Be Reckless

On Possession and betrayal

I keep hearing from friends who feel like they have been "betrayed".

Long ago, I decided to cancel some words from my personal vocabulary. "Betrayal" and "traitor" were among them. To feel "betrayed" is a pure manifestation of self-pity, and self pity does not bring any good. Here is how Paulo Coelho expresses the same in the Alchemist:

"I'm going to become bitter and distrustful of people because one person betrayed me. I'm going to hate those who have found their treasure because I never found mine. And I'm going to hold on to what little I have, because I'm too insignificant to conquer the world."

Please don't become bitter and distrustful because somebody changed their mind, moved on and maybe away from you. Don't resist change and don't hold on. Let go, and you will feel relieved. You will actually make space for new and positive things to happen to you. You'll make space for new people in your life. You'll embark in new adventures and conquer new worlds.

One of those days?

A friend of mine used to call a day like today "one of those days". That implies not such a great day when every single little thing, and sometimes even bigger things, go wrong. For a long time, I've been refusing to admit that there are such days. Come on, there is always something good even in a "bad" day!

Then I realized that having "one of those days" is ok as long as you don't let it be in control of your mood. If I can still smile at my dog when he plays dog-drum turning upside down for me to beat his chest and make it "play" music, it's all right. I can live with one of those days. They're not all bad but they're not that good. I just hope them to be only a few in the whole year.

And if they happen to be more than what I can deal with, well, then I'll have to do something and turn them into better ones.

Free Moon

It isn't full yet but it will be soon. But it was so gorgeous to look at, this almost perfectly round milky moon spreading its light on the path.

I was taking the Moki dog for his night walk and we cut through the canyon. I heard this swish behind a bush. Unusual noise, different than the usual buzzing and humming we hear there at night. When you like to walk in canyons at night, paying attention to these kind of details is a must. So we stopped and stood silently.

Ten seconds did not go by and a small coyote stepped in the path in front of us. Then she started trotting down the hill. For a moment, though, her silhouette came in the foreground, and in the back of her was the moon.

See, "those days" are not for real when you can have one of "these" nights. I am addicted to the moon.
I am a moon watcher. The moon is so mysterious and enticing. It makes me feel happy and in peace.

Who can be sad or upset when the moon shines?

Wild Tommy Flying Backward

My friend and beloved Prince Tommy Rotten, aka Tom Robbins if you look up his name on Amazon.com, just published his new book, Wild Ducks Flying Backward. My attempt to read it failed already twice. I bought the book, and my copy got "stolen" by two different friends who had to catch a plane. I feel for people who have to endure a long flight without a good book.

So now, I'm almost out of the door, on the road to the bookstore again. This time, however, I'm going to buy the audiobook, aka the book read by the author himself. The author happens to have a voice that transports me miles and miles away in a happy kingdom. I love men with this kind of voices. Actually I love only men with great voices. And I love Tom Robbins.

I really REALLY love him. Not only because he is "the most dangerous writer alive", as a critic once wrote regaling Tom with infinite delight. Not only because his writing makes adults sing in the shower and puts babies to sleep as a lullaby. I love Tom Robbins because he's the most positive person I've ever met and he always sees the... jar of mayonnaise half full. I love Tom because he's smart and witty but also a lot of fun.

Tom is living proof of my theory as I explained it in "the age trap". Tom kept playing all his life, and he will still play in his next ten reincarnations. In this life, he has been playing with me too, several times. It happens either by e-mail, or walking in the scented woods of the Olympic Peninsula, looking for "vitel tonnè" at the deli in the historical center of my native city in Italy, Milan, or here in the Future, in my house in the Los Angeles hills. And I always have a hell of a good time with him and his beautiful, wolf-eyed, tarot-mancer bride Alexa.

So I hope you will have a good time with him too. Go buy his book and plan a cozy evening reading at home. I promise, you won't be sorry.

That's what I'm going to do tonight and... I can't wait for the night! Tiramisu gelato and a new Tom Robbins' book after dinner... hmmmm...

Who said happiness is not of this world ???

Water and Fire

Santa Ana winds blowing in the bushy hills means fire. There has been a lot of fire since yesterday around the Ventura - Los Angeles county line. Some people went home last night just to watch their homes burn to the ground.

Some people lost their homes to the fire here in California. Lot of people lost their homes, and sometimes much more, to the water in Louisiana. I could smell fire in the air on the other side of the hill tonight when I was walking Moki up the trail. I'd love to smell the rain but it is not in the forecast.

