Because it remains one of the funniest nights in our nation's history and, like pancakes or pizza, one can never have too much Wanda Sykes:

One of the axiomatic things about grief is that it completely fucks up your sleep. So, hypothetically, if your best friend and on-again/off-again boyfriend of the past 21 years goes missing in the North Cascades and is found dead five days later after a 1000 foot fall, you will find yourself, five weeks later, still unable to sleep the entire night through. You might be reading, writing, sobbing, watching a DVD, or staring out the window at 3:30 a.m., but you'll frequently conk out at 9:30 p.m. the following evening, despite the fact you've been a night owl since you were a little kid, because your body finally caves and rests, but then you wake up again four hours later.

To the degree I'm able to look forward to anything now, I was looking forward to the debut last Friday night of Wanda Sykes' new talk show. But, for the above reasons, I slept through it. (For that matter, I've also slept through two episodes of the current season of 30 Rock, which, if you know me, you know I don't miss 30 Rock for anything because it is the Beatles of comedy and the world is a richer place for it. Thank you, Hulu.com, for allowing me to catch up the next morning.) Anyway, Wanda Sykes, along with Tina Fey (and my friend, Eric, and my brother, George) are among a tiny handful of individuals who can make me laugh currently and I might have someone call this coming Friday to make sure I'm awake to catch Ms. Sykes' second installment. (Please, no one actually do this unless I ask you. That's another axiomatic thing about grief: well-meaning phone calls from all over the world, for which you're incredibly, profoundly grateful, but with a few notable exceptions.)

In the meantime, I've derived great joy from re-watching Wanda Sykes host the 2009 White House Correspondents' Dinner. And while you might have viewed it after the event took place, you'll be pleased to discover each second is every bit as hilarious now:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zmyRog2w4DI

I was fortunate enough to interview her for The Believer in 2006 and if you missed it the first time 'round, you can read an excerpt here:

http://www.believermag.com/issues/200609/?read=interview_sykes

A high school classmate of mine just lost his nine month-old son to...

...meningitis/sepsis.

I cannot fathom the magnitude of grief he and his family are experiencing.

A fund has been set up to defray medical costs and the remainder will go to charities. The family is in the process of narrowing it to three and thus far are leaning toward those that fund research and treatment of pediatric meningitis, H1N1, and Kawasaki Syndrome, which one of their other children had earlier this year.

I'll have further details tomorrow. If you would like to contribute, please email me at ldremousis at yahoo dot com.

And please keep the family in your prayers or good wishes of whatever stripe.

Bringin' back the funny, albeit circuitously:

I have written intermittently for the estimable and crackling literary collective, The Nervous Breakdown, for the past two and a half years. Brimming with talent both quite well-known and ascending, I recommend TNB to anyone who values high quality writing presented from a panoply of views. Next Sunday, it launches in a new format, about which I and a number of others are quite stoked.

Two months ago, Brad Listi, our fearless editor-in-chief (and author of the bestselling novel, Attention. Deficit. Disorder.) asked me to call him. The new non-fiction editor, my oft-noted, brilliant, hilarious, and cherished friend, Eric Spitznagel (whose weekly online Vanity Fair column you should gulp down like M & Ms and can be found here: http://www.vanityfair.com/magazine/bios/eric_spitznagel/search?contributorName=Eric%20Spitznagel) had recommended to Brad that I fill one of three associate non-fiction editor slots. I love and respect TNB and was thrilled at the prospect to work again w/ Eric (who I first got to know when he was my editor at The Believer). The more Brad limned the details, the more enthusiastic I became and I readily accepted. All players involved know the parameters of my health and my position, like all the associate editors, will involve helping to establish content, in my case, non-fiction, one week a month.

Shortly thereafter, TJ died. Last week, I asked the non-fiction team and Brad if I could step aside until after the holidays, given the circumstances and that I'm in no frame of mind to properly edit anyone. And the depth of kindness from all four of them was incredibly moving. Each advised me to take the time I need and maintained the position is mine when I'm ready to return. I really can't convey how appreciative I am of their understanding as people and friends and colleagues. I am astoundingly fortunate in this regard.

Here is the most recent piece I wrote for TNB, on October 5th. TJ had already left for the North Cascades and, of course, died the next day, but as I've written of a number of times, the official "worry" time he gave me for this trip was late afternoon October 7th. So when you see me responding to comments on the 5th and 6th and morning of the 7th, it is because, obviously, I didn't yet know things were awful and awry.

