Earthquakes and Assholes
Sari circa 1999
May 17, 2011
Adventuress Wanted’s distributors are ineffectual small men whose heads are oversized because they work in the film industry. After months of talk but no action it is obvious that I’ll have to handle things myself if this film is to find its rightful audience. The amount of bullshit in this town is staggering. Did you know that you can get your asshole bleached in Hollywood? Apparently God picked the wrong color for some of us. You’d better check yours.
California is no place to be in the rain and it’s pouring. But there are hundreds of HD channels on my big screen TV. I’ve got high-speed internet, a Bluetooth headset, a nice office, and a kick-ass staff. I’m CEO of a cutting edge media corporation again, and we are about to launch our core product into the biggest music market in the world. When I fly now it’s for business, Switzerland, New York, Transylvania — and I miss Africa. Travel and adventure kept me sane; now I’ve got LA and Power Yoga.
Thankfully I’ve also got the Buggy.
But I’ve got no woman. Yoshiko and I have thrown in the towel. By the way, Yoshiko is fine. She was working in an office when the biggest earthquake in recorded Japanese history struck a few weeks ago, but she was not hurt physically. Yoshiko was also getting dressed for high school in Kobe when 6000 people were killed in that city in the ‘96 quake. And she was a dive instructor at The Four Seasons in the Maldives when the 2004 tsunami washed clear over their island wiping out the resort completely.
Yoshiko’s birthday is September 11th.
Anyway I’m single again. I’m working out regularly, eating well, and I’m strong as hell. But lack of regular sex makes me feel weak, and 18 hour work days don’t leave a lot of time for dating. I really just need a hot babe to spend Sundays in bed with me, the rest of the week I’m too busy. I hear the hookers are great in LA but I’ve never been big on prostitutes. Not for moral reasons mind you, mostly its vanity; I like to believe that I can still attract beautiful women without paying them in cash. Plus I’m scared of HIV. Finally, despite the statistical likelihood that some woman has faked an orgasm with me, I like to believe that most were real; that could be difficult with a professional.
I wrote the first chapter of a novel just before I started Radical.FM. The storyline uses my relationship with the beautiful but crazy Sari as a canvas on which to splash some anecdotal incidents from my life. It seems unfair to other women I’ve known longer than Sari that she commands so much of my memory. But insanity (and its brink) is hard to top as a source of creative inspiration. Recently a brilliant friend of mine started rambling on Facebook and I sensed that she was straddling the edge, so I lassoed her back to this side with the following anecdote;
Some years ago, while emotionally distraught in jail (I was not distraught at being in jail, rather I was in jail as an indirect result of being distraught — over my break-up with Sari) I realized one night in an isolation cell that all I needed to do to cross over to the comfortable world of the ‘checked out’ was to allow it to happen. It was eerily fascinating and alarmingly tempting. I consciously chose to rein my mind back in, and I’m glad.
Miran understood me perfectly and thanked me profusely. That was a useful day.
This day is questionable. I certainly haven’t saved anybody. I’ve gotten little real work done. I haven’t enjoyed the outdoors, smelled the flowers, gotten laid, or even gone to the gym. And it’s still raining.
Maybe I should get drunk?
Or maybe I should squat over a mirror and check that my asshole is the right color?
I am in LA you know.
14 Comments