A fine salute to a fine man and writer:

Roger Ebert has always been one of my favorite film critics because of his vast knowledge, deft wit and sense of fair play.

Incredibly sorry he's enduring cancer, much less such a pernicious form. I know he wouldn't want my pity, but he'll always have my respect:

http://www.esquire.com/features/roger-ebert-0310

Link via my dear friend, Jade Walker.

Condolences:

I think all of us following this story knew its probable outcome, but still, one can't help but hope for a statistical improbability. I'm unsure why KING 5 hasn't updated its URL, but the following piece, headlined, "Climber's body recovered from Mount St. Helen's crater" contains the latest information as of last night:

http://www.king5.com/news/local/Rescue-effort-to-resume-for-fallen-Mount-St-Helens-climber-84471252.html

Thinking of Joseph Bohlig's loved ones.

Two awful things and one pleasant one:

1) The latest news, updated at 2:00 p.m. today, re the stranded climber on Mount St. Helens:

http://www.king5.com/news/local/Rescue-effort-to-resume-for-fallen-Mount-St-Helens-climber-84471252.html

Continued good wishes to him and to his loved ones, who are enduring an indescribably hellish wait.

2) Residents of Seattle's Capitol Hill neighborhood, heads up. Now I know why there was a cacophony of sirens Saturday night:

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/2011093483_webcaphill16m.html

http://www.capitolhillseattle.com/2010/02/16/follow-up-on-weekend-roving-gang-attacks-man-fights-back-with-busted-umbrella

http://www.capitolhillseattle.com/2010/02/15/man-stabbed-in-summit-ave-street-robbery

3) Received additional good writing news today. Not that this is on par with the suffering endured by those in the above pieces. It just makes life in my home a bit brighter.

Oh, hell:

I had a lovely afternoon with two friends today, replete with mochas, and also received some delectable writing news. I've been up since 4:30 a.m., however--thank you, grief, my constant companion--and was hoping to conk out soon.

I read the following piece two hours ago, though, and now everything is churning again. Including TJ, this makes the fifth climber from our region in the past 19 weeks. Hopefully he returns safely. Please keep him and his loved ones in your thoughts and/or prayers:

http://www.king5.com/news/local/Climber-falls-into-Mount-St-Helens-crater-84414752.html

Much better:

Yesterday, despite all the revelry I could muster, October 6 through October 10 kept involuntarily and continually playing on my mind's screen.

Today, while I'm not exactly clicking my heels, it is, in fact, February again.

I'm about a quarter of my way through sending individual "Thank you!" missives, but my deepest gratitude to all of you on three continents for everything this week.

Okay. Matinee time.

Thank you, everybody!

I'm getting ready to head out soon for the second of what will be four birthday celebrations--today is the actual day--and I deeply appreciate all so many of you have done to help take the deep sting out of what is, this year, an uncharacteristically painful occasion.

Last year he said he wanted to make my birthday "perfect" and from start to finish, he did. And each year he called at 12:01 a.m. to be the first to wish me "Happy birthday!"

So for many reasons, since I've awoken, his death has outweighed the impact of my birth.

Thank you again, each of you, for everything. It means more than I can express.

And thank you, TJ, for this day last year and forevermore for each moment.

Love to all,
Litsa

Nor did I upend any tables:

Had a wonderful dinner at Quinn's last night with S, my friend of 20 years, that included much banter, long-running jokes and mashed sweet potatoes.

Also, I managed not to detonate anything. Much additional celebrating-under-the-circumstances lies ahead the next few weeks, so I take this as both a victory and a good sign.

I'm so fucking sick of those who...

...sentimentalize the North Cascades.

Yes, they are gorgeous.

But he died there.

For me, the latter will always outweigh the former.

Stay of execution!

Yesterday it looked like I was going to have to euthanize my beloved 11 and a 1/2 year-old bunny, Xander. When we got to the vet, it turned out what presented as fatal was actually treatable and by last night he was eating and leaping around again.

This is now the fourth time it's looked he was going to die but hasn't. He's the lagomorph equivalent of Superman crossed with Elizabeth Taylor.

The House Republican leaders are craven halfwits:

You'll notice at no point in their new letter do House Republican Leader John Boehner (R-OH) and House Republican Whip Eric Cantor (R-VA) mention the millions of uninsured and under-insured Americans, i.e. their fellow citizens, many of whom are their constituents. Disingenuously and, given the stakes, amorally, they refer to their latest obstructionist tactic as "bipartisanship":

http://voices.washingtonpost.com/44/2010/02/top-house-republicans-throw-co.html?wprss=44

I wish it were legal by executive order for President Obama to suspend health insurance to both houses and parties in Congress until they get off their fucking asses and pass meaningful and comprehensive legislation that accords each American the basic human right not to die, get sicker, or go broke in the event of illness or injury.

Weekend recap:

• I completed my sickest weekend in several months and loathed each waking and half-slept moment of it.
• Watched two of my all-time favorites, Mrs. Parker and the Vicious Circle and The Graduate back-to-back last night. Awoke feeling somewhat improved. Would like to think it's their comprehensive brilliance or my aforementioned illness-loathing that prompted the symptoms to calm the hell down, though most likely the Amoxicillin kicked in.
• Did not watch the Superbowl (not that I'm a huge NFL fan, but still) because our annual condo board meeting was scheduled for kick-off time. No, really.
• Discovered at said meeting that some of my adored and respected neighbors not only wish to spend their finite seconds on earth fretting about the garage floor's cleanliness, but that they will implore others to do the same.
• Last night on the street below, two drunk guys got into a brawl, replete with pithy, alcohol-soaked exchanges like, "Fuck you, man!" "No, man, fuck you!" Then one of them looked up, saw me standing at my window and yelled, "I'm sorry! I just have to tell him this one more thing!" and hissed at the other guy, much more quietly, "I said, 'Fuck you!'" The city's genteel reputation? Intact.
  

Today's NFL memory:

I was the only girl on the block growing up so I became adept at playing touch football. When my brother and I were on the same team, he got to "be" Fran Tarkenton and I, Lynn Swann.

I developed early, however, and one day as Mom watched us play from the kitchen window, she noticed some of the fellas to whom I wasn't related were touching me a bit too long in certain places. So, she benched me.

Alas.

Hello, symptom flare-up:

Jesus fucking Christ I'm sick today.

Remember that scene in Postcards from the Edge where Dennis Quaid utters one of Carrie Fisher's best lines, that he feels like he "slept under an elephant's foot?"

It's like that, only without all the coked out anonymous sex that preceded it.

Though it'd be kinda cool if someone made my turkey, spinach and avocado sandwich for me right now:

Yesterday I wrote more than I have in any 24 hour period since he died.

Today I feel as if a meteor landed on me while I slept.

Back at the keyboard, though.

I've had worse nights.

Query:

At what point in the grief process does ice cream cease being an acceptable side dish w/ breakfast?

B/c we haven't reached it yet.

Hooray! Smith Magazine editors featured on NPR today:

Smith Magazine editors Larry Smith and Rachel Fershleiser were featured on NPR today in support of Smith Mag's new book, It All Changed in an Instant: More Six-word Memoirs (HarperCollins), as previously noted, a wry and insightful tome featuring, among others, Amy Tan, Frank McCourt, Sarah Silverman, Gloria Steinem, Andy Richter and, well, me.

Congrats again, Larry and Rachel!

The NPR feature:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=123289019&sc=fb&cc=fp

And now, congregants, let us turn to p. 22 of David Cross' I Drink for a Reason and...

