first paragraph of the first email.

The idea at the heart of Cradle of Crime is one that I had never encountered framed quite this way before. A daughter’s journey into her father’s criminal past, beginning ten years after his death. Most memoirs about family secrets are written as reckonings, as confrontations with the truth, as attempts to understand how a parent’s hidden life shaped the child who was left behind. You wrote something different. You wrote a book that is not just about uncovering the past, it is about the impact of that uncovering on your own identity, about the humiliation, rage, shame, and acceptance that came with discovering that your father was Benjamin Bugsy Siegel’s best friend and business partner. And you built that entire idea around the truth that the secrets our parents keep are not just their own, they become ours, and that the work of understanding who we are often requires us to confront who they were, even when what we find is devastating. That reframe is everything.

Six emails later and digging through all the scam searches, I discovered BOT LITERARY HOAX. On my base she pitched me the marketing plan, without cost. Now I have a comprehensive skill set to use! Sample: Listopia, ARC team, enhanced keywords, categories, Amazon Ads, metadata overhaul, refresh, etc. I did not use any of these when I self-published. I thought about reporting them, No, they can hack me!   

This week, another author marketing team contacted me with a similar, your story resonates with multiple markets you haven’t accessed. So, I decided to ask ChatGPT to run a check. One minute didn’t pass before this was returned. The opening sentence was, Luellen, I wouldn’t advise this company for Gaslighting Greta! BOT brilliance, he remembered from a previous question.   

Absolutely. I can recreate the Michael Literary Team assessment we just did.

Michael Literary Team โ€” Red Flag Report

Website: Michael Literary Team

Overall assessment: HIGH CAUTION.

I would not send them money, your complete manuscript, financial information, passwords, or other sensitive material until the company is independently verified. I would not call it definitively a scam based solely on the evidence, but there are enough warning signs that I would not treat it as a conventional, established literary agency without further verification.

Major red flags we identified

  1. Multiple/near-duplicate domains
    • There appears to be both a correctly spelled Michael Literary Team site and a misspelled โ€œMichealโ€ version.
    • This is unusual and raises questions about the history and ownership of the operation.
  2. Changing personnel and biographies
    • Names and positions appearing on the sites have inconsistencies.
    • Some biographies have the feel of generalized/template-generated profiles rather than independently verifiable publishing-industry rรฉsumรฉs.
  3. Website/template errors
    • We found repeated spelling, wording, and structural errors.
    • There were also inconsistencies in company information.
  4. Incomplete Chicago address
    • The claimed Chicago presence did not provide the kind of easily verifiable business information you would expect from an established literary agency.
  5. Very broad range of services
    • The operation appears to offer an unusually wide combination of literary, publishing, marketing, cinematic, and related services.
    • That isn’t proof of wrongdoing, but it warrants scrutiny.
  6. Testimonials are difficult to independently verify
    • Testimonials on a company’s own website aren’t strong evidence of legitimacy unless the authors and their publishing histories can be independently confirmed.
  7. The Gavin Westbrook example
    • We found outside discussion concerning a $1,000 package and a relatively small independent social footprint.
    • This deserves additional verification before relying on the testimonial or client claims.
  8. Weak independent footprint
    • An established literary agency would normally leave a substantial trail outside its own websites: reputable publishing databases, established agents, publisher relationships, industry references, verifiable authors, rights sales, etc.

Part 2 โ€” Connection to Susan Literary Team

This was particularly interesting.

We found evidence suggesting a substantial connection between Michael Literary Team and Susan Literary Team, including:

  • Emmanuel Carter appearing in connection with both.
  • Susan Cinematic appearing on the older/misspelled Michael site.
  • Susan Cinematic being associated with the Susan organization.
  • Similar website structures, services, Chicago references, and wording.
  • The Susan domain appearing to have been registered on March 21, 2026.
  • Similar language concerning a โ€œbulk buyer strategy.โ€
  • Repeated copy/wording errors across the sites.

That does not, by itself, prove fraud. But the similarities make the relationship between these organizations an important issue to investigate.

Bottom line

My assessment was essentially:

HIGH CAUTION โ€” do not pay until independently verified.