I realize most individuals read my work, in part, because they (flatteringly) find it funny. And I know I haven't been particularly funny lately, nor has anyone expected it of me. Still, here, in a roundabout way, is a return to form. And, of course, the "best friend" mentioned in the piece is TJ. One of his many nicknames for me was "Jack" and for himself was "Neal". As he often said, "I'm like Neal Cassady and I run around and do things and then you write about them and immortalize me, like Jack Kerouac." (I'd already interviewed TJ for one of my Esquire features, published an essay about him twice that was later included in a well-received Seal Press anthology, and had a short story about him included in the now-defunct literary journal, Rivet.) He quite enjoyed when I wrote about him and while all artists, essentially, have to "take" permission as ethically as possible, TJ gave me his explicitly and repeatedly over the years. As he said, warts and all, his life and the intersection of ours was mine to write about anyway I chose.

Which is just one of the many gifts with which he left me.

This one's for you, Neal:

http://archives.thenervousbreakdown.com/ldremousis/2009/10/suggestions-verities-and-such/

High five for elected officials doing what they were elected to do:

I heartily congratulate and, if possible, would fete with Mom's infamous baklava the House members who passed the new health care bill. Well done! Cheek kisses all around.

And to the 39 Democrats who voted against it: you cocksucking assholes. If the 2008 election proved anything it's that those of us who are the most informed and politically astute and who donate and raise the most money very much support President Obama and his goals. Come re-election time, you are fucked. (Side note: mad props to the one Republican who voted for it.)

For scads of reasons, it feels inconceivable TJ...

...died a month ago today. He was due at my place 7:00 p.m. Tuesday, October 6th; we were going to go to Sherman's Town Hall reading for War Dances together. As I've written about previously, TJ always gave me his itinerary, designated his estimated arrival time home and the time at which I should "officially" worry, and always emailed me, "Home safe!" when he first got in the door. The official worry time for this trip wasn't until late Wednesday afternoon, October 7th.

Of course, we didn't know that by this juncture, he was already dead. His death wasn't confirmed until Saturday October 10th, when his closest climbing friend, Tim, found his body. By 6:00 p.m. on October 10th, before the search and rescue effort had been announced as a recovery effort, KING, KIRO, and KOMO had already pestered me and others for an on-camera interview. I, like most of us, deferred to the family's wishes and declined. (I would have done so of my own volition, but anyway.) All three affiliates were unable to get confirmation as to TJ's status from the Chelan County Sheriff's Office and they found this incredibly irksome, as if their story was in no way connected to a man's life. TJ and I had discussed this possible, god-forbid scenario many times and what would happen if I got the call should the worst occur. Instead of waiting, I got the Chelan County Sherrif's office #s from TJ's friend, Adrienne M., who was at my place at the time. I got through to Lt. Agnew from the Chelan County Sheriff's Office who is one of the most scurrilous and unprofessional individuals with whom I've dealt under any circumstances. After I asked three brief questions, she terminated our conversation with, "This is really a matter for the Coroner's Office now."

The above picture is one of my favorites of TJ and me. The two of us are clowning around with the giant metal bunny sculpture in my living room last December after our annual Christmas gift exchange, a tradition we started in 1992. His gift to me last year was the same as the year before: a trip to Manhattan to meet with one of the two agents who are interested in my novel. I would like to note, too, that when it briefly looked like I wouldn't have the cash for my current place, he offered me ten grand so the deal wouldn't fall through. I declined, of course, and it turned out I was able to purchase my condo. (Obviously.) And when I had shingles this summer and he did my grocery shopping and picked up my prescriptions? Despite my (loud) protestations, he refused to accept reimbursement. (As the weeks went on and I remained shingled, as it were, finally he caved, mostly to shut me up.) Also, when I was incredibly ill and broke between 2001 to 2004, including wheelchair bound again for a time? He refused to let me pay for coffee, movies, or meals. So, this "frugality" that was referred to many times at his memorial? Bullshit. My best friend and on-again/off-again boyfriend since 1988 was not frugal.

Add a caption

Today I cede the floor to my friend, Chris Estey:

Four years ago, my friend, Chris Estey, read an interview of mine in The Believer and was generous enough to write and tell me how much he enjoyed it. We didn't know each other at this point, but I was humbled and flattered, particularly as it was clear from the get go that he was quite talented and a good egg.

I was right on both counts. We continued to correspond and today I'm very good friends with Chris and his equally talented and kind wife, Heidi. (Track down her paintings; they're extraordinary.)