...reflect upon his passage re hippies, "Maybe tax them more. Create a 'well-meaning, but actually harmful tax' so that when they advocate drinking and bathing in your urine, they also pay into a universal health-care system to offset the damage brought on by drinking and bathing in one's own urine."

Amen.

Hey, __. This one's for you:

The 82nd annual Academy Award nominations were announced this morning:

http://carpetbagger.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/02/02/oscar-nominations/

Better than spaghetti and puppies and ice cream combined:

Via Facebook friend Jon Auer's page:

John Paul Auer is pleased to announce: 1) The Posies will play "Frosting on the Beater" in its entirety on 4/17/10 @ The Crocodile in Seattle 2) A handful of hours after said Crocodile show, freshly rocked Posies will leave Seattle for the south of Spain to begin recording a new album for release in 2010, and 3) The Posies will also play all material from said new album @ The Crocodile on 4/17/10 as well. For rizzle! Tickets go on sale online 2/6/10 @ The Crocodile.com.

Nice job, good, on continuing to exist in the world.

Linguists, synapses, take note:

We need a conjugation of "are", "were", and "will be" that applies to the collective and connotes one person is alive and one is dead.

And while I'm making requests, I would appreciate if my subconscious mind stopped prompting me to utter "when we died".

Happy birthday, Mom!

Your intelligence, compassion, empathy, tenacity and wit are awe-inspiring and I love you immeasurably!

Always,
Litz

Toss up:

Unsure which I'd prefer more right now, a haircut or general anesthesia.

Apple unveils new device for those in the deep and early stages of grief:

The iDon'tgiveafuckbutfakeiteffectively.

Spit-wads or Saran Wrap on their toilet seats acceptable substitutes:

I thought last night's State of the Union Address was erudite, pragmatic, inspiring, compassionate, self-aware, and I like that the president threw a few elbows. Could have been more satisfied only if he issued an executive order stating shin-kicking and wedgies inflicted upon Senators Lieberman and Nelson and the five Supreme Court Justices who handed down last week's deplorable campaign finance decision would be legal indefinitely.

Just read that Huffington Post...

...will provide "instant Twitter reaction" to tonight's State of the Union Address. Whew! Close one! For a second I thought I'd have to contemplate and process the president's speech all on my own like a sentient and informed adult.

I read HuffPo frequently, but if they're hellbent on coddling me, might I suggest folding my laundry or making me homemade lasagna instead.

Just doing my part (except for the elitist thing):

Skipped the NFL playoffs yesterday in favor of the Michelangelo exhibit at the Seattle Art Museum, which was surprisingly packed, then headed across the street to Fran's Chocolates, where three women discussed vegan pancake recipes at length.

The city's rep as lefty-elitist-gay-loving-bookworms? Secured for time being.

Yin, yang. Whatever:

As I knew would occur after the initial "protective" phase passed, this week I received both the most thoughtless question and most inane email since he died, from two vastly different sources, neither of whom have been through this. (Which is still no excuse: we're not kids. In each instance, the messages were deeply idiotic, almost comically so, and will undoubtedly find their way into my future work.)

On the flip side, today I received some of the kindest and most practical insight from one who has lived through this and then some. And it helped tremendously.

As I've written of here and elsewhere repeatedly, in the aggregate, I've been profoundly fortunate in that I've been surrounded by incredibly loving, ceaselessly thoughtful family, friends, and colleagues. As for the few but vocal members of the moron brigade, to crib the Ben Franklin line, death and taxes. Like it or not, dumbfucks, your turn is coming. Also, I'm fully aware this isn't my last go-round on this particular ride.

As one of my close friends and I keep reiterating, as cheesy as it sounds, what gets us through this is love and, in our cases, our art, too.

So thank you again so much to each individual who has helped tamp down the fires of this particular hell. Re the others, well, I think I've made my point.

Today's NYT follow-up piece with Dr. Nancy Klimas, who serves on the board of the International Association of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome:

Dr. Nancy Klimas, recognized internationally as one of the leading Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome researchers, answers another round of questions in today's New York Times. (She fielded different readers' questions last month.)

Dr. Klimas again does an outstanding job distilling complicated research findings into laypersons' terms while maintaining both medical objectivity and compassion. No mean feat:

http://consults.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/01/21/hiv-fibromyalgia-and-chronic-fatigue-syndrome/?ref=health

And while many of the NYT commenters are smart and/or have CFIDS themselves, as per usual w/ anything internet (or human) based, there is some startling misinformation in the comments section, including that CFIDS patients' blood work returns normal, that it is merely a question of food allergies (I eliminated the foods I'm allergic to years ago), or that CFIDS is simply indicative of "normal aging". (I was in a wheelchair for four months at age 24 and again at 34; pediatric CFIDS has been extensively researched and documented.)

Refreshingly honest and deeply compelling exploration of...

...love, loss, grief, art, belief, and the intersection of all of the above in a new Patti Smith interview with Chris Kornelis of the Seattle Weekly. Via my friend, Caryn Rose:

http://blogs.seattleweekly.com/reverb/2010/01/qa_patti_smith.php

This would be a spectacularly apt time to thank...

...Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking, Pete Townshend's "After the Fire", and Peter Weir and Rafael Yglesias' Fearless for being among the very few things that make any goddamned sense now.

My deepest and lasting gratitude to all involved.

Dear Massachusetts:

If you fuck up today's special Senate election and both destroy the supermajority and further endanger health care legislation, you will have to cover the nation's uninsured and everyone else's co-payments. Because I'm in no mood for this shit and neither is anyone else, Litsa

"Change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability...

...but comes through continuous struggle. And so we must straighten our backs and work for our freedom. A man can't ride you unless your back is bent."--Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Then slaughters a litter of kittens and makes you watch:

I posted this elsewhere last week, but I'm uncertain why conventional parlance refers to grief as coming in "waves" when it is much more akin to being struck on the back of the neck by a crowbar-wielding sociopath who then sets your hair on fire and laughs while eating a Snickers bar.

Smith Magazine's video of Wednesday night's reading at University Bookstore...

...in conjunction with their new book, It All Changed in an Instant: More Six-Word Memoirs (HarperCollins), in which I'm included.

As noted yesterday, instead of reading my piece in the collection, I read, "The clitoris: not a Rubik's Cube", that I'd written for Smith Mag's site and also read its accompanying backstory. 

Editor-in-chief, Larry Smith, has been relaying witty tales from each stop on the tour and you can read them, including some delightful and unexpected ones from the Seattle reading, on Smith Mag's site:

http://www.smithmag.net/sixwordbook/2010/01/14/life-is-hard-eat-more-chocolate%E2%80%94scenes-from-the-six-word-book-tour/

And, of course, you can buy the book, packed with stories from Frank McCourt, Gloria Steinem, Andy Richter, and scads of other compelling writers and thinkers, here: 

http://www.amazon.com/All-Changed-Instant-Six-Word-Memoirs/dp/0061719439

Or you can find it at most bookstores nationwide. I'd recommend it even if I weren't in it. 

The frosting on the cake: I felt more buoyant during the reading than I have in months. It felt good being funny. As Mel Brooks has said, "Humor is just another defense against the universe."

The new book from the editors of Smith Magazine in which I'm included:

It All Changed in an Instant: More Six-Word Memoirs (HarperCollins).

Last night's reading at the University Bookstore was delightfully charged and we had a full house. I didn't read my piece in the book but instead chose, "The clitoris: not a Rubik's Cube" that I wrote for Smith's site and also read the backstory behind it.

