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People-Watching
Dear John: I enjoyed the column again, as I always do, bittersweet or not. I sense that you believe that what you write is self-indulgent. I beg to differ. Of course you are concerned with your own issues; most people are. But what you write has resonance for other people, with echoes down a wide variety of other lives than your own. Art doesn't have to be pretty. It can be gritty and self-reflective and even filled with regret. I hope to talk with you soon.— February 22, 2009 1:02 p.m.
The Road to Perdition
Dear John: There are all kinds of roads. And they have little to do with pavement. Remember what that great fraud Castaneda wrote about "...a path with heart." He didn't say it was a happy path, or a path with flowers and rainbows and lots of cash money. You are trying to walk a path with honor, and with ownership. Even if pride is a slight sin, it is well worth feeling that pride that you walk your road in that fashion. I'm certainly proud of you.— February 15, 2009 4:19 p.m.
Elephant and Castle
John, I would say that the genetic basis of alcoholism isn't Satan's scribbling on your genes. It's more like thoughtless graffiti