Be Reckless

Moki's Sweet Thirteen

Moki is 13 years old today. Since he is the best companion in the all world, I owed him something special to celebrate his "teen age". And since this dog has been a little depressed over his arthritis and on-and- off limping, I thought I needed to distract him big time from feeling old. In fact, most of the time Moki still believes to be an energetic and lively puppy. He just has some bad days, as it is common at a certain age (don't say which one, please!)

One more awesome road trip. That's what the adventurous dog needed to lift his mood. Therefore, we jumped in the car a few days ago with all the equipment needed for the open road. Destination Gran Canyon, and Wakan Tanka and the spirits of the whole Canine Paradise might have blessed our decision since we encountered gorgeous weather and crispy air, crystal clear sky and amazing sunsets.

Now we are back in our treehouse on top of the hills overlooking Griffith Observatory. November 1st, 13 years gone by, beautiful day and a surprising late blossom of yellow flowers all over the yard. The sun is still shining and Moki's legs still running. What more could an old dog wish for?

READY, ALMOST

A few hours to go and I will be boarding the plane to Italy. Quick trip, lot of things to fit in a short period of time, long awful flight and tons of appointments.

But the real reason for me to go is to be there for Marina's passing anniversary on the 17th. I hate to go to Italy knowing that I will not meet her, neither my mom. It is the first time this happens and it feels so weird, in many ways so wrong. But I am trying to remember how terrible it was one year ago, when I went back to Italy in these same days right after the exciting Obama's victory. I ran back to Italy the day after the elections only to find my sister even sicker than when I left, canceling my hopes for her recovery.

I can't imagine a trip worse than that one. Hopefully, this November 2009 will be better. Marina surely is better now than one year ago. Although I am still having troubles to let go, to make peace with losing my sister. Life has not been the same since and it will never be.

But now it's time to live again. I packed Marina's turquois cashmere sweather in my carry on. That takes up almost all the space for clothing in my luggage but I felt like. It will be a turquois journey, blue flying in space and time.

Flash Forward, Why It Works

I m not a fan of tv shows, generally speaking. I particularly resent that a good pace get interrupted too many times by commercials, which has been the reason for me to detach from watching CSI as a regular and renounce my Time Warner cable subscription until I discovered video on demand.

Now that I know that I can watch a good show on my on timing and pre-purging it by all the interruptions, I selectively watch tv again. Because it is often on tv that I find new, truly innovative narrative techniques. 

I was stricken when I saw the first episode of Lost years ago, lost myself in admiration for the screenwriters' ability to make you participate to the interior drama and struggles of the many characters. No other show had done it so well until then. But Lost was set on a desert island whereas I am more interested in urban reality and particularly in the Los Angeles reality, as everybody who read this blog already knows.

So here comes Flash  Forward and for the second time after Blade Runner I feel as if somebody had read my mind. But the difference with my naive writing of a novel that fifteen years ago anticipated this sceneries and the eternal answer to the question regarding our ability to create our own destiny as individuals and human race is the incredible amount of narrative technique, fact checking and scientific demonstration of the hypothesis behind the plot.

Flash Forward hits the target because it works that way. In Philip Dick's and James Ballard's footsteps, presents a slightly futuristic future, just forward of our days, and convinces you that it is possible. You are no longer a watcher, you are a believer for the time being. Your adhesion is requested only for the fortyfive minutes of the show, though, and your belief constantly corroborated by the evolving plot.

You find yourself rooting for the characters and eager to cheerlead their victory. As a writer, you find yourself wishing to  compete with this content loaded screenplay.

 

Back to Mount Washington

80 degrees welcome me back in my country retreat just atop urban L.A. I still can't believe this place. I lived in Mount Washington years ago but only now I feel like belonging to these hills, heart and soul.

I am and always will be rootless. Trees have roots. Humans have legs to move around, just as Franco Bolelli says. But I have an inclination to feel better around trees and here there are plenty. I marvel at all the species of plants growing in this arid canyon land and wonder how they can survive with so little water around. I even love the people who live here, a cool genetic mix including Latinos, Philippinos, Cubans as well as wasps and African Americans with a soft spot for nature despite being urbanites. Even the major has a house here, just on top of San Rafael Avenue, neghboring the Self Realization Fellowship founded by Yogananda in 1925.

Fall in Mount Washington is spectacular with a clear skyline of the Pasadena mountains toward North East opposite to the skyline of the Downtown skyscrapers on the other side. In front of us, just across the L.A. River, I can spot the Griffith Observatory and the Hollywood Hills firing the seasonal bright yellow and crimson red of their falling leaves.

I would never believe I could trade the ocean roaring waves for this but I did. It's good to know I can still surprise myself and, best of all, Venice Beach is only 40 minutes away. Here, though, I don't have to endure the crowdness of the place. There is still open, undeveloped land here. Houses have plenty of space around, not a couple of feet distance from each other. Breathing becomes easier despite missing the salty breeze and we don't have the gloomy marine layer oppressing our morningtime.

I climbed the trail up the canyon and ended up at the elementary school on San Rafael this morning, smiling at the plate celebrating "Chief", the mascotte dog, and thought about buying one of their fund-rasing t-shirts sporting the bold statement "I love Mount Washington". Because I do. So good to feel this way, love without attachment. I could be in Tibet and not miss this place a bit but I know that a warm feeling would always invade my heart the day I'd come back. For just one day or ever. That's love in my (dysfunctional?) way. No taming or symbiotic habits included. This is love for who's wild at heart.