Thank you so much to editors Larry Smith and Rachel Fershleiser for everything and to all those who attended! And buy the book to check out contributions from Frank McCourt, Laura Hillenbrand, Amy Tan, Sarah Silverman, Eugene Mirman and a panoply of equally insightful writers and thinkers.

From the U.S. State Department: How to help re the devastation in Haiti:

From the State Department's front page:

For missing family, call 1-888-407-4747. To help with relief efforts, text "HAITI" to "90999" and $10 will be given automatically to the Red Cross, charged to your cell phone bill.

See the State Department's front page for additional information re the Red Cross and Mercy Corps, too:

http://www.state.gov/

Thanks to my friend, Caryn Rose, for the tip.

[Postscript an hour later: Haiti's Prime Minister has told CNN "well over 100,000" have died:

http://www.cnn.com/2010/WORLD/americas/01/13/haiti.updates/index.html]

Eve Ensler's Ten Radical Acts for Congo in the New Year:

I know all of us are slammed, but it takes roughly five minutes to write the White House and another five to write the U.S. State Department. Reknowned playwright and activist Eve Ensler lists several concrete ways in which each of us can help end the protracted rape and slaughter in Congo:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/eve-ensler/ten-radical-acts-for-cong_b_418425.html

As Ensler says, think of the horror committed against the Congolese women as happening to your loved ones. At which point, it remains impossible to do nothing.

The "surprise" everyone saw coming: Sarah Palin signs with Fox News:

So, Miss Small Town Values will spend her working life in that capitol of godless, abortion-having, gay, lefty elitists, i.e. New York City, where Fox News, of course, is headquartered:

I'm sure she'll be welcomed with open arms.

Details:

http://voices.washingtonpost.com/44/2010/01/palin-signs-on-with-fox-news.html?wpisrc=newsletter

Might we stipulate...

...that one of the few verities remaining true throughout the ages is that it is unwise to repeatedly and deliberately antagonize a writer of Greek origin?

Fuck off, mornings:

As noted before, I've been a night owl my entire life. (Mom says that when I was little, she tried not to laugh when she caught me reading past bedtime because she did the same at that age.)

And while I've never been an individual who slept easily and have always been prone to nightmares, since he died, my sleep has become more erratic than usual. And again, as noted, I now frequently arise anywhere from 5:00 a.m. to 7:00 a.m.

And while it is simply one of the many things I've hated about the past 13 and a 1/2 weeks (number one being, of course, that he is dead), this whole morning thing is in the top ten because it is hugely disorienting and perhaps underscores the profound degree to which I no longer feel like myself.

And while I know I will never be that version of myself again and, by all accounts, I am doing as well as one can under the circumstances and I feel myself continuing to progress, still, we'll know a corner has been turned when I resume writing until 5:00 a.m. instead of beginning at 5:00 a.m.

Re the meme circulating on Facebook wherein women relay the color of the bra they're currently wearing...

...ostensibly, to raise awareness of breast cancer: You know what also raises awareness of breast cancer? Actually discussing breast cancer:

http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/breast-cancer/DS00328

http://ww5.komen.org/

http://www.cancer.org/docroot/cri/cri_2x.asp?sitearea=lrn&dt=5

http://www.cancer.gov/cancertopics/types/breast

Given the way this night is going...

...it seems as fitting time as any to start re-reading Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking.

As oft-noted, Didion is one of my favorites and I read it upon its release, knowing full well that I, like all of us who hadn't crossed the threshold, would one day understand it in a way I didn't then.

We're here now. And there's something darkly funny that TJ couldn't stand Didion.

Three months later...

...or 13 weeks, to be precise, progress has been made.

Still alternately feels as if he were in the room five minutes ago and as if this has been the longest quarter year in human history, though.

"After the fire/ the fire still burns..."--Pete Townshend

Oh, somewhat restful and uninterrupted sleep.

How I miss ye.

Happy birthday, Michael Stipe:

[Above: The "So. Central Rain (I'm Sorry)" and "Don't Go Back to Rockville" 12" singles I bought in London, summer of 1985.]

Michael Stipe turned 50 today and I've been thinking of the joy R.E.M.'s work has brought me since my then-boyfriend rhapsodized about Murmur in 1983 and I purchased it and the band's previous E.P., Chronic Town, in quick succession. And I clearly remember pulling stray weeds around the perimeter of my parents' front yard, Walkman headphones firmly in place, swooning to the newly released Reckoning during the summer of 1984 in between junior and senior years at my much-loathed Blanchet High School. I had a trope of close-knit friends, other readers and artists, mostly, some of whom I'm still in contact with today, and R.E.M. became part of our shared language and tapestry. And out of the band's dozen or so shows I have imbibed over the years, each has yielded cherished and spectacular memories.

So, here's to another 50, Mr. Stipe. And thank you.

The good thing about death?

Eventually it'll claim those you don't like, too.

So there's that.

Nice:

Yesterday was the first day in the past 12 and a 1/2 weeks that I felt any sort of stillness in my heart or mind.

And the day prior marked the first time I recalled a truly funny ongoing joke he and I shared for years and just laughed, without subsequently crying, too.

We continue.

Okay.

Let's do this thing.

Dear 2009:

Please find a bunch of dicks, dip them in ketchup, and eat them. Then go fuck yourself with a hammer. I am moving on to 2010, whom I hope to make out with frequently.

Goodbye forever,
Litsa

Through the generosity and connections of one of my closest cousins...

...yesterday I did a phone intake with a researcher at Johns Hopkins who specializes in microbiology and autoimmune disorders.

Besides the fact she was a superb listener and provided valuable and practical information, she herself has MS. While this latter part saddens me, of course, my interaction with her marks the first time I've worked with a clinician who also has a chronic, incurable illness and one that presents very similarly to mine, to boot.

As such, there was a shorthand to our nearly two hour conversation. She understood aspects that elude even my favorite doctors and massage therapists. (Side note: I've tried acupuncture and yoga, as well, and both increased the dizziness; in the former case, to near incapacitation.)

Her treatment is going quite well and her symptoms remain symptoms, obviously, and this sucks, but I'm glad for her advancement and grateful for her openness.

Life is different on this side of the membrane.

You know the great thing about those who don't acknowledge illness or death?

They have managed to inoculate themselves and now their bodies will remain impervious to deterioration and they'll achieve immortality. Because that's totally how life works.

Have fun brushing the sand off your heads, dumbfucks.

Is it bad if you want to take a break from your...

...grief-induced, even-more-tenacious-than-usual behavior and just get super-drunk and listen to Wilco all day? How about tomorrow, too?

And what if you can almost never drink because of your health? Does this heighten or lessen the need?

Inching:

[Yesterday: Helena, me, Ellie.]

On Thanksgiving, I felt flayed then bathed in acid. Yesterday was hard, obviously, but my oft-noted best family ever was delightful and a bit of joy seeped through the cracks and three of my exes, with whom I'm still very close friends, called or wrote to let me know they were thinking of me. My family and I made a large donation to a cause TJ believed in and he gave me decades of memories.

I'm figuring this out as I go, but I know, irrefutably, he would want me and all of his loved ones to revel in life's random pockets of happiness.

To everyone spending their first round of holidays...

...without a loved one, extra hugs and cookies to you. Especially to those who come together in their loss.

And immeasurable good wishes to all my loved ones for their ceaseless kindness and humor. Though you haven't done it to be thanked, I will never be able to thank you enough. And while I know you know this, I love you more than I can express.