The evidence is strong enough that I would not recommend treating Michael Literary Team as a verified, traditional literary agency at this point.

And importantly, the 75โ€“85% figure we discussed was a โ€œdo not pay until independently verifiedโ€ risk assessment, not a mathematical probability that the company is fraudulent.

I HOPE YOU FOUND THIS HUMAN TOUCH HELPFUL!

INSOMNIA OF SEPARATION-SARATOGA, NY


ย  JOURNAL 12/6/2022 ADVENTURES IN LIVINGNESS FALLS ON EXCERPT FROM NEXT BOOK.ย  ย ย ย ย ย 

A fractured life impacts emotional posture and is not unlike physical posture. We slump or stand tall. We love; instead of neutralizing, we are inspired; instead of being stagnant, we romance; and we live to love. My heart is at the starting gate to love again, but the racetrack is missing. I’m undercover! The vortex of discontent is a punctured life. I spend more time watching sky stage plays, my favorite window tree, sculpted into aberrations of animals and faces than on cognitive thinking.

What I think of at three in the morning spirals into realizations and recognitions, and a time when my mirrors move toward me. The insomnia of separation from a manโ€™s shoulder bowed to my head, tweaks my worries like soft bread. The mind that directs me when driving adventurely maps our journey safely. The voice that encourages and applauds my success rather than swaying with jealousy or preoccupation. ย How the laughter erupts in a moment of spontaneous passion. The gestures of him shaving, and the modest vanity after I re-wardrobe him. Feeling his eyes in a crowd, undressing or admiring me, for some folly orย expression. The humor he finds in my misguided attempts to open bottles and packages with a dull spoon and figure out electronics. How he will pardon and pamper my unwarranted fears of stalkers, nightmares, cancer, and falling down the slippery wooden stairs. The man whose balance evens my wrinkles, ย lets light into my eyes, and opens my shell with wonder and shelter. ย ย ย 

ย Henry Miller writes in his book, โ€œ Henry Miller on Writing,โ€ โ€œWhoever greatly suffers must be, I suppose, a sublime combination of a sadist and masochist.โ€™ย  I think he’s looking at me.

 Every moment needs attention. It’s twenty degrees outdoors. I am modestly adjusted, and receive a thousand warnings a week to get a flu shot. My doctor has tried persuading me to get a flu shot for three years.  I responded that I’d never had the flu and that my last cold was in 2012. He chuckled and asked the next question. 

CULTUREING & HISTORY


When and why does privacy replace honesty. Do we have more lies to hide? I find conversations starched, and drafty. When I go out to socialize, I’ll bring a book, one that speaks truth and stage it for attention.

My problems are cornflakes compared to what is in the news: racism, sexual allegations infiltrating the most unimaginable perpetrators, suicides, corruption, mass murder rampages and the politics are so degenerative I fear we have lost all civility. Our souls are at risk, and our consciousness is poisoned because the message is this: if you apologize, you can be exonerated. ย In a way, the news reminds me that I have very little problems in that zone, as Iโ€™m incapable of crime and racial prejudice. I am guilty of gullibility, raffish behavior and selfishness… that’s not the full list!

After checking emails, I searched for something, you know the feeling, one track goes in a dozen directions with popups, andI landed on this page. It’s Yellow Advertiser. Wrong name for Today in History, but I love this! Early morning history honking. ย ย ย 

Today in History https://www.yellowad.co.uk/it-happened-today

Today in Historyโ€ฆit happened on this day! Look back through our archive to find out what happened on this day or any other in history!