I would not wish for some rain if the roof was still not fixed and prone to leak. But today, finally, after six estimates by different roofers, we got one to commit. He came and in four hours, with just a little help on my part despite 103 degrees, the roof was rainproof again. And I can cancel it from my list.

Repairs, maintenance and customer service drive me crazy. They require such a waste of time that I could use for more fun things. But then I think, how nice to have a roof on our heads that, supposedly, won't leak with the next rain! How privileged to go home and find the house still standing. And yet, all of this could change in a second. The second the wind would change direction.

I love the wind but the Santa Ana winds make me nervous. I love the fire but I don't like to see the hills go on fire.

Price Tag on Quitting?

Today on MSN there is a funny headline: How much to say, 'I quit?'

Suggestions follow with the usual scary scale of 1 to 5 millions to retire in today's shaky world. But here's the funny thing. Why keep working if all you think about is retiring? And why even thinking about retiring if you actually enjoy what you do?

Last time I quit my job, I think I had about $ 7,000 in the bank. Surely there have been times when I quit with less, and others with more. It never occurred to me, though, that there was a necessary relation between quitting and "how much money" I had. Probably because I never thought about retiring either.

Retiring from what? I mean, if I'm tired of one particular job or field, I can always go exploring another. If I'm simply working too much, I can slow down and work less. If I don't feel like getting up every morning at 7 a.m. anymore, I can switch shift.

We live in a world where telecommuting, working from home, being self-employed, run your own company... have all become much easier. Why not take advantage of that? Why keep having this close- minded employee 's mentality, '9 to 5, and I shut the door, 20 or 30 years at the same job and I can finally stay home?'

Please, don't hold back and keep staying at a job you hate just because you don't have 1 to 5 millions.
Don't be prisoners of your career, particularly if it does not fit for you anymore. Have a second, third or fourth career, either you are 20 or 60 years old. Think about change as a rolling wheel of cycles.

In nature, there is birth in Spring, blooming in Summer, maturity in Fall and rest and renewal in Winter. But that's not the end. It's just cycles. Because then there is Spring again.

Don't winterize your mind muscles before time or you won't be able to give them a good start again when the next Spring will knock at your door.

There is ALWAYS a new spring in the future.

Dog-on-wheels

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Tomorrow I'll put my car in the body shop. Inconvenient, but the guy who backed up right into my front bumper and hood had some great excuse to be distract. So, no hard feelings. I just need to turn inconvenience into opportunity. I will take advantage of the deprivation of my wheels to start an experiment. Can I survive Los Angeles as a pedestrian? I will keep you posted.

Meanwhile, however, my greatest concern has been: can my dog survive Los Angeles without "his" wheels?

In fact, Moki thinks that a day without going to Griffith Park is not a day, and Griffith Park only seems so close. Impossible to reach the park on foot. But there is more. Moki just loves to ride sticking his head out of the window to be brushed by the wind. He's well trained to ride only in the back seat covered with his blanket. So when H. took him out on a date to cheer him up while I was gone, he refused to be in the passenger seat. Moki, by the way, manages to be asked out by lot of girls, and even guys sometimes. But his preference goes to those who can offer him the thrill of a ride.

Since I don't want to lose my place in his heart, I took Moki on a driving date tonight. And just as Edward Norton before turning himself in jail in "25th Hour", I got to think about what I--par me, we-- were going to miss the most without reliable private transportation. Was the night-walk at the multicolored Mulholland Memorial Fountain on the corner of Griffith Boulevard and Riverside? Or our once-in-a-while city walk on Vermont and Franklin in Los Feliz? Just the ups and downs around the hills surrounding Mount Washington? Maybe Moki wanted to run to Ikea to buy the new dog bed I promised him?

Well, we skipped only Ikea. Did all the rest, included a short strip of Sunset across Silverlake. I could not give Moki a real road trip tonight. Not like the trip him and I took last year, driving three days straight from Los Angeles to Rapid City, South Dakota. I think Moki still dreams about the buffaloes and antelopes and deers we met on the deserted roads. Pretty different drive than the L.A. freeways. But we happen to love both. And he was the best driving companion ever. Very supportive and patient.

So in the next days, if you are missing some company driving around, you can always book a date with my dog. As long as he's not on duty pulling the sled on roller skates that I'm planning to build, I won't mind. And Moki would surely appreciate

Blue Crush

Santa Ana winds are over and the crispy clear blue sky is, too. I have a confession to make. What I thought was just a crush (a long one, since it lasted over 15 years) turned into authentic love.