To crib the Mountain Goats lyric, "I am gonna make it through this year/ if it kills me."

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it and warm wishes to those don't.

Peace to all.

Because nothing alleviates holiday stress like gently mocking dumbfucks:

Via pal, John Moe, who got it from his friend, Lindsey: "Celestial Soul Portraits".

Trust me, just click:

http://iasos.com/artists/erial/celestial-soul-portraits/#before#before

I finished nine tenths of my holiday shopping before Thanksgiving because...

...this year I wanted to circumvent the tinsel, ho-ho-ho-ing, etc.

However, I did purchase and display one ornament for Christmastime. (See above.) Even better? I was with out with my folks when I discovered said trinket and it was at Mom's urging I bought instead of contemplated it.

Because it's a fitting way to contrast the shortest day of the year and herald a new season:

One of the photos TJ sent me from this past spring's trip to Italy, a frieze of bunnies eating grapes at an ancient Roman theatre museum in Verona. He said that above the rabbits were dolphins and that the accompanying placard detailed how Romans believed the latter represented the soul's trip to the sea. TJ said there was no description of what the bunnies symbolized and deduced, "...general coolness, I presume."

It's inadvertently and somewhat mordantly hilarious that...

...for the time being, TJ's death has, against my will, turned me into a morning person.

My sleep has improved from where it was at, say, week #2, but at week #10 it's still nowhere near what it was when he was alive. And I'm prone to nightmares at the best of times.

Among the many characteristics we shared was circadian rhythm: both of us were night owls and shunned early morning unless we had to wrangle with it, i.e. when he'd rise before dawn to climb or ski or I'd do so when I hadn't finished a piece the night before and had to awake at 5:00 a.m. to polish it for an NYC-based publication that wanted it by noon EST. (If my health continues to improve and I take on deadlines at the rate at which I did during '04 to '07, then I imagine I'll find myself in the latter groove again. Which would, of course, thrill me.)

But nights, individually and collectively, were our thing. So that I now awake at 5:30 a.m., as I said, against my will, just feels fucked up and wrong. Also, if you have a chronic illness and a limited number of "good" hours in any given day, it's a little odd when you sometimes use them up by noon and find yourself nearly blacking out from exhaustion, napping, starting the second part of your day at 3:00 p.m. and often falling into fitful sleep by 7:30 p.m., awaking every few hours, then starting the whole thing all over again at 5:30 a.m.

On the flip side, and defying logic or scientific explanation, my remission is now in week #6. As I've explained a number of times throughout the years and as TJ was one of the few to truly understand, I am never asymptomatic. I always have what feels like a powerful flu and the other symptoms persist uninterrupted; it's a question of degree. But for the past six weeks, I've walked without cane or crutches for the first time since the four month remission ended in January. And, of course, I'm delighted.

Still wish he were here to walk with me, though.

Re gay marriage and an oversimplified piece in the Huffington Post:

A Facebook friend of mine who is intelligent and informed but who continues to skewer Obama from the left posted this brief Huffington Post piece that links to a lengthier, more nuanced feature in the Advocate:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/12/18/obama-administration-deni_n_397617.html

It launched a debate in response, with most participants writing as knowledgeable, fully-functioning adults. So kudos to all for that.

My response, below:

"Second what [redacted] wrote. Read the full piece in the Advocate. Obama supports the Domestic Partner's Benefit Act. Furthermore, 48% of those who voted for president in '08 didn't vote for him, and it's a fair assumption that out of those 48%, 90% hates him w/ the force of a meteor shower and the other 10% literally wants him dead. If Obama moves too far to the left too soon, the Democrats will, flat out, blow the mid-terms and we will saddle him w/ a Republican House and Senate. Thereby curtailing any chance of accomplishing *any* of our goals.

Re gay marriage, I've been volunteering time and money to the cause since 1994. The best hope for gay marriage on a nationwide level is for a test case to make its way before the U.S. Supreme Court, akin to Brown vs. Board of Education. And, as w/ Brown vs. Board of Education, a significant portion of the country won't be ready and will vociferously resist but each passing generation will eventually become acclimated and, eventually, wonder how the country could ever have lived otherwise.

Gay marriage, not just domestic partnership, will one day be the law of the land, but to underscore my point, I sincerely doubt it will be enacted through statewide referendums, DOJ administrative rulings, et al. Putting the rights of a minority group up to a vote or before a single administrative official is a wobbly strategy at best. And in order for there to sit a U.S. Supreme Court who will enact permanent, binding legislation guaranteeing that gays have 100% equality under federal law, there needs to be a president who will appoint such judges and a Congress who will confirm them.

I believe that president is Obama. I respect that many others here don't. But who, exactly, do you think can accomplish more of our goals in the next eight years? B/c I don't think it's Mike Huckabee or Tim Pawlenty or Bobby Jindal."

Attention, lunatics:

1) You will not run the asylum.

2) I take notes.

Cheers,
Litsa

Because Facebook doesn't enact legislation or unseat amoral officials:

If you'd like to write to Senator Lieberman and explain your disdain for his actions regarding the Senate version of the health care bill and, also, that you will be donating to his opponent at election time, you can do so here:

http://lieberman.senate.gov/contact/email-me-about-an-issue/index.html

"Revoke Joe Lieberman's health insurance and gift it to someone not batshit" is the new group I've launched...

...on Facebook.

Because what are the holidays for if not for giving?

And everyone deserves health insurance. Except Joe Lieberman.

May your dreidl always spin!

On my Facebook page, I wished a Happy Hanukkah on its second day, but between my sorrow and empathy for the loved ones of the Mt. Hood climbers, spending some much-needed goof-off time with my own loved ones, and getting my H1N1 vaccine, I inadvertently neglected to mention the Festival of Lights here and I feel like a jackass.

I've pasted my Facebook Hanukkah greeting below as it was met w/ great cheer from my Jewish friends:

"We used to call this 'the Jew Room'"--Tim Conway as aging TV star, Bucky Bright, referring to the writers' room in season #2 of "30 Rock". Hoping my treasured friends, colleagues, and neighbors are enjoying a festive, restorative and happy Hanukkah! Much love and many hugs, Litsa

Dear Mountains:

Fuck you.

Sincerely now and forevermore,
Litsa

Please keep the climbers, living and dead; their loved ones; and the SAR crews in your thoughts, all:

If you live in the Pacific Northwest, you probably already know that three experienced climbers were due back from Oregon's highest peak, Mt. Hood, on Friday afternoon.

Tragically, one was discovered dead last night and two remain missing.

As I said, please keep all involved in your thoughts.

The latest information:

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/nationworld/2010491202_apusmissingclimbers.html

[Postscript two hours later: air search will resume today, but due to avalanche warnings, ground search will not. Snowfall is expected to lighten tonight and temperatures are predicted to edge upwards a bit.

More:

http://www.oregonlive.com/news/index.ssf/2009/12/ground_search_for_missing_mt_h.html]

"Good grief", indeed:

When, for obvious reasons, you find yourself uncharacteristically wide awake at 5:45 a.m. and opt to watch "A Charlie Brown Christmas" on hulu.com.

To ____:

"You say you mean well
You don't know what you mean
Fucking ought to stay the hell away
from things you know nothing about..."

--Elliott Smith, "Everybody Cares, Everybody Understands"

Because kneejerk thinking on the left is every bit as pernicious and irritating as it is on the right:

I feel like everybody purchased Audacity of Hope a year and a half ago, but only a few of us read it. Our president has stuck remarkably close to the plans he laid out for our nation. And might I remind the naysayers that Bill Clinton's first year was laden with Time Magazine's infamous "Incredible Shrinking President" cover and that by the end of his second term, each poll indicated a majority of Americans would, if possible, elect him to a third.

