Showing posts from February, 2020

At Ian's Place - Part III, in which I Don't Get a Tattoo

The Zorya - debora Ewing - detail It's much more interesting to find quirky travel mementos on Craigslist than to buy them at souvenir shops. You get a story, a connection. I’d collected a bunch of succulent cuttings, a stainless steel whistling tea kettle, and a large plaster vase which looked smaller in the picture. A nice man who lived a few blocks away drove it over in his car. The vase looked perfect on the patio, but so far I only leave kitchen items at Ian’s place. I packed up the succulents inside the tea kettle and tucked that into my checked bag. My vase was 16 inches high and weighed about that many pounds - it would have to travel as my one personal item in the cabin. At every checkpoint through LAX I had to explain: No, this is coming with me. It got its own plastic bin to go through the x-ray, and every nearby TSA agent watched to see if anything was revealed. I have to admit I was curious, too, but it was solid plaster, no contraband. As I boarded my plane, the

At Ian's Place, Part II - in which there is Angry Lipstick

Bi-coastal stuff makes me a little crazy sometimes. The lifestyle suits me, but I do occasionally wake up not remembering where I am, like that time I woke up to a voice message from Ian:  "I don't need you to be here if you can't treat my place with respect. Just leave the keys inside next time you're out here. This arrangement is terminated."  It took me a minute to realize I was at home, my home, East Coast, and even so I had no idea what he was talking about. Preparing to email him with just that message and a promise to leave the keys - I never stay where I'm not welcome - I found he'd also emailed, with a bit more detail: "There are cigarette burns on the arm of the loveseat. It's not worth having it repaired, but frankly I'm disappointed."  I wondered how disappointed he'd be when he found the octopus under the rug. A parting gift of artwork. Maybe the octopus had been smoking. Okay, I was salty. I took my time and

At Ian's Place - Part One, in which you may find a creature....

At Ian's Place - Part One I got this house-sitting arrangement with Ian through a mutual. I live at his place when I'm in LA selling art and while he's on tour, which is usually. Like a hippie crash-pad with only two hippies, one at a time. I picked up his keys at one of Cosmo's parties; even then Ian was en route to the airport. "So you need my schedule? Should I email it?" I yelled a little over the music. I was super-thrilled about this arrangement, but the casualness and unknown variables perplexed me, especially in the middle of a party. Did my momma warn me about this? "Yeah, no, there's a guest room. Should be all made up, might be dusty." Ian seemed distracted, maybe feeling awkward, too. "That guy in the pink t-shirt is Jack. He's my manager. Get my address from him. Hey, take care, man, my ride's here. I gotta go. I like your boots." He handed me two keys, no keychain - one for a deadbolt, I assumed