Let Us Pray


I saw “Spotlight” tonight.   While I was aware of the scope of the Abuse scandal in the Catholic Church, I was not aware of how the story in this country broke.  The film is amasterful piece of storytelling that lays bare the intense, personal stories involved with bringing this particular truth to light.

What struck me most about the film (and is still reverberating around in my brain) is how such horrific deeds could be buried and simultaneously suppressed and seemingly forgotten by so many people.  So many people.  Mothers, fathers, priests, victims, reporters, police, clerks, lawyers, judges, bishops, sisters, brothers.  Everyone seemed to know about the systematic sexual abuse of children and its cover-up and few did or said anything to bring the awful truth to light.

When it was spoken of, or mentioned, or reported, it was often swept under any variety of rugs…rugs of denial, rugs of regret, rugs of inconvenience, rugs of misunderstanding, rugs of legal maneuvering, rugs of shame and rugs of white-hot fear.

The complicit cover-up was and is astounding.  It hit home for me — not only the importance of telling the truth, but of speaking up and telling the truth that lays dormant, unspoken and unseen.

This film is as much about the sins of action as it is about the sins of inaction.




Ashes to Ashes


I used to wait and wait and wait for this to be played on Night Tracks, Ted Turner’s short-lived precursor to MTV.  Of course, I had grown up with Bowie on Top 40 radio but never really knew his music.  That is, until my neighbor Ann Beavers turned me on to him, along with B-52’s, Talking Heads and The Cars.  She had a couple of albums and we’d listen to them when our folks weren’t around.

Something about this video’s  eerie melody, synthy guitar chords, negative visual treatment and, of course, Bowie’s androgynous harlequin character struck a nerve with me.  It was his first video I recall going big time and I was hooked.

The nerve it struck, as with so many, was the self-realization that I, too, was different.   And profoundly so.   Years later, I would realize that being different was OK, maybe even better.

Thank you Ann for the introduction.  And thank you David Bowie for years and years of pleasure.  You left the world a better place than when you arrived.


Warm Leatherette

Join the car crash set….

Anyway, sorry for being radio silent.    December was a mixed bag-o-tricks.  Good riddance to an average average average month.

Hightlights:  I got 5 more chapters written and the rest of the book outlined.   That’s all I’m gonna say about that.  My visit home was initially stressful.  And it was all my stress.  When will I learn?  I got it out of the way on Christmas Eve with a stern talk with my mother.  She, however, was a good 30 years ahead of me.  Hello?!   I mean, really.  Look around Brown.   They’re not here forever.  And Dad, always so perceptive.  He reads me like a book.   Christmas Day was lovely…until we had to seek shelter in the workshop closet.   There was a confirmed tornado inbound.  It was prudent.   All ended well and dinner was only a half hour late.  I’m especially thankful for the blessings that my sister is finally enjoying.  She deserves to be happy.  Yay Liz!

Turns out my trip to Florida was just what the doctor ordered.  Great friends.  Easy hospitality.  Good sex.  Lots of debaucherous fun.  Great weather.  What’s not to like?

And so is the tone for this New Year.  So far, so great.   I’m happy.  Much of it has to do with my attitude and what I’m putting forth.   I’m 50.  I should remember these things.

Love to all.


Sorry for the doom and gloom.  But man, there’s some shit going around!  The universe is definitely doing a little cosmic (and karmic) rearranging.

I’m blaming it on my own little universe being out of sorts…All will be will by the end of the week!  Trust-n-Believe, y’all. TNB




Walking Wounded

Today has been a tough one.  Somewhat self-imposed but mostly the goddamn Universe deciding to exact its due process upon two that I love dearly.

Within an hour of waking, I got the one-two sucker punch.  The rest of the morning, I went through the motions stupified.

If not for the very act of hosting a party to benefit something greater than myself, I’m sure I’d be reduced to tears and darkness.

But looking around the room at the faces and the people, I realized that I do indeed have an impact in this world and that I can, to an extent, control fate.

But, really, this morning’s reminder stings.  It hurts.   There’s a long road ahead and a long week dawning.  I’m here, and I’m going to do my best to affect it in the most positive way for two people that I love dearly.

As long as I’m still upright, I’ll not admit defeat and certainly won’t let them.

I love you, Ladies.

Tree of Life


Pattie’s “The White Dress Series,” CSX line, Glenwood Ave, ATL

This and that, here and yon:

I love weekends like this past one.  A healthy mix of being healthy, being somewhat debaucherous, being serious, being quiet, being creative.

