In the meantime, for up-to-date analyses on the state
of the world, I invite you to visit the website linked below. The Diaries
of Miss Arieff, American "expooptriate" extraordinaire, cannot
be equalled.
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With my Irish Setter pup Patches when we were both
young.
My magnificent home from age 12 through graduating
high school. Built in 1919 by Henry Lippitt (1886-1974) whose father
was U.S. Senator from Rhode Island and whose uncle and grandfather
were both Governors of Rhode Island in the 19th century. This home
was designed by famed architect William Templeton Johnston. I went
from riches to rags following what I call the American Hollowcaust.
Huck Finn with glasses enjoying the pond in a summer
long ago.
Yearbook photo 1970
A wonderful gift given to me in 2004 by Jayne Moynihan
- an original oil painting by my childhood art teacher Loretta Metzger
McLeod (1913-1997) who held wonderful drawing and painting classes
at the Spanish Village, Balboa Park, San Diego where I went virtually
every Saturday from 1966 to 1971 and the summer of '72.
The 1925 Hollywood apt. rumored to have been built
by Ramon Novarro. My dear friend Don Higdon lived here from 1975 till
his death in 1993. I lived here when I arrived in Hollywood from the
late '80s to 1992. My neighbors in this building included Channing
Hanson, brother of the famous musician/singer Beck who would perform
at parties here as a shy teenager. I remember saying to him once,
"Beck, you're really talented. I'm sure you'll go far!"
Little did I know.
From 1992 to 1995 I lived at Birdhead Manor, quaintly
tucked away in the woods in North Hollywood and where I barely survived
the '94 Northridge Earthquake.
My next home in North Hollywood from early 1995 to
late 2000. My black cat Lunchbucket (1991-2003) is on the lawn. I
loved this home as I had lemon and fig trees outside my door and I
grew vegetables and planted numerous trees which within five years
were towering above the house. I also had a cool neighbor Rick Corrie
who lived in the guest house across the way.
Patches when he was 77 dog years and me, all growed
up yet a long time ago.
'80s MUSINGS, DITTIES AND CONTEMPLATIONS
BY YOURS TRULY:
"A DISARMING DITTY"
Is this aroma wafting before us from festering garbage or simmering
dish?
Is this bright painting hanging before us a new masterpiece or the
slop of a fish?
Is this cigar a supremo? Is this bonne fille 'de la creme?' Are these
macaronies extremo?
Go to the experts. Ask them.
Are these nice people drinking before us genteely tippling or thoroughly
pissed?
Are these sweet light notes soaring before us only for Muzak or worthy
of Liszt?
Dare we be seen in this sector? Will the Big Bomb blow us up? Should
I become a defector?
Only the experts 'fess up.
Is this assassin cringing before us mad as a hatter or fit for the
block?
Are these grand phrases flowing before us inspired from on high or
a lot of old crock?
Is this cigar a supremo? Is this bonne fille 'de la creme?' Are these
macaronies extremo?
Go to the experts. Ask them.
Is this old forest greening before us pristine and priceless or should
it be burned?
Is this old language languishing 'fore us ready for Babel or should
it be learned?
Dare we be seen in this sector? Will the Big Bomb blow us up? Should
I become a defector?
Only the experts are stumped.
Is this great leader leading before us the savior of nations or should
he be bumped?
Is this great doctrine doctring before us fair, just and holy and
will it be dumped?
Is this cigar a supremo? Should this old doctrine be dumped? Are
these macaronies extremo?
Only the experts are stumped.
-Written 1982
"A SALTY YARN"
Old Sonny gave the swabby a fiver and wished him good
luck and good sail. Then he strolled around the corner and stepped
on a rusty old nail.
"Me luck idn't wid me," he said with a groan.
"I gave it along with me fiver to Limey O'Keefe" he said
through his teefe as he pulled out the nail in short order.
So he hopped to the pub for a quick one, just something
to moisten his craw. As he downed his third creme de Burma he caught
a sight of old Ma.
"Ma Guzzle!" he cried with a song in his heart.
"I'm pleased as a peacock to see ya! Come sit by me side and
warm up me hide and tell me, how goes it my dee-ah?"
Ma Guzzle, she looked up at Sonny and gaped with a come-hither
leer. Cuz Ma Guzzle she hadn't seen Sonny in many-a many-a year:
Since that day he set sail on the salty sea brine, since
that day they began the great Battle of Rhine, Since that day all
were humming "The Carpet Sublime." (She hadn't seen Sonny
in ages of time.)
Ma Guzzle, to Sonny she sidled. She gave him a look
in the eyne. She gaped and she gawked as to him she walked, bringing
her bottle of wine.
"Sonny Me Boy," she said with a scowl, "I've
grown Rubenesque but I'm still on the prowl. I spend all me days here
in Pickle's Canteen till I've lost all me buttons and rotted me spleen.