Newsย Today in Historyย 

It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ August 1

   YA Reporter  0 Comments August 1newsToday in history

10BC: Birth of Claudius. 30BC: Marc Antony (Marcus Antonius) commits suicide aged 53. 10BC: Birth of Emperor Claudius (Tberius Claudius Caesar AugustusRead more

1971: Astronaut James Irwin and the lunar rover

News Today in History 

It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ July 31

   YA Reporter  0 Comments July 31newsToday in history

54BC: Aurelia Cotta, mother of Julius Caesar, dies at 66. 30BC: Marc Antony achieves a minor victory over Octavian atRead more

1909: Eugรจne Schueller (Mayns) CC_4.0

News Today in History 

It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ July 30

   YA Reporter  0 Comments July 30newsToday in history

762: The city of Baghdad is founded by Abbasid caliph Al-Mansur, just north of ancient Baghdad. 1678: English troops landRead more

1972: Screaming Lord Sutch (Joe Mabel) CC_3.0

News Today in History 

It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ July 29

   YA Reporter  0 Comments July 29newsToday in history

904: Thessalonica is sacked by Saracen pirates led by renegade Leo of Tripoli. 1221: Emperor Go-Horikawa, aged only 10 yearsRead more

1988: Paddy Ashdown (ยฉ European Communities, 2005)

News Today in History 

It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ July 28

   YA Reporter  0 Comments July 28newsToday in history

1148: Crusaders abandon their siege of Damascus. 1540: Thomas Cromwell, chief minister for Henry VIII is executed for treason andRead more

News Today in History 

It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ July 27

   YA Reporter  0 Comments July 27newsToday in history

1214: King John of England loses Normandy and his other possessions in France to Philip II of France (hence hisRead more

1957: Carlos Castillo Armas

News Today in History 

It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ July 26

   YA Reporter  0 Comments July 26newsToday in history

1267: The Inquisition forms in Rome under Pope Clement IV. 1469: The forces of Richard Neville, 16th Earl of WarwickRead more

1943: Benito Mussolini

News Today in History 

It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ July 25

   YA Reporter  0 Comments July 25newsToday in history

306: Constantine I is proclaimed Roman Emperor by his troops. 1261: Constantinople recaptured by Nicaean forces under Alexios Strategopoulos forRead more

1904: Henri Cornet

News Today in History 

It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ July 24

   YA Reporter  0 Comments July 24newsToday in history

1148: Louis VII of France lays siege to Damascus during the Second Crusade. 1411: The Battle of Harlaw, one ofRead more

1955: Bluebird K7

News Today in History 

It happened today โ€“ this day in history โ€“ July 23

   YA Reporter  0 Comments July 23newsToday in history

636: Arabs gain control of most of Palestine from the Byzantine Empire. 1148: Crusaders attack Damascus. 1745: Charles Edward Stuart,Read more

A PITCH FOR PUBLICATION


I just came across this post and thought maybe a writer in waiting will read this and keep on truckin!

IN NOVEMBER OF 2005 I reserved a space at the San Francisco Writers Conference. I was nervous and edgy when I boarded the plane. My pitch proposal, pitch suit, and pitch necklace, were tucked inside my suitcase. The pitch convinces an agent or publisher, that you know your subject well enough to feel one hundred percent confident.ย  It may sound irrational that a writer could work five years on a book and not know what it is about. As an emerging writer I view my work through a kaleidoscope lens. I see multiple themes, subplots, and messages, and they change with each reading. Then there are loose knots of personal misery, lost versions and rejections ringing in my ears. My pitch has to convince an agent, that at least 5,000 people will buy my book. The pitch suit is the outfit you wear for an interview; only for writers, the guidelines are very loose. Some writers wear their narrative. I brought my tailored, looking successful, pants suit. My pitch necklace is a gold Buddha medallion that my father had designed for my mother. I wear it for good luck and because I know the necklace has survived all the family tragedies. The conference is at the St. Francis Hotel at Union Square. OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

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It was pouring when I arrived. The staff at the front desk greeted me with musical familiarity. Every time I swished by they called out, โ€œHello, Ms. Smiley.โ€ I imagined them as a chorus singing my name. I arrived one day early to pace the galleries, cafes, museums and Saks. After the first night, I had to switch rooms. I was directly above the street dumpsters, where for hours the chugging of trash kept me awake. I moved frantically, to scoop everything up and not miss a moment of San Francisco. After switching rooms, I dashed over to the Espresso Bar. It faces the corner of Powell and Sutter. Outside, the streetcars clanged by, passengers dangling from the bars like vines on a tree. In between the tracks, workers both blue and white-collar, and some without any collar at all, jammed the sidewalks on foot, bicycle, moped and skateboard. With phones and iPods attached, eyes alert, they buzzed on the vibe of Saturday, moving like musical notes in a symphony.