Chris, who writes for The Stranger and KEXP.org and scads of other venues, has an excerpt from his 'zine, Get Well, in Outsider Writers today. It's aching and lovely and I'd find it beautifully crafted no matter what, but when you read it, you'll see why it resonates even more so for me right now:

http://www.outsiderwriters.org/archives/3501

Much love to you and to Heidi, mon frere.
Litsa

And, of course, the smile on the Mona Lisa:

It is with profound gratitude I relay again I have the best family, friends and colleagues a person could hope for. I feel astoundingly fortunate in this regard.

To quote Cole Porter, "You're the top/ you're a dance in Bali/ You're the top/ you're a hot tamale."

Much, much love, all.

Fuck fucking fuck. Also: goddamnit.

In the midst of staggering grief, I've kept active as possible, not in an attempt to outrun it because, of course, you can't, but so I remain sane(ish). Nothing will feel remotely normal for a very long time and some nights I've literally felt as if I were losing my mind, but I think it's important the mechanics of living (going for a walk and writing each day, seeing family and friends, fetching groceries, et al) continue.

Now I've just discovered Bailey Boy Books, one of my very favorite places in the city and a mere few blocks from my home in Seattle's Capitol Hill neighborhood and somewhere TJ and I went many times over the past two decades, is closing after 26 years at the end of this month. And, as we all know by now, Elliott Bay Book Company is moving to Capitol Hill and that might turn out to be a great and good thing, but it leaves Pioneer Square (Elliott Bay's current locale) completely untethered and surrennders it mostly to cheesy sports bars and those who consider crack a food group.

So I think I might just spend my remaining days in a dark, still room, quietly contemplating bunnies and Pomeranians. See you all on the other side.

More on Bailey Coy's closing:

http://capitolhillseattle.com/links/2009/11/02/in-the-neighborhoods-bailey-coy-books-on-capitol

One '80s revival trend too many:

I respect that he was a brilliant tennis player and that, like all mortals, he has encountered obstacles and, of course, he is certainly entitled to "write" about them, but did anyone really need Andre Agassi to be ubiquitous again?

Today, the horror was mitigated in a tiny sliver of a way...

...by discovering that an organic piroshky place is opening a few blocks from my home and, also, by my encounter with a four month-old chocolate lab on my way to get groceries.

Would still sever any limb to have him alive and here again.

Whenever I awake on a morning this cold...

...I think of how my father was homeless for two years as a child when the Nazis occupied his family's house and how he and his father survived in a lean-to in the woods during this period. (My father's mother had already died from tuberculosis by this time. Dad's last memory of his mom is of her screaming his name as the paramedics dragged her away to be quarantined. Summarily, his two younger brothers were sent to live with other family members.) Then, of course, Greece had a civil war immediately thereafter.

I remain forever in awe that my father's humanity and intellect and wit have persisted intact.

Thank you again, so many of you, for your deep and unwavering...

...kindness. With all the words at my disposal, it means more than I can possibly convey.

Most days, I return several emails and phone calls. Some days, however, I cannot. The grief is staggering and there are times the healthiest thing to do is to go for a walk or read quietly. If you have not heard from me, you will. I just don't want anyone to think I've overlooked their words of love because I have not. They are very much helping to sustain me.

And on a darkly humorous note that TJ would be the first one to find funny: as oft-noted, I live in Seattle's Capitol Hill neighborhood (as did TJ), in which a delightful (and occasionally batshit) mix of artists and gays reside. Halloween here is a national fucking holiday and while I usually enjoy the unfettered theatricality, this year, I could do without each window of every storefront and home being festooned with all manner of skeletons and ghosts. Really, not in the least bit helpful.

Paul Haggis, the Oscar-winning director and renowned screenwriter, states in great detail why he has left the "Church" of Scientology after 35...

...years and now finds it morally reprehensible. In the Village Voice via The Daily Beast.

Excerpt of Haggis' public disavowal:

"I joined the Church of Scientology thirty-five years ago. During my twenties and early thirties I studied and received a great deal of counseling. While I have not been an active member for many years, I found much of what I learned to be very helpful, and I still apply it in my daily life. I have never pretended to be the best Scientologist, but I openly and vigorously defended the church whenever it was criticized, as I railed against the kind of intolerance that I believed was directed against it. I had my disagreements, but I dealt with them internally. I saw the organization - with all its warts, growing pains and problems - as an underdog. And I have always had a thing for underdogs.