Till me woolens is mothy and me 'air 'as gone green, till me one joy
in life is the backroom latrine. So Sonny Me Boy, it's just like a
dream to see you once more here in Pickle's Canteen."
"I stepped on a nail," said Sonny Me Boy.
"I stepped on a nail 'round the cornah. But that's over and done
-- it's time for some fun!" And he hugged her and kissed her
with lustah.
Now they've been together some 45 days; they've been
together the while. And they've laughed and they've sang and they've
danced to Coltrane and they've honeymooned twice up the Nile.
"THREE LADIES"
Amy O'Day was a stripper, a kitty from Avenuue B. Whenever
she strolled by the river, the tugboats would head out to sea.
Barbie McTeal was a blaster. She fixed broken walls
with her sand. In romance she truly was master, and she only charged
ten bucks a stand.
Christie Babu was a cooker. She worked at Pink Pup's
Bar And Grill. She whipped up a mean Stew de Oyster always served
with a happy time pill.
In love and work they were satisfied: these three ladies,
they never were blue. Only one thing remained to be gratified: each
craved a pretty tattoo.
So one night the three ladies united: Miss O'Day, McTeel
and Babu took a stroll, turned the corner and discovered Ye Mariners'
Parlor Tattoo.
On her thigh Miss O'Day put a cherry. On her ear Miss
McTeel put a fish. On her piggy-wig big Miss Babu put a fig; now each
has the tattoo she did wish.
"GOAT SONG"
She dressed her old goat in a doublet and flew him to
Port Au Dauphin. They drove to the Commissar's quarters and demanded
a thimble of jam.
The Commissar couldn't be bothered: he was busy with
strawberry pies. So they tied up his arms with some seaweed and escaped
in a clever disguise.
Now no one would know them from Adam for she purpled
her hair with a rinse and she twisted Goat's beard into ringlets and
no one has spotted them since.
But I know for a fact as I stand here today that the
lady is "extant" as sages would say. And Goat is still with
her, of that I am sure, for a little bird told me, a sparrow named
Myrrh.
Now Myrrh is a gossip, a ne'er-do-well. But Myrrh never
lies -- his soul's pure as a bell. Though once in a while (like quarter
to nine) he'll flitter and bramble and guzzle his wine.
And once in a while (when no one is looking) when hedgehogs
are hedging and cats are in twine, when cockatoos doodle and pineapples
pine, Mr. Myrrh will go winging from fence post to mine.
From Cedar Park Playground to Hickory Dole. From Sissyphus
Junction to Jupiter's Hole. From Appletown Manor to Hollywood Bowl.
From car lots to sand lots to hotplates and gall. From kippers and
herring to Rasputin's Mall. From rivers and slippers and apricot-stew,
from livers and drifters to call-out-the-crew, from snappers and rappers
and petticoat paint, from diapers and flippers to rain-on-my-gate.
And I know for a fact as grannys do dote, as bumble
bees bumble and gloat-fish do gloat, that the lady is "extant"
-- and so is her goat.
"SUBWAY ENCOUNTER I"
"Is it day or night?" the Black boy asked
through the vinyl of his hood.
"Is it day or night?" the scared boy asked
from the depths of the subway tombs
from the depths of his vinyl hood
from the depths of his quivering soul
from the depths of his mangled veins
"Is it day or night?" he asked.
"SUBWAY ENCOUNTER II"
Stern Black lady
Dressed all in black
Black dress, black coat,
Black sunglasses too.
Her face is stern, her jaw is set
No longer will she permit regret.
"SUBWAY ENCOUNTER III"
A daffy dame, no teeth no more
But that's okay -- "dentures are a bore!"
For garbage-sifting requires nothing more than good
eyesight and a prayer.
"SUBWAY ENCOUNTER IV"
What about that character staring at me from the window's
pane? A reflection of that guy -- it's a bit obscure.
He looks a bit tired 'round his prominent eyes. He looks
a little silly 'round his kindly little mouth. His hair is short right
now. He has no beard -- he shaves every day. Though he'd rather not,
I think.
He's always looking, always thinking thinking thinking
And dreaming.
He daydreams.
And remembers.
And imagines.
And dreams.
And yearns.
Always.
Oh -- and he wears the same kind of cheap blue vinyl
winter coat as does the scared Black boy who doesn't know whether
it's day or night.
Curious.
"The Last Summer Night On Ludlow
Street"
I see gargoyles as night descends
Velvet musk-blue
Their windows glow yellow and the chintzy bouncy curtain
spots do too
It's Manhattan's midsummer's eve
And a wall of Ice couldn't relieve the suffocated Latin
Wail
Here in Gargoyle Ghetto it's only in mind's I that I
see clearly what those old Puerto Ricans try to remember, what the
young Puerto Ricans have only seen as painted images on abandoned
walls --
corn
maize
beans
fields
burros on a river-cross
hacking trees -- it's a world I know and I'm off!
but here -- here!
rubble decay rust and shadows
the murder-flaming plume
the eagles glint darkly, stalking the nightly crawl
bottles puddles drunks brick
Gargoyle musk and velvet blue
The windows glow yellow and the chintzy bouncy curtain
spots do too.