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In the cafรฉ an elderly woman wearing a SFWC name tag was seated next to me. I noticed she positioned her book on the corner of her table. She looked overwhelmed and frightened. As I introduced myself she smiled courteously, and said she was a neurotic housewife all her life and didnโ€™t have much to write about, so she wrote about her husbandโ€™s war stories. I told her she should write about the neurotic housewife. Just as I was leaving, she stopped me and thanked me for speaking to her. โ€œThereโ€™s always a guardian angel around.โ€ Her voice lingered in my thoughts all weekend.
At six oโ€™clock that evening, I was gliding around my room dressing for the gala. I reached for my jewelry bag. It was gone. The weekend was ruined! I would never get published, Iโ€™m too wired, too reckless, too distracted. I called the front desk. Heather said she would call me back. Bang, bang, bang, went my shoe against the bed frame. Then the phone rang.
โ€œHello, Ms. Smiley. Iโ€™m sending the bellman up with your jewelry.โ€
I answered the door recoiling with pained joy. The bellman listened attentively. I rushed upstairs to Harry Dentonโ€™s Starlight Room. There I began wine tasting with Maggie, Peg and George; three new comrades in a room of hundreds.
I spent the next day among more comrades, writers with unpublished stories, books, and works-in-progress. I listened to panels of writers; agents and editors discussed the fateful downward spin of publishing and upward battle towards reward.ย  We sat in our chairs looking overly anxious, taking copious notes, and waiting for answers to our questions. At the end of the panel discussion we all lined up to meet the agents and editors. While we stood in line we met each other.
โ€œWhatโ€™s your story about?โ€ the woman behind me asked.
โ€œGrowing up with gangsters,โ€ I replied.
โ€œ Oh well! That will get you an agent.โ€
โ€œ I hope so.โ€

During the conference, I experienced a lucky throw of the dice. I met one of my mentors; Joyce Maynard. Her book, โ€œAt Home in the World,โ€ is on my beside table. Joyce was published in the New York Times when she was sixteen years old. JD Salinger read the piece and invited her to live with him. Joyceโ€™s story will send you back to reading Nine Stories.
As I progressed through the circle holding my pitch stick, the fear and apprehension subsided just a tiny bit. Three agents responded; โ€˜send me your manuscript.โ€™ Naturally when I returned home, my hands were tied to editing. I rushed through, did not employ someone to copy-edit, and then ran about announcing my almost to be signed contract. Three months later I recovered from the rejections and began another rewrite and another until today, when I am on my fifth manuscript. This one feels right because I am not rushing through it expectant of publication; this time I know it will be published.

Ten years later, I self-published.ย 

CRADLE OFย  CRIME-A DAUGHTER’Sย  TRIBUTE.

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SATURDAY EPIFHANY


I had it today, unlike other days that the truth is mettled or opaque or I am distracted. It reminds me of one of the wisdoms my father passed on to me: ” You can fool the whole world little sweetheart, but you can’t fool yourself.” I was a teen, when he passed on this mantra of living, now, today on a sunny Solana Beach go to the beach or racetrack day, I sit here and contemplate who I was fooling and why.

At some point in my thirties, I decided to outperform convention: marriage, children, my career, and lead without warnings, without proven methods, I thought experimentation was my path. I changed careers, moved to multiple locations, and threw the dice on finances. I can’t truly say no regrets, adventures in livingness brings growth, but the bank account needs growth too! My gang, assures me I’ll get back on the track, thank God for friends that believe in us, right! I don’t need five million followers, just my five fly over me forever friends.

On the track, earlier this week I had a conversation about the Del Mar Horseraces. The race track at Del Mar is on and my friend goes several days a week,

” Its really a lot of fun. Why don’t you come sometime and get away from editing?”

” I’ve told you, haven’t I? My dad gambled on everything: horses, sports, the academy awards, and at lunch, if the fly would go out the open window. If I win, I know, I’ll get addicted.”