Should we have gone into Iraq? No. Would it be dangerously naive and naively dangerous to immediately pull out of Afghanistan? Even a cursory knowledge of history indicates, "Yes."

Regarding health care reform, will the final bill be perfect? No. Is it vastly superior to our current shameful system? Of course.

Again, as I've written of here and elsewhere: we elected a president, not Santa Claus. And I'm sorry if while we were all campaigning our asses off last year that you thought Barack Obama could slide down the chimney and make everything perfect. And within the first year. For fuck's sake, don't weaken our own side for the midterm elections and for the presidential race in 2012. Because I don't think you want to see what Mike Huckabee or someone like him will pull out of his ass when it comes to domestic and foreign policy and Supreme Court nominees.

Congratulations on your Nobel Peace Prize win and your meaningful, insightful acceptance speech today, Mr. President.

There is a lovely symmetry that two of TJ's closest friends...

...are expecting their first child.

Sometimes the world gets it just right.

Happy birthday, TJ! You know how before each venture...

...I'd tell you, "Try and stay off the news this time"? With all the words at my disposal, I can't express how much I miss you. Jackass. Love always and then some, Litsa

[Above:] TJ w/ Jeff and Doug at their shared birthday Bifrost blowout at the Elysian, Dec 1, '08. (I didn't post this one last year as my BlackBerry takes crappy shots in dark bars, but it's hardly the point now.) A hilariously fun evening wherein Summer (Jeff's wife) made savory cupcakes topped w/ bacon and TJ, who suggested Summer fry the bacon at his place so as not to tip off Jeff (or was it so Jeff and Summer's place wouldn't reek of bacon? I can't recall) had vast quantities of foil-wrapped bacon leftover in his pack. Some of which ended up pleasing Doug and Anne's dog (waiting patiently outside) thoroughly. Also, as I teased TJ the next day, for being a highly intelligent group of individuals, it was sort of great that roughly a third of the evening's conversation revolved around the Elysian's seasonal-only Bifrost beer.



[Above, previous two photos:] TJ and I on his birthday last year at Top Pot. I was in a remissive phase then, so we met at my place, I gave him his smaller-sized gifts that would fit in his pack for our walk downtown, where, as the birthday boy, he insisted we see Disney's 3-D animated, Bolt. (I whispered to him midway, "Gee, do you think the dog and the girl get reunited?" and he teased me I was ruining the suspense.) We acted like total dorks and kept our 3-D glasses on after the film ended and, of course, realized that w/ my balance problems and his lack of peripheral vision in one eye, this was not really a plan.

Present-laden and Disney-fied, we walked back up to Top Pot for mochas and donuts. (I gave him his larger-sized gifts at our annual Christmas gift exchange, where, as previously noted he gave me the same gift the second year running: a trip to Manhattan to meet w/ one of the two agents interested in my novel. I.e. the most thoughtful and generous gift ever.)

These two pics were shot near the end of our day. He had to attend a meeting for work, then some friends were meeting him at Smith. I was supposed to rest then rendezvous w/ everyone. By that time, I was too sick and had to pass, but he emailed me when he got home and thanked me for a perfect day and said how much it meant to him that so many of his friends arrived at Smith and how lucky he felt in general. And I know he realized that we felt lucky, too.

His birthday is tomorrow and I spent most of last night poring over 20+ years of photos, et al. Have concluded I am neither a fan of mortality nor...

...some of my early '90s eyeliner choices.

At the reception for Christy and Mike's wedding, August 1993. Copious hair and piercings for each of us. (I'd taken out my additional earrings as I was maid of honor.)

At 26, this is what TJ wore to a betrothal wherein his date (we were both seeing each other among others at this point; you need a schematic to chart our history over the two plus decades) was in the wedding party. He'd donned a more formal ensemble for the ceremony, then jetted to his apartment to change for the reception. Three years ago at Uptown Espresso, he teasingly apologized to Christy for this consummate young dude maneuver and she found both the memory and the contrition funny. Then he confessed to her that a large swath of the revelers (myself included) had filled his pack w/ the remaining beers before heading to the Camlin Hotel's Cloud Room to get properly smashed. She'd long ago seen photos of the latter and laughed at acknowledgment of the former, which she'd already figured out.

The editors at TMZ are getting hard and/or wet just thinking about it:

I want to underscore I'm in no way comparing being gay to betraying one's partner.

That said, you know how there is National Coming Out Day? What if we enacted a Show of Hands Everyone Who is Fucking Someone They are not Supposed to be Fucking Day and got all this over with in one fell swoop?

Dear Montana Senator Baucus:

You understand, sir, that the position of U.S. Attorney is one of import and responsibility and that the determining criterion for your nominee should not and cannot be that you have stuck your penis in her vagina?

Towel off and mull it over.

Signed,
Everyone with Functioning Cognitive Skills

[And, yes, he is a Democrat. Lest anyone think I don't play fair around these parts.]

Promise I'll return it in good condition:

Does anyone have an ether mask I can borrow until February 15th, at which point both of our birthdays (which we made a huge deal over), Christmas (ibid) and sundry holidays will be over?

New York State Senator Diane Savino's erudite, wry and eminently logical defense of gay marriage:

I've long maintained that unless gays add plutonium to the mix, there is no way they are going to fuck up marriage to the degree straights have.

Here New York State Senator, Diane Savino, systematically dismantles the arguments against gay marriage and she makes me even prouder to be an American:

http://jezebel.com/5417973/heroine-alert-diane-savino-ny-state-senator

If you'd like to thank Senator Savino for her conviction, you can do so here:

http://www.nysenate.gov/senator/diane-j-savino/contact

Pretty sure legendary WaPo editor, Ben Bradlee, just hurled his tumbler of scotch across the room:

I devour the best of contemporary lit and biography and historical tomes and classics with the same appetite with which I pounce on sundried tomato ravioli, but I'm not above the occasional copy of Star or US Weekly. (Indeed, as I confessed here long ago, I even had a subscription to the latter way back.)

But I just received a Washington Post "Breaking News Alert" stating, "Tiger Woods says he regrets transgressions" and like all sentient creatures, I can't help but think, Aren't we on the brink of enacting health care reform? And fighting two wars? And is our Bush-inherited economy still as reliable as a meth-head with a key to your house or did I miss a meeting?

Again, I know I'm not alone on this: I don't read the Washington Post or the New York Times, both of which I check several times a day, for gossip. Archaeologists typically consider division of labor as the launching point for human civilization: news organizations of all mediums, leave who's-fucking-who to the print and online tabs and, please, for the love of our current civilization, stick to your purpose and cover actual goddamned news.

[Postscript two hours later: WaPo just sent out another "Breaking News Alert" stating, "NIH authorizes use of first human embryonic stem cells under new policy." Which is substantive, actual news. Hooray! Also: maybe we control the world with our minds now.]

So, today makes eight weeks...

...since he died and while the shock has subsided, the pain has not. When I wrote a few weeks ago that I'd sever any limb to have him back, I wasn't dallying in metaphor. Furthermore, I'd make the incision myself. 1) It'd be worth it and 2) it would hurt less.

Everyone, including my shrink, tells me I'm holding up wonderfully under the circumstances. (I hadn't been in therapy for a year but made an appointment after he was confirmed dead and I resumed shortly after the "memorial".) As noted, I'm tenacious by nature, but an indescribably huge portion of the credit goes to my family and friends, particularly my mom, whose love and insight have been sheltering and spot-on.