I truly love my Weekdays With Pattie, random mornings or afternoons spent poking around on bikes, looking at things from new perspectives, laughing and escaping reality.  But not escaping reality, if that makes sense.  Pattie’s an old, good friend with whom I worked when I first moved to Atlanta.  We’ve kept and renewed our friendship and the time we spend together is very valuable on so many levels.  Mostly, though, it’s just fun.

I put in a few good hours of work just after our adventure Friday so all was not lost.  It’s so interesting to me how the words for work come out and lay on the paper, waiting to be rearranged.   Now to find a way to capitalize on that.  Happy to be out in the day regardless.

I was up early Saturday and out on the road bike.  Brisk, overcast with occasional sun, a perfect late fall ride.  My averages were OK, typical of the off season and 10 extra pounds, I guess.

I got caught up with Erik later and we had a cocktail or 6 with Dale and the Dude.   Good friends, good times.

Sunday was, howyousay, a bit slow.  But gorgeous nonetheless.  I spent the day in the kitchen, slowly pulling together a meal for dinner with some of my closest friends.  Amy Winehouse played, the autumn sun streamed through the windows, the food came together perfectly and contentment reigned.

I can say that I’m never truly happier than gathered around the table with the ones I love.  Last night was no exception.  I need to remember that when the pressures of reality come calling.


Where is My Mind?

In case you need something to worry about, no need, I most likely covered it this morning between 4 and 6:45am.

You’re welcome.

We Love it When Our Friends Become Successful


(Apologies to Stephen Patrick Morrissey for stealing his song title and using it in a non-sarcastic way).

Lots of darkness around this blog since I wrote of Jim, the errant turtle.

Last night was dark, true (pun intended).  But the evening was sparkling and lovely.

Good friends from way back (and about 12 ways to Sunday) hosted a dinner featuring the wines they’ve been lovingly making for the past 5 or 6 years.  Funny thing, the interwebs, I wouldn’t know any of these folks if it weren’t for the first iteration of this blog and a wife who was running late.

So, there you have me and one of my dearest friends of 15 years at the table with another friend who I initially know from tending bar.  She’s been about an inch outside of my Atlanta life until about 10 years ago.  Now we’re tight.  Then there’s the DJ that my pals and I forced ourselves upon and haven’t let go of.  She dispenses fun and can single-handedly take credit for a revived nightlife in this town.  Then there’s the chef who I know through my newest and oldest friends.  The man is a vegetable whisperer, his talent with food so calm and natural.  Then the newest of friends, a couple, friends of the barkeep, he I know from my short stint at LaTavola and she, it turns out, from my hometown.  Where the winemaker is from.  And his wife, the sister of my high school girlfriend’s best friend.

See how this works?  The circle continues to close.

Did I mention the wines are wonderful?   Made on the proverbial shoe-string, they are funky, delightful California wines, each vintage with its own distinct personality.  The only commonality in them is the knockout notes of passion on the nose and in the mouth.  You can literally taste it.

Nights like last inspire me.  Thanks Dirty.  Thanks Amy.  Thanks Rowdy.  Y’all rock!



blackThe news last week of another terrorist bombing, this time in Paris, the City of Light, was not particularly surprising.  Not at all really.  This, sadly, has become the world in which we live.

What has surprised me, though, are people’s reactions.  Via social media, the responses have been overwhelmingly short-sighted and ignorant, based in fear.  I hate to be the one to say it, but we’ve brought this on ourselves to a great extent.  And now we’ve got to deal with it.

For some reason, I’m neither optimistic nor discouraged.  It’s a fact, albeit a dark one, that we now face a radically changed world.  We’ll continue to give up our liberties and change how we perceive the other.   This is what is so sad to me.  A great measure of the joy of living has been usurped – hijacked – while we weren’t looking and while we pushed the limits of our largesse.

One reaps what one sows.  And sadly, that goes both ways.


On days like yesterday, when I’m discouraged, depressed and disappointed, I need to remember how I felt walking into CNN Center on Monday mornings.  The dread of another week doing soul-sapping, mind-numbing work for other people clashed just perfectly with the self-induced physical discomfort and disconnect from reality (call it a hangover, whatever…).  I need to recall why it was that I chucked it all to the wind and set out on a journey with a loosely defined destination.   I’m still alive.  I’m a bit poorer on the balance sheet.  My hair is turning gray.  I don’t sleep well.  But I’m home and I’m doing things on my terms.  Successes haven’t come as quickly or in the volume that I want, but they’re mine.  I am closer than ever to the two people that gave me life.  Today is better than a year ago and infinitely better than two years ago.  I’ve reconnected with old friends and made dozens of new ones.  I know who the true ones are.  While the destination may not be completely defined, I know now where it is I DON’T want to go.   Fear is no longer part of the equation.  And for that, I’m eternally grateful.