The Tenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Saturday after the Belmont at Taix, we went to the Westside where Lynn got yet another haircut; an ordinary haircut, one in a series. Meanwhile, I drove to a sidestreet in Brentwood and put another ordinary quart of oil in the ancient and ordinary Mercedes. I aslo drove out to Adelaide, where I have watched at least a couple dozen sunsets in my life; these are not ordinary, except for the people on Adelaide.

[Do you realize that, while the south side of Adelaide is City of Santa Monica, the north side of Adelaide is City of LA? You can tell by the trashcans in the driveways that plunge down a little ways into Santa Monica Canyon on the north side of the street. Of course, there's no parking on the LA side, and complex parking signs on the SaMo side.]

At the Brentwood Country Mart, there is one of those horse rides for children (do we have a good name for these?) that has an actual leather saddle strapped onto it.

After Lynn's haircut, we drove down to Abbott Kinney: Lynn wanted to check two stores across the street from each other, one that sells tennis shoes, and the other, Tortoise, has Japanese housewares. We ended up taking home four tenugui from the Japanese shop that Lynn will divide in half and use as summer napkins. Japanese design: one form, many functions.

Onwards it was to the Marina, where Salon Oblique had an opening; one in a series. There must have been sixty people there. A scene stealer was a microwave oven: it's "brand" was identified as "Global Warming" and its nine settings were labeled as various strata of environmental catastrophes. Fumiko Amano's work was also especially well received. There's always Campari at Salon Oblique, and I think I must have had my share.

Late in the evening, we went to Lisa's, whose work is always especially well received by us, and had a couple bottles of wine. Lisa' has a self-portrait in the upcoming weekend self-portrait show next week at RiskPress Gallery.

Yesterday I could barely stand the excitement of la dimance de la vie. After a late Mass, I went to two putting greens, the one at Roosevelt and one at the Los Feliz par 3. I don't feel like playing a round on weekends. Then we went to Casita del Campo for dinner and noted that all the entrees are now $15. We both ordered a la carte items; as the baby boom ages, shouldn't we be eating less?

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So it was one ordinary weekend in ordinary time. One in a series. (If you're wondering why Catholics have time called "Ordinary Time"---it simply means, the Sundays that are numbered, with ordinal numbers, as in: The Tenth Sunday in Ordinary Time).

The sharpest prong of the weekend was was wherein I discovered, at table at Lisa's late Saturday night, how far I have retreated from the kind of discussions you often hear in LA about "progress" in one's life, discussions about whether or not I/you/we/they should be more "accomplished." Lynn reminded me that I had told Rodger Jacobs last year that I wished people would review my books, which actually made me laugh at last year's version of me. I suppose I said that; that could indeed be what you say two years after you finish a book that nobody has reviewed. But you get over it, and rather easily.

Usually, when people are talking about accomplishment, they are talking about the extent to which they are recognized by others. I think in response I may have borrowed yet another page of Deleuze and said something about us living on many strata, not one, and consistency from year to year may be the only truly stilting and limiting thing. No, it was something like, "If you seek the acclaim of men, then verily, I say to you, you have your reward." So it was more Christ than Deleuze---but it sat in my mind as Deleuzean.

The Westside also lives on many strata. Doesn't exasperation over recognition go against the whole ginger tea / yoga / acupuncture thing?

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The other thing I'm also tired of is running into so many people at cocktail parties who see such events as an opportunity to do business. I like it far more when people go to enjoy cocktails, and each other's company. More later.

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By the way, it's good to see Rodger, after a considerable hiatus, is now busy reminding people that there's not much to Ian McEwan. Rodger isn't a guy who goes to cocktail parties to do business.

My local blogosphere from even eighteen months ago is almost unrecognizable: Cathy Seipp has left us forever, Mack Reed gave up LA Voice, Rodger is in San Francisco, and I am doing other things as well. Why do I have the sneaky feeling that we're all in quieter, better, more peaceful places---each one of us? Ordinary Time is a good place to be.