I am totally in love with the Los Angeles October Sky.

I am very much like the weather. That means, unfortunately, that a grey muggy sky can turn my mood blue, while a blue clear sky makes me feel happy at the start of the day. I wasn't as laid back and relaxed as I am when I used to live in Milan.

Milan has horrible climate , contrary to the popular belief that all Italy benefits of wonderful weather year-long. Milan lays in the flats of the Pianura Padana, meaning the planes where the Po River runs. This geographic configuration disgraces "milanesi" with cold and humid winters, hot and humid summers. A spell very similar to what New Yorkers have to endure.

Spring and fall in Milan are much nicer, and they are my favorite seasons to go visiting my family. September, particularly, is a fabulous breezy month when you can forget even the city pollution.

But I remain partial and more forgiving to the Los Angeles pollution. It is thanks to it that I can climb the hill facing west in front of my house and enjoy unbelievable sunsets. There is something about watching the sun go down behind the gleaming silhouette of the Downtown skyscrapers on the other side of the L.A. River that sweetens my heart.

I watch the line of double red eyes of cars on the 5 freeway getting brighter as the profile of the hills gets darker, and I think that I live in paradise.

How can the Los Angeles traffic makes me feel in paradise?

It's a mystery. But so is love.

Reckless hits the bookstores

Finally the book is out. It is possible to order it either through bookstores or at Amazon.com (clicking the link below, in bookshelf.)

And I am finally very, VERY, excited about it.

Read it and let me know what you think. Your feedback is appreciated and very important to me.

Prince Kissing

I did not resist and bought also the hard copy of Tom Robbins' Wild Ducks Flying Backward. I can now go to bed with a goodnight story every time the moon rises on my Future.

Last night story was an ode to the Art of Kissing.

"Kissing is our greatest invention. On the list of great inventions, it ranks higher than the Thermos bottle and the Airstream Trailer; higher, even, than room service, possibly because the main reason room service was created was so that people could stay in bed and kiss without going hungry."

So writes the most dangerous and playful writer alive, and I couldn't agree more. Although a gleaming Airstream makes me dream of open roads and camping trips to Deadhead gatherings, and room-service is my personal idea of vacation-heaven, kissing is way-WAY!-better than any other western civilized invention.

Last night in my bed, Tom Robbins sprang out of the just uncorked bottle of champagne as the genie of the lamp, affirming himself as the very evolved personification of a species of manhood that I call:

THE KISSING PRINCE, alas the only kind of man I can date, alas a race much more evolved than the boring and absurd to me archetype of Prince Charming.

Now, to be perfectly clear and honest, I never dated Tom Robbins since I happened to meet him when he was already joint in soul-and-flesh to my highly revered friend Alexa-The-Taromancer. I will also admit to Tom only kissing my hand-as poetic and charming as only he can be-in the Malpensa Airport of Milan, Italy, at our first meeting.

A few more kisses followed down the road and over the years but they were all, indeed and-sigh!-, very platonic.

But here again I find myself in awe at Tom's choice of words to express what has always been on my mind:

"The best kisses, though, are those between lovers, because those are the consequential ones, the risky ones, the transformative ones, the ones that call the nymphs and satyrs back to life, the many-layered kisses that we dive into as into a fairy-tale frog pond of the murky gene pool of our origins."

Only lovers kisses are the real reckless ones, I will add. That's why I indulge and dive into the art of kissing with the greatest hedonistic pleasure.

A man, to get my attention, got to be a good kisser. Actually, not just good but a fabulous kisser since I am spoiled like an orange coming from the European lands of romantic Latin Lovers and great kissers (let's say it, there is some truth to it, generally speaking French and Italians do it better.)

"Beware the man who considers kissing as nothing more than a duty," warns us all The Most Dangerous Writer Alive, "a sop to the "weaker" sex, an annoyingly necessary component of foreplay. That man has penis plaque in his arteries and will collapse under the weight of intimacy. Send him off to the golf course while those of us who are more evolved celebrate the unique graces of the kiss: no other flesh like lip flesh! No meat like mouth meat! The musical clink of tooth against tooth! The wonderful curiosity of tongues!"

Tom's wit-sweet eroticism makes me jump and clap my hands like a little girl in a candy shop, makes me sing to The Kissing Prince.

And, as always, I worship his skillful, careful and loving caress of each word chosen to express what I'd have much more roughly and dryly resumed as:

ONLY A GOOD KISSER CAN TURN ME ON.