We've just completed the first month, November, in which he was alive for no part and I now believe the ancient Greeks were wrong: the world is, indeed, quite flat.

And now, let us raise our soy hot chocolate to ladies w/ uncanny timing and boundless good hearts:

Last Wednesday, as I was out running errands, it was pouring rain and gunmetal gray both in and outside my head. When I arrived home, I discovered the most delightful early Christmas gift from my beloved friend, Jade: a fuchsia basket bursting with a panoply of chocolates from Dylan's Chocolate Bar, one of my favorite places in Manhattan and the known galaxy. And the thought behind the gift was the best part: she said she wanted to remind me of the sweetness in the world.

This morning as I was reading the front page New York Times story on the horrific execution of the four police officers outside of Tacoma, I received a text from my dear friend, Maria, saying she wasn't sure if I was awake yet but wanted to let me know she'd left a surprise for me downstairs by my building's front door and for me to retrieve it before it was absconded. I was already half-dressed (clad in shirt and bra but still in my pajama bottoms), so I threw on some jeans and headed for the elevator. And there by the main entrance was an enchanting bouquet of a type of lily, I believe (I'm not the world's most adept horticulturist), a Godiva chocolate bar, and heartfelt and witty card.

I realize I'm not as funny when I chronicle how grateful I am, but the fact remains I am grateful to so many for so much. As I wrote the other day, there will come a time I return to penis jokes and such. (Today's Facebook post: "Like Thomas Edison and his light bulb, whomever develops a sensor that detects free-floating particles of douchebaggery will steer human history permanently for the good.") And I can feel myself inching that way: humor gets you through this nearly as much as anything. In the meantime, though, I'd fail as a writer and as a person if I ignored the incredible kindness surrounding me through one of the two worst years of my life.

So how 'bout if I split the difference and write how fucking grateful I am? While I mostly still feel like I'm stumbling blindly about, hour by hour I'm figuring this out. (And look! I just inadvertently wrote a Sheryl Crow lyric.)

"Take comfort in your friends"--Michael Stipe, R.E.M.'s "Everybody Hurts" (and, well, just common sense):

My close friend, R, is in town and we had a toasty good afternoon yesterday that included story swapping, his wise counsel as someone who has been through this (he lost someone he loved deeply to an aneurysm, i.e. like TJ, she was here then gone in a blink), much laughter at long-running jokes, borscht, maple buttercremes, and a long walk.

Not bad under the circumstances.

Much love, fellas:

I spent a bittersweet but delightful afternoon yesterday with S and P at the Vivace on the northeast part of Broadway. Last Thanksgiving weekend, the three of us and TJ corralled at Dilletante, swapping tales and laughing ourselves silly. (TJ and I then went to a furniture store on Pike Street to retrieve a chest of drawers I'd purchased. With typical strength and perhaps a wee bit of bravado, he carried it under one arm from the store to my car around the corner and repeated the process when unloading it in my garage and riding the four floors up to my condo.)

S has lived in Los Angeles for years and, as such, he couldn't make it to TJ's memorial. P attended the vigil, but was in Paris for his awesome wife's 40th birthday when the memorial came. (I consider her a dear friend, too, and was all in favor of them adhering to their long-planned jaunt. As I relayed, TJ would have been the last person to want to fuck up anyone's travel plans.) S and P loved TJ and vice versa and S, with his usual insight, suggested that when he came to town for Thanksgiving this year, we gather again and raise our mochas to TJ.

We did and told stories of his life and caught up on our own and the whole thing felt right and good.

Well, that clears that up:

Turns out, despite my best cheerful efforts and the love of those around me, the holiday season and grief mix about as well as a kitten and a cobra.

It's bittersweet...

...that you can spend 21 years, i.e. half your life, intertwined with another and still feel as if you didn't have enough time. I'm thankful beyond measure for the days he and I had together. And, of course, for my Nobel laureate family, friends, and colleagues.

To paraphrase the line from "A Hard Day's Night": gear, fab, and all the other pimply hyperbole:

As I wrote on Facebook yesterday afternoon:

"Hey, dudes! I'm not sure everyone knows this, but I have been cane-free for three weeks now, the first time I've walked without cane or crutches since the four month remission that ended in January. So, high fives and cheek kisses all around! Carrying things in two hands! Yippee!"

So far, I've received 33 "likes" and 14 comments and the whole thing is dipped in a big bowl of awesome sauce and rolled in honey bunches of greatness. I'm more touched than Pamela Anderson in her honeymoon video. But, you know, nicer.

After 18 years, I know the cage door stays open as long as it stays open, seemingly independent of how healthily I eat (which is almost all the time) or how routinely I stretch and go for a walk (ibid). So, I'm sanguine but thrilled.

You take your good news where you can get it.

Hey, all! A bit of an update:

Seven weeks in, I think I've returned everyone's first round of incredibly kind phone calls, emails, and responded with thank you cards to the bevy of flowers and gifts I've been massively fortunate to receive. However, and this is a "problem" I am grateful to have, I am still not caught up on the second and, in some cases, third and fourth rounds of communications.

As everyone familiar with grief knows, it is a two-steps-forward-one-step-back process. I can feel myself inching in the right direction and some days I can discuss and write about him and how I am doing quite fluidly, surprising even myself. Others, like yesterday when I was downtown getting a jump on my holiday shopping because I am not quite fa-la-la-la-la this year and would prefer to sidestep the onslaught of wreaths, lights, Santas, et al, things leap out unexpectedly and I find myself nearly crying in the middle of Williams and Sonoma because I inadvertently stumbled upon their Popcorn Lover's Kit I gave him as part of his birthday gift last year. And again, this is obviously not specific to me. It seems ingrained in the process of learning to live one's life, in many ways, from scratch.

So, if you haven't heard from me a few days after your kind, thoughtful, and in some cases, hilarious-in-a-way-he-would-have-appreciated-most-of-all phone call or email, please know how much you mean to me and how much I value your reaching out. Most days, I return at least a few and I consider them a true gift and not a chore, but other days, the simplest tasks seem to require Herculean effort. But I will get back to you soon. Not because I have to, but because I love or value you deeply.

I am tenacious by nature, but all of you are helping to sustain me in ways that if I enumerated would fill every book in each library across the globe.

In the midst of the worst year I've encountered, I am still profoundly grateful and fully aware that out of the nearly seven billion fellow humans currently sharing the planet, I was graced with one of the very best lives.

And yes, one day I will again make penis jokes and such. For my own sanity, mostly, and because he'd want me to continue moving to a lighter place and reclaim my title as "Miss Potty Mouth", one of his many nicknames for me.

Still and always,
Litsa

"Incidentally, this record is available in the foyer"--Eric Idle

As with any death, TJ's has had its attending share of absurdities and inanities. Folks are still posting on his Facebook page (if you believe he can hear you, as I do, and we'll get to that in a sec, can't you just talk to him directly?); his Facebook page is still up almost seven weeks after his death; a local theater company that is ten grand in the hole and who bears someone close to it who declared personal bankruptcy over a year ago has started a "memorial fund" in TJ's name (yes, that last one was awkwardly worded, strictly for legal reasons); TJ donated money to said theater company last year, but had no intention of acting for it again (if you disagree on the previous point, you're calling TJ a liar); he had last acted for said theater company at a staged reading in September 2007 and in one of its plays in April 2006; the aforementioned individual close to said theater company used to literally beg me to write about it, despite the fact I repeatedly declined (TJ was a brilliant actor, but with few exceptions, the best part of the company's repertory); TJ had stepped down from the board of said company years ago because he thought it was poorly managed financially (TJ excelled at investing and cash-related matters); because TJ's family knew none of the above, the aforementioned individual has turned TJ's death into an ostensibly charitable money-making opportunity, despite the fact TJ, while being incredibly charitable with money and time, never would have contorted the death of any of his friends for his own purposes, and he did consider said individual a friend, which makes the whole shebang that much more of a clusterfuck.