” Oh, yes, I forgot you mentioned that.”

So, the dice throwing is in remission, going forward: manage impulse, unconventional living, be sensible, pragmatic and use proven methods.

Solana Beach masses are at the beach or the track, and I’m editing. ( deleted 25 pages today because people don’t read 400 page books) You know why I can do it? Because I spent my glorified years going to the beach, the track, partying, parading, and popping.

ADVENTURES IN MOVING TO CALIFORNIA


If youโ€™ve read my columns about minimalistic living: adapting to Solana Beach health, wealth and wardrobe conformity (female: leggings, workout bra, or at night show it or stow it. Male, bare-chested or T-shirt with their business logo on the back.) I add this confession, if  the community residents were any happier than what Iโ€™ve observed Iโ€™d get therapy.

This week I became LEGITIMATE.

My New Mexico driver’s license expired in Sept 2024. I was living in my home in Saratoga, and attempted to gather the fourteen documents to show proof of residence, and get a NY driverโ€™s license.  I loved my turquoise NM license plates, and did not think Iโ€™d be  there longer than a year, so I didnโ€™t renew. I drove sparingly, as the village was in walking distance and I had Amazon delivery. 

In January 2026 I moved into a hotel in Del Mar, CA and my car was transported by an auto moving company. I spent about thirty hours reviewing the documents I needed to get a CA license moving from out of state. I managed to get registration through my CA insurance agent, and CA auto insurance but DMV wanted proof of residence, (hotels not accepted) so I used Uber. I finally found my studio in May, and used all my time furnishing, and avoided the DMV. Friends offered to drive me there, and they or I got sidetracked.

Finally, a friend here said,

โ€œ Loulou youโ€™ve got to get it done. Weโ€™ll go Monday, this week.โ€ I bought the cheat sheet, (out of staters have to take the written test) and studied it all weekend. Andrew, my friend, we met at five years old, called and said,

โ€œ Did you get an appointment?โ€

โ€œThereโ€™s a line of twenty-five, and besides the dice didnโ€™t roll to seven.โ€

โ€œLoulou, forget the dice and the line, they go fast.โ€

โ€œ Iโ€™ll be over at ten o clock.โ€

I panicked and reviewed my folder of documents the online DMV said I needed: Birth certificate, certificate of sale, insurance, registration, social security card, proof of residence , passport, and DMV security code.   

My phone maps app was taken over by google so I couldnโ€™t access directions, I kept getting an error. So, I handwrote them on a  page and met Andrew.

โ€œ You have the directions on GPS, I donโ€™t know where San Marcos is exactly, do you?โ€

โ€œNot to make this more complex, I couldnโ€™t access the app so I wrote them down.โ€

โ€œ Thatโ€™s good, you have all your documents?โ€

โ€œ Everything but height and weight,” He laughed and we took off on the freeway. Andrew is a conversant man and because we grew up in the same class through high school we can speak, uninhibited. Childhood friends shared innocence, and the rarity of calculated devious behavior. Our trust is dependable and accountable.

โ€œDo you know why I wore all pink?โ€

โ€œCause you โ€ฆ I have no idea.โ€

โ€œ Men and women love pink, so if I get a male clerk, heโ€™ll like it and so will a female.โ€

โ€œ Whereโ€™d you get that tidbit?โ€

โ€œMe, people like pink, and a search, pink evokes love and compassion.” Our conversation leaped from old friends to our parentโ€™s, to tech complaints, going canoeing on a lake we passed, diet, aging, politics, antisemitism (we’re both Jewish) and thenโ€ฆ

โ€œ Do we turn here?โ€

โ€œ Yes, we go east and then turn on San Marcos Boulevard for one mile and then Rancheros for three miles, and then..

โ€œOkay, two directions at a time.โ€

After five miles of driving through residential neighborhoods, I knew we were lost. Andrew listened when I suggested we turn back, and we finally arrived at the DMV.

My ex wouldnโ€™t listen to my directions for thirty-five years. Thank you for listening! You know men are famous for refusing driving directions.โ€

โ€œHey, Iโ€™m perfectโ€

To be continued.