But I reached a point several weeks ago where I no longer knew what to think. You had allowed our name to be allied with the worst elements of the Christian Right. In order to contain a potential "PR flap" you allowed our sponsorship of Proposition 8 to stand. Despite all the church's words about promoting freedom and human rights, its name is now in the public record alongside those who promote bigotry and intolerance, homophobia and fear.

The fact that the Mormon Church drew all the fire, that no one noticed, doesn't matter. I noticed. And I felt sick. I wondered how the church could, in good conscience, through the action of a few and then the inaction of its leadership, support a bill that strips a group of its civil rights.

This was my state of mind when I was online doing research and chanced upon an interview clip with you on CNN. The interview lasted maybe ten minutes - it was just you and the newscaster. And in it I saw you deny the church's policy of disconnection. You said straight-out there was no such policy, that it did not exist.

I was shocked. We all know this policy exists. I didn't have to search for verification - I didn't have to look any further than my own home.

You might recall that my wife was ordered to disconnect from her parents because of something absolutely trivial they supposedly did twenty-five years ago when they resigned from the church. This is a lovely retired couple, never said a negative word about Scientology to me or anyone else I know - hardly raving maniacs or enemies of the church. In fact it was they who introduced my wife to Scientology.

Although it caused her terrible personal pain, my wife broke off all contact with them. I refused to do so. I've never been good at following orders, especially when I find them morally reprehensible.

For a year and a half, despite her protestations, my wife did not speak to her parents and they had limited access to their grandchild. It was a terrible time.

That's not ancient history, Tommy. It was a year ago.

And you could laugh at the question as if it was a joke? You could publicly state that it doesn't exist?

To see you lie so easily, I am afraid I had to ask myself: what else are you lying about?"

Link:

http://blogs.villagevoice.com/runninscared/archives/2009/10/crash_director.php

Day #19:

I had as delightful a lunch with my dear friend, Steve, as one can have under the circumstances, spotted not one but two adorable Corgis on the walk home, and reflexively called the driver who nearly killed me in the crosswalk a "stupid fuckwad".

Slowly, an infinitesimal bit of normalcy creeps in.

Skull-crushing mindfuck:

When his food is still in your refrigerator and freezer and, of course, he is dead.

Best story ever (in context):

My beloved cousin, H, had perused the recent study wherein it was discovered that stress is alleviated by profanity, particularly in women. As she cared about TJ, too, she custom-ordered a batch of M&Ms for me, emblazoned with a delightful array of expletives.

When her order didn't arrive, she called their customer service department, illuminated the exigency of combining swear words and chocolate in this particular situation, and was told, "Miss, we're a family company. We won't print those words for you."

As my equally beloved cousin, E, noted, tongue-in-cheek in the best possible way, we have been a good influence on (the younger) H. And as I have frequently underscored here and elsewhere, I might just have the greatest family in the heliosphere.

Worth revisiting when you feel each molecule shattering and slowly realligning:

Soapdish, with Sally Field, Kevin Kline, Whoopi Goldberg, and Robert Downey Jr. Screenplay by Robert Harling and the frequently wonderful Andrew Bergman (Fletch, The In-Laws, Honeymoon in Vegas, The Freshman) and directed by Michael Hoffman. Still hilarious and note-perfect 18 years later.

And now for something completely different:

Before Elizabeth Taylor was merely a tabloid fixture, she was one of our country's preeminent film actresses, most astoundingly beautiful women, and relentlessly vociferous AIDS activists.

The Daily Beast features an excerpt from William J. Mann's upcoming tome, Elizabeth Taylor: How to be a Movie Star (and make sure and check out its attending photo gallery):

http://www.thedailybeast.com/blogs-and-stories/2009-10-19/elizabeth-taylors-secret-world/

Thank you again, each and every one of you, for your profound kindness...

...phone calls, and emails. With all the words at my disposal, it means more than I can convey.

I have gotten in touch with many of you and, for obvious reasons, my response time is slowed right now, but I will be in contact and continue to thank each of you soon.

In the aforementioned respect, I feel incredibly fortunate. It's surreally dichotomous, though, to be bathed in love while churning in agony.

Please keep sending good wishes and/or prayers to TJ's family.

Much love,
Litsa

As the loved one of someone who actually just went missing, I'm of two minds re Balloon Dad:

On one hand, I'd like to skip habeas corpus and fair trial and just give the asshole the chair. On the other, I don't have it in me to give a shit.