Having said that, I, of course, have no control over any of it. Which is where the whole "letting go" thing comes in. And circling back to an earlier point, yes, I do believe TJ hears his loved ones, not because he was messianic or something but because that is what I believe. And clearly, others believe it, too, or they wouldn't keep writing to him on his Facebook page. But this is among the things that bemuse me: if you believe he can hear you, certainly Facebook is not the conduit, is it? As I've written of here and elsewhere, during different points of my life, I've been a believer, an agnostic, and an atheist. I respect anyone who arrives at his or her conclusion after vast periods of reflection and not based merely on the geographic locale into which he or she was born.

For the past few years, I have again believed in an omniscient deity, fully stipulating, as I have with each of my prior beliefs, that I might be wrong. Ultimately, I believe we leave this life not knowing certain things and the best we can deduce is, at its core, an educated guess. I have family and friends of all philosophical and theological stripes: the thing that unites them is that each has an active mind and a kind heart. And I believe these are the most important traits of all.

With all this in mind and prompted by my friend Eric's recent and brilliant interview w/ John Cleese, I opted to view Monty Python's Life of Brian, The Meaning of Life, and Search for the Holy Grail back-to-back yesterday, each for roughly the millionth time. And, of course, while I understand the underlying and collected meaning of them is essentially agnostic, the god I believe in would be the first to find these films masterworks and utterly fucking hilarious. I will not believe in a god who does not believe in Python.

So here are the lyrics to my favorite Python song, that obviously, closes The Life of Brian, "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life":

"Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble; give a whistle
This will help things turn out for the best

Always look on the bright side of life
Always look on the light side of life

If life seems jolly rotten
There's something you've forgotten
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing
When you're feeling in the dumps
Don't be silly, chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle
That's the thing

Always look on the bright side of life
Always look on the bright side of life

For life is quite absurd
And death's the final word
You must always face the curtain
With a bow
Forget about your sin
Give the audience a grin
Enjoy it
It's your last your last chance, anyhow.

So, always look on the bright side of death
Just before you draw your terminal breath
Life's a piece of shit
When you look at it
Life's a laugh and death's a joke
It's true
You'll see it's all a show
Keep 'em laughing as you go
Just remember that the last laugh is on you

And, always look on the bright side of life
Always look on the right side of life
(C'mon, Brian! Cheer up!)
Always look on the bright side of life
Always look on the bright side of life
(What are you gonna do?
You come from nothing--you're going back to nothing
What do you lose?
Nothing!)
Always look on the right side of life
(Nothing will come from nothing!
Cheer up, you ol' bugger!)
Always look on the bright side of life

And this week's shout-outs go to:

• Christy, for graciously allowing her birthday dinner to be postponed twice, (once when TJ went missing and then again when he was confirmed dead) and while it wasn't the locus of what should have been and was an evening to honor her, she kindly didn't ask or expect me to pretend what is going on is not going on. And we should note she was his friend, too.

• Hilary, for a deeply meaningful and darkly hilarious dinner at Quinn's after which I got the closest thing I've managed to a full night's sleep in six and a half weeks.
  

• My cousin, George (yeah, I know, same name as my brother, but they're named after different grandfathers), for volunteering to purchase and install a router so that I might have wi-fi. (And as such, I'm writing this from my living room now. Hooray!)

• My parents, for a fun-under-the-circumstances lunch before they dropped me off at grief counseling.

• Eric, for his outstanding-per-usual interview with John Cleese (http://www.vanityfair.com/online/oscars/2009/11/qa-john-cleese-plans-on-living-forever-or-at-least-long-enough-to-pay-off-his-alimony.html) that prompted me tonight to rent Life of Brian, Meaning of Life, and Search for the Holy Grail, all of which I intend to watch for the millionth time tomorrow and should have thought to have rented weeks ago.

• My new friend, Gary, for being a spectacular listener and for reaching out to an acquaintance when many would have looked the other way. Also, he is a gifted thinker, conversationalist, and artist who helped today pass in a vastly superior manner to yesterday, which was hellish.

• Kate, for sending me one of the most insightful and understanding letters I've received since this began and whose awesomeness continues unabated.
  

• Jade, Yahoo!'s overnight editor, for her otherworldly level of insight and who chose one of their photo highlights for me: http://tinyurl.com/yjrnprz

• My cousin, Mary, for her unfailing compassion and ability to make sense in the face of cacophony.
  

• My brother, George, for continuing to prompt me to laugh when it's seemingly impossible.
  

And if I forgot you, please, speak up: I'm a bit fuzzy-headed now for obvious reasons. Really, though, I cannot thank everyone enough. I remain grateful beyond measure.

There's been a lot of "letting go",...

...to use grief parlance, the past few weeks.

The irrefutable facts remain, though: Tuesday night made six weeks since he was due at my place; Wednesday six weeks since he was "officially" late by the time frame he gave me; tomorrow will make six weeks since he was confirmed dead and seven weeks since we spoke on the phone; Sunday eight weeks since we saw each other in person for the final time, in my living room, going over instructions for bunny duty (he was taking care of Xander while I headed to Portland for three days).

Of course, those numbers will move in only one direction, growing larger with each passing second and with no plateau or respite.

As Elliott Smith once sang, "Oh, well. Okay."

I just received the New York Times Breaking News Alert that...

...Rudy Giuliani has decided not to run for governor of New York.

Which means one of two things: he has either deduced that his batshit presidential run ("I'll sit out lots of primaries then I'll disavow gays even though a bunch of them were my friends when I was mayor!") has permanently soured him with voters or he's about to announce wife #4 and this one is his sister.

Two reasons, in retrospect, I'm glad I had shingles this past summer:

[Photo: May 29, 2009. My front left quadrant, which basically resembled my back left quadrant. Good times.]

1) Because I've had CFIDS for 18 years, I'm usually in pain most days and I have a high tolerance for it. (I had a high tolerance for pain before I became ill, for that matter: when your dad has Nazi shrapnel embedded in his leg and his skull bears a dent from the same's rifle butt and your mom survived a horrific car accident as a child but spent a good deal of her childhood taking care of her injured mom, you and your brother realize pretty young that, in the scheme of things, a garden variety cold or flu or even broken bone is not a huge fucking deal.) As I've written about, due to my compromised immune system, I still had a fever a year and a half after the pneumonia from January 2008 when the shingles hit Memorial Day Weekend 2009.

As any physician, massage therapist, or person who has had shingles will relay, it is one of the most excruciating forms of pain the human body can experience. As I was not in optimum condition when mine hit, it was exceptionally pernicious and drawn-out. However, and I sound facetious but I'm not, this occurred to me two weeks ago: thank god I didn't get shingles slightly later in the year or the worst physical pain of my life would have coincided with by far the worst emotional pain that's found me. Since TJ died, no matter what, I've forced myself to write and go for a walk each day (frequently sobbing through both, but I do it) and while everyone in my sphere and many in his have graciously and sincerely offered their help, I insist on doing my own grocery shopping, cooking, errands, et al because if I don't, I'm flat out going to go crazy. And, as I've written of repeatedly here and elsewhere, I've been deeply touched by my family and friends, who have unfailingly taken me to lunch or dinner or coffee and listened and prompted me to laugh to the degree I'm able and, in some cases, held me while I cried.