-August 9, 1984
"1986 SUNSET"
As the sun sets over the American Empire we tremble.
Lost souls into the woods do ramble.
Weary peasants, loaded with pots, do trundle
In the distance, archangels grumble.
Bumblebees bumble, turnipseeds tumble
Even R. Reagan is starting to crumble
Lift up your knees, partings are humble.
Try me no more with that ham and his cronies. Bake 'em
for Christmas all smothered in honies.
Show me once more how the gypsies do gamble with life
everlasting, with gods in a jamble
Beckon ME now to that life everlasting
Let's kick up our heels and make love after fasting
Bend me in knots
Clean up the loo
Tell me what's phony and tell me what's true
Dry all my tears
Quell all my fears
Prove that to trust shall not fade with the years
Flirt with the mad elves who sacrifice daily
Along with the mudlark trip ever gaily
Sing me the song that to Poe was so dear
Never darken my door unless you bring beer
Quote me some Nietzche, Rimbaud and Voltaire,
Then lay me amongst the downy white grass
And sing me a hymn as you turn on the gas
Laugh with me, Mary and Jacob and Joseph
Drown in my tears that drink up the most of
the glow of my soul that beckons the starlight
Beckons the starlight to fill up the hole.
Where shall I stay and where shall I go?
Yes, we are survivors and we have a duty
To life, love, to family,
To justice, to beauty
Bear me along, hawks that do soar
High over Eden
Crossing her shore
Orient Point leads far out to sea
Remember your childhood, it's my holy decree
Remember your childhood -- and remember me.
December 5, 1986
Some
of my very favorite four-footed friends
Patches
The runt of the litter my parents gave me at the age
of 12 grew to be a large, handsome, always happy friend who was an
enthusiastic fellow hiker through the hills and canyons of my youth..
Lunchbucket
A novel could be written about the adventures and
misadventures of this amazing pal of mine who hopped into my car one
day in 1991 and stayed with me for more than 12 years. Lunchbucket
survived the L.A. Riots (she was shot in the back by a BB gun) several
earthquakes, including the big one in '94. What a survivor! One day
in 2003 she disappeared forever and I later learned she found herself
cornered by three coyotes. Two would never have defeated her.
Raspy
I almost stepped on a tiny abandoned kitten while
hiking in Griffith Park so naturally I had to bring Raspy home, for
he hypnotized me with his Rasputin-like stare. I had just acquired
Lunchbucket a couple of weeks before and after some hissing they became
fast friends for years. Raspy was the Huck Finn of cats and very affectionate.
Sylvester
The beautiful mysterious Sylvester just appeared one
day and stayed, I think to keep company with Lunchbucket and Raspy.
My French neighbors became very attached to this photogenic being
and so Sylvester decided to adopt them. Au revoir, mon ami!
Woodrow Woodstock Wilson
My friend Sheila bought a little puppy for me on my
birthday while we were in Woodstock, NY. Little did I know the pup
would grow to be as big as a small horse! I raised Woodrow as best
I could in the Lower East Side. He saved my life twice from muggers
during late night walks and won a heroic battle against a spike-studded
pitt bull that a Rican gang member sic'd on him. Eventually I took
Woodrow on a glorious tour. We trotted along Georgia beaches, paraded
through the French Quarter, traversed the entire state of Texas and
then visited picturesque villages in Mexico. Unfortunately I had to
leave Woodrow behind on a ranch in Mexico and I hope he realizes I
never wanted to part company with such a wonderful friend. My prayer
is that Woodrow has sired a new breed of cream labs that are populating
the villages and ranches throughout Mexico.
The elegant and regal Snow-Cat, my current owner,
a semi wild feline who befriended Lunchbucket when we moved to a new
home in late 2000. It was interesting seeing an all-black cat friendly
and hanging out with an all-white one. Lunchbucket became a victim
of coyotes in 2003. Three years later I found Snow-Cat lying on the
ground, the victim of a racoon attack, according to the vet to whom
I rushed her. She recuperated at my home and since that time is a
wild thing no longer but a thoroughly domesticated lover of hearth
and home, knowing very few racoons will ever intrude inside a human
dwelling. In October 2008 a young lady of 27-years told me that Snow-Cat
was once known as "Snuggles" a kitten she had gotten when
she was 12. Therefore, Snow-Cat, Snuggles or Snow Ball, another name
given her, was born in 1993 and is 15 years old as of this date! She
shows no signs of being this old, and indeed often plays like a kitten.