High School.

WRITER’S REALITY


JOURNAL SEPTEMBER 2022

I was walking the streets, and the descriptive details had since evaporated. I mentally pluck myself out of this moment and open the shades to thought and memory, where all writers meet on some psychic level, the place of imagination and creation, an abnormality of reality.

A passage from Anais Nin’s diary says, โ€œBe careful not to enter the world with any need to seduce, charm, conquer what you do not want, only for the sake of approval. This is what causes the frozen moment before people and cuts all naturalness and trust. The real wonders of life lie in the depths. Exploring the depths for truth is the real wonder which the child and the artist know: magic and power lie in truth.โ€

FRIENDSHIP DANCES OVER POLITICS


FROM ZORBA THE GREEK – A TALE OF FRIENDSHIP

Friends are bookends that bind our stories; some are novellas, some are poems, some are cinematic, and each friend serves as a bookend to our personal history.  When Iโ€™ve lost my way and need direction my friends motorize me, and when I fly without wings, they ring the bell to come down to earth. At times, arguments arise and my friendships stray, but true-life friends never leave you behind. Sometimes, years may pass, and then one day you receive a call or an email, or send one yourself, and the memory of that particular squabble in history fades away. You can start anew; at the same time, it is not.

The essence of friendship never burns out; it is our galaxy, a kind of celestial agility. Are you experiencing a startling outpouring from friends whoโ€™ve left your life only to suddenly show up on your social media or a personal email? Are your friends calling and writing more often?ย  I’m always examining some unfamiliar events in life, a new trend, a cultural change.ย  Seems like every topic can be mixed with politics, sometimes the mixture is explosive. Iโ€™ve halted the political discussions, and so have my friends, as they are more important to my livingness than politics. With one exception, antisemitism, those are excluded!

A WRITER’S PATH


To write, to study, read, edit, I sacrificed: family, marriage, children, security, finances, and peace of mind. I am a columnist, and author, that lives with a constant source of material by those sacrifices. They have become my vortex of adventures in livingness to gain material. At times, like now, I question that path–and the answer is, I didn’t choose the path, it chose me.

TRADITIONAL AND NON-TRADITIONAL


 FREINDS, FAMILY AND FIREWORKS, Not me.  Leave out the friends and family. But not the fireworks. I havenโ€™t been here long enough to make new friends, and the ones I would call are out of town or playing homebase to avoid the traffic. The first day free of mind bending, sneezing, coughing and body thrashing over the last two weeks with bronchitis subsided. I even mentioned to a friend. โ€˜the best thing about suffering is when it ends.โ€™   The last time I had the flu was 2011.  

New York.  I couldnโ€™t abate watching the fleet parade along the Hudson or the fly overs above the Statue  of Liberty, or pay very close attention to the historical narrative on the sacrifices our founders lived and died for, so we can celebrate today and tomorrow. What a juxtaposition between the insignificance of being sick and taking a bullet. The day of history and visuals had me looking up every founder, and significant document, dates, places and rendering the Saratoga Battlefield visit with Jx years ago

 “Site of the historic 1777 Battles of Saratoga, which represented the first significant victory for the rebels in the American Revolution. Today, the 3,200-acre park is a popular tourism and recreation site and a wildlife conservation area.”

I took myself out to dinner across the street at the Brigantine, folded into a room filled with chatting staff, guestโ€™s conversation, and a panoramic view of the fairgrounds and Del Mar mountain tops.  I sat in the center, unusual for me I usually cling to a wall, but this restaurant has become a sanctuary for socializing, or just being solo, either way Iโ€™ve never left disappointed.

โ€œ You dropped this outside the bathroom,โ€ a young shaggy blonde hair boy of twelve or thirteen handed it to me.

โ€œOh! Thank you so much, that is very thoughtful.โ€™โ€™  He shied, dropped his head in that way that makes adults wonder why we  became so different, and left.

Then later on, as I was outside on the terrace enjoying the view of the fair, I noticed him and a woman next to me.  We started to talk, I think she liked my necklace or my pants or something and I saw the little boy and I said is that your son? She said yes and I told her the story. She introduced me to her husband, the uncle, the children, the other children’s parents. And when she left, she hugged me. That kind of intervention makes the difference for a single person.

EVENING.  After watching the DC extravaganza, I walked outdoors, to  the corner, the street was back to back traffic, helicopters, neighborsโ€™ standing on sidewalks and on our property, and I looked up at the start of a Del Mar Fairgrounds fireworks show that  stopped me short.

FATHER’S DAY AFTER HIS DEATH


Overlapping Fatherโ€™s Day is a mirage of life experiences tucked into memory prescriptions you take on a stormy day. A relic of my history rises and reminds me of the fear I once broke through.

It was 1983, and I was poised on a terrace overlooking the Pacific Ocean in Venice Beach. It was March, the month my father died, and I stared at the horizon at dusk, imagining my freedom taking flight. Where would I go? Without his presence in Los Angeles, and my sister, who had already moved to New York, I was terribly alone. The replacement came in summer flings, with men who had crossed my path; a photographer, a New Jersey computer technician with a brassy voice and Joe Pesci humor, and every few days, Kenny, a former boyfriend, dropped by to smoke his pipe of philosophy and blow long-winded ideas on where I should move.

โ€œI really want to move to Canada,โ€ I said.

โ€œFor what? To go ice-skating?โ€ He said between puffs.

โ€œI have family in Vancouver.โ€

โ€œWhat family? Youโ€™re an orphan now.โ€

โ€œI am not. I have cousins in Vancouver. My fatherโ€™s nephews.โ€

โ€œOh, yeah. When was the last time you saw them?โ€

โ€œWhen I was twelve.โ€

โ€œTerrific! Thatโ€™s a solid-ass plan. So what will you do in Canada?โ€

โ€œGet a job in real estate.โ€

โ€œLue! Wake up. You canโ€™t get work in Canada unless youโ€™re a citizen. Forget that idea. Youโ€™re better off staying here; look where you are: Santa Monica, the beach at your feet. Are you crazy?โ€

โ€œI donโ€™t belong here any longer.โ€

โ€œYou donโ€™t belong to anywhere; what you need is to stop trying to be a big shot like your father.โ€

โ€œI am not!โ€

โ€œWhen was the last time you left the country? When you were eighteen? Go to Rio, youโ€™ll have the time of your life, or Italy, or Greece–it doesnโ€™t matter. Just take the chance and see how you land on your feet. Youโ€™re a dreamer; itโ€™s about time you made one of your dreams come true.โ€

In the next few weeks, I met with Larry, my boss, who was liquidating his real estate portfolio to retire at 45. Larry wasnโ€™t just an investment visionary; he was passionate about social, political, medical, scientific, and human interests. He was a genius.

โ€œYou can stay here another year–Iโ€™ll find something for you to do, but youโ€™ll be bored,โ€ Larry told me.

โ€œLarry, I donโ€™t know where to go.โ€ I wiped a tear. He ignored it.

โ€œYou have to get out of LA. Youโ€™ll never meet anyone here. You think youโ€™ll be introduced to someone riding up and down the elevator in Century City. Iโ€™ve spent a lot of time in Del Mar and Rancho Santa Fe. Theyโ€™re nice people. You have a chance there; go down, spend a few days, and tell me what you think. Iโ€™ll help you. Now, stop crying. โ€œ

I drove down in Dadโ€™s black El Dorado, and parked at Del Mar Beach right next to the lifeguard station at the Poseidon Restaurant. I opened my suitcase, took out a bathing suit, and went into the beach bathroom. The tile was wet and smelled of seaweed and salt. I walked barefoot down to the beach. It was early spring, and the sand was unmarked. A few surfers jogged past me, blonde and bronzed like the Beach Boys. I followed them down to the seashore. In every direction, there was this untouched canvas of light and color; even the beach houses retained their natural sandy simplicity.