But if the shingles had descended even a hair later than it did, none of the above would be possible because I would still be a de facto invalid and I'm certain I would be rendered insane. I'd have shingles each day the rest of my life if it would somehow resucitate his.

2) Because I had shingles throughout the summer and because TJ was (using the past tense still seems wrong) so incredibly caring, we saw each other nearly everyday during what turned out to be his last days. We usually saw each other a few times a week anyway, but while I was flattened, he, of his own volition, made me homemade spaghetti sauce and burritos and chicken noodle soup and stir-fry and frequently did my grocery shopping, picked up my prescriptions, and as I improved, drove me on short jaunts so I could actually leave our neighborhood. During the worst of the pain, he decreed we would have Goofy TV and Junk Food Night and we viewed CBS' Monday night line-up and scarfed his signature popcorn (made with olive oil and parmesan cheese, which sounds gross but he made deliciously), pepperoni pizza, nearly a pint each of Haagen-Dazs, and, somewhat as a joke at that point, several organic mangos and glasses of water. (Obviously, both of us ate healthily as a rule, hence the fun of splurging.) Despite the left part of my skull, neck, and torso were on fire, he made me laugh the whole goddamned night. And, of course, there was the delightful surprise party he threw for me in August. (I count it among my favorite days and, if you're curious, you can read about it here: http://theslipperyfish.blogspot.com/2009/08/best-anniversary-ever-as-such.html)

TJ and I first met in a Creative Writing class spring quarter of our junior year at the University of Washington 1988. He told me he liked my short story; I told him he had a great name for a mystery writer. He asked me out, but I had a boyfriend then. We stayed friends and later dated on and off from 1991 to 1994, again in 2000, throughout 2007 and on and off until he died. (I wouldn't usually divulge private details publicly, but I've been asked this question about a thousand times in the past six weeks and I'm confident he would be fine with my answering it definitively.) When we weren't dating, we remained close friends and everyone still saw us together. Hence, the confusion. And while this seems self-evident, no, of course we did not date each other while we were seeing other people or while he was briefly married. Also, and he'd be amused that I'm writing this but here goes: both of us broke up with each other more than once. I.e. it was a level playing field, as it were, which is part of what allowed us to remain close and grow to be best friends.

And that's just it: regardless of our "status" at any given moment, we were best friends and told each other so all the time. Nothing went unspoken: we frequently told each other how much we loved one another. There's not a room in my home he didn't paint or in which he didn't hang the pictures, move the furniture, install the light bulbs, make repairs, or, well, you can take it from there. And while his family, to whom I deferred on all matters while he went missing and who insisted I was the only one of his friends allowed to have contact with them during those four days and who asked me to hold the vigil the night we learned he was dead and to make dozens of phone calls on their behalf and asked me to help coordinate his Seattle memorial along with his cousin, and then, without a word of explanation, allowed me to read online later that same day the details had been set despite the fact I made it repeatedly and abundantly clear I would continue to defer to each of their wishes re the memorial (and I have the emails that bear this out), well, I know their agony is immeasurable and I wish them peace. And if they're comfortable having buried their son without including the person with whom he was closest throughout his most of his adult life, so be it.

I'm going for a walk now. Despite all odds, I've been cane-free for the past two weeks for the first time since January. And I suspect a certain climber of prodigious intellectual and creative gifts and a massive, ceaselessly kind heart has a bit of something to do with it.

Women are nearly 52% of the population and, of course, we're not and shouldn't be a...

...monolith.

Still, I wish there were a different classification for Carrie Prejean, Sarah Palin (who the fuck winks during a debate?), Paris Hilton, Kim Kardashian, the "Real Housewives" of any city, Octomom, Kate Gosselin, et al because they advance solely on their stupidity.

They are, essentially, minstrels and I loathe them.

The esteemed and hilarious online literary magazine, The Nervous Breakdown, has launched version 3.0 and...

...it crackles with the very best of words and word by-products.

Congratulations, treasured colleagues, particularly our fearless editor-in-chief, Brad Listi, and non-fiction editor, the oft-noted Mr. Spitznagel. I have written for TNB intermittently (i.e. health permitting) for the past two and a half years and will resume my new position as one of the associate non-fiction editors after the holidays, by which point, hopefully, a bit of the grief will have subsided.

In the meantime, cheek kisses, all, on a job supremely well done:

http://www.thenervousbreakdown.com/

Poked around and discovered someone w/ whom I was friends years ago...

...lists both The Secret and The Celestine Prophecy among her favorite books, which confirms what I long suspected: that she was born sans brain-stem.

While I didn't scroll through her posts, I wouldn't be surprised to discover she also enjoys kelp, whatever "cleanse" diet is currently making the rounds among starlets and the emotionally infirm, and persistently discussing the auras of those in her sphere.

No regrets here.

A huge fucking shout out to my brother, who just...

...called and told me to be downstairs in 20 minutes because he is taking me to dinner. And when I told him I'd be dressed uncharacteristically casual as I was just about to head out the door for a walk, he replied, "It's Seattle. Who the hell is going to notice?"

Once again I decree: best family, friends, and colleagues in the heliosphere. And this has all the makings of a great documentary: The Finest of Human Behavior and Meals.

If this doesn't define "grief", I don't know what does:

I read excerpts of Sarah Palin's book this morning and I don't have it in me to make fun of her today.

Helpful; not helpful:

1) My friend, Karen, and I met at the Vivace on the northeast part of Broadway this afternoon and she had a glazed old fashioned and a card that read, in part, "It's always too soon" waiting for me. As previously and oft-noted, nothing is fun in the way it was a month and a half ago nor feels remotely the same, but in context, spending time with her and sharing stories of one another's lives and writing and pets was fun. Her kindness and listening and laughter (depending on the story, obviously) were deeply meaningful, particularly as we've known each other for years, but this is the first one-on-one time we've spent as she reached out last week and said she'd like to take me to coffee. I feel grateful and connected.

2) The renowned exhibit, Bodies, has rolled through Seattle again and its poster is seemingly everywhere, particularly on the side of each Metro bus that careens down my street. Really, dudes: not now.

If you love "30 Rock", Tina Fey, laughter, language, erudition and...

...the intersection of all of the above, read this and feel better about the world:

http://www.thedailybeast.com/blogs-and-stories/2009-11-04/tina-feys-10-favorite-30-rock-moments/

And while three of my closest friends are of German descent and each is hilarious, this piece on "30 Rock" bombing in Germany (we should note Fey herself is half-German and half-Greek) seems to bear out Elvis Costello's line in "Man Out of Time" about a "German sense of humor":

http://www.thedailybeast.com/cheat-sheet/item/germany-hates-tina-fey/lost-in-translation/

I'm confident he'd be the first person to agree with me:

As I posted on Facebook today, endless ponies and snowcones to those whose kindness and understanding have been unparalleled. As I've noted many times, with all the words at my disposal, I cannot convey what it has meant and the degree to which it is sustaining me. I remain and shall remain forever grateful.

However, to those who barely knew him and who don't know me at all, and yet, after five weeks, continue to contact me and make it all about yourselves and not about him, I'm through responding graciously.

You will be deleted.

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/