After I swam in the ocean, I went back to the bathroom, changed into dry clothes, and walked into town. A man with a beard rode past me on a horse and waved. I picked up a Reader and read the rental advertisements on the patio of Carlos and Charlieโ€™s, the corner cafรฉ. A roommate advertisement caught my eye: โ€œRoommate Wanted to Share large two-bedroom overlooking Torrey Pines Reserve.โ€ I called, and a man who went by the name of Smokey answered the phone. He invited me to come by for a look. His voice was predominantly ranch-friendly, so I took a drive over. It did occur to me on the drive that I was taking that chance Ken was blowing in my ear, and I was listening to Larry, who told me that people in San Diego were different.

โ€œHi, Iโ€™m Smokey. Come inโ€”would you like something to drink? Too early for cocktails, unless you want one.โ€

โ€œNo thanks. How long have you lived here?โ€

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His eyes were animal-alert, his face tanned, and his hair cut short but made to look long. His smile was unfiltered with hidden motives, and he was bull-legged.

โ€I moved from Pittsburgh; Iโ€™ll never go back except to see my folks. This is paradise. Donโ€™t you think? Iโ€™ve lived here for two years. I rent out one room, because I hate full-time work. Iโ€™m more entrepreneurial. You donโ€™t have to worry about my motives. I have a girlfriend, and Iโ€™m in love with her. She doesnโ€™t stay here. I go to her house. Youโ€™ll have your space, and if you need a friend, Iโ€™m here. Come out on the balcony.โ€

I followed Smokey, and we stood on the terrace overlooking the lagoon and marshlands of the reserve. To the west, the ocean and the stump of Torrey Pines Mountain.

โ€œWait till sunset; youโ€™ll never want to leave. Come look at your room. I can help you move if you want.โ€

The room was downstairs, his upstairs, and a stairway of trust in between.

โ€œIโ€™ll take it. When can I move in?โ€

โ€œWhenever you wish.โ€

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WRITING FOR TRUTH LIKE DRILLING FOR OIL


A momentary connection occurred to me last night after watching, โ€œThere Will Be Bloodโ€ about drilling for oil. The oil derrick is the outline, or the notes scribbled in a journal. Then the pipes are set in place, like words in a sentence, then paragraphs. Our characters come into view some muscular and brazen like the drillers, welders, rig workers and mud loggers.  Once those elements are configured in the oil field or in sensory perception the story begins. The paragraphs build into pages and the pages build a story.

The writer  digs for substance for soulful spiritual contemplation and he builds on it. Sometimes it comes like a gush of oil. Other times it bubbles at the surface and goes nowhere. When the bubbles recede, we move on to another location internally and externally and we begin to dig for a new well story.

These ruminations came to me after watching the film, especially poignant to me as my father at the age of fifty left a life of gambling and mafia assorted activities and learned to be an oil producer. He was introduced to Howard Hughes through Meyer Lansky and Frank Costello and Howard introduced Dad to a wildcatter in Houston named Lenoir Josey. My mother and father moved to Houston from Los Angeles in 1949 and into the Shamrock Hotel, that being the hotel used in the film Giant, and Edna Ferber’s book, about Glenn McCarthy, played brilliantly by James Dean. He built the Shamrock, and it opened on St Patrick’s Day 1949 (the pool was so large you could water ski across) Glenn became close friends with my father. I met him once in Los Angeles at a lunch with Dad. He was broken, by his loss of fortune. and friends. I recall a face withered by disappointments. 

 Josey as my father referred to him took my father under his wing and tutored him in the business of oil engineering and oil production It was a gamble and my father a life long gambler on everything loved being in the oil business. I didnโ€™t intend to wave my fatherโ€™s story into this but intentions in writing as many things in life surprise us.

If J. Edgar Hoover hadn’t refused my fatherโ€™s request to reside in Houston to continue the oil business I would have been born in Texas. My father was forced to move back to Los Angeles and as Hoover predicted he went back to gambling. During his time with Josey, he amassed twelve oil leases in states across the Southwest and Midwest and when he died that part of his life was handed down to his children in royalty leasehold interests. That was when oil was $17 a barrel. But Josey had passed and his son no longer honored the handshake agreement between his father and mine and forced us to sell our leasehold interests for a shameful amount.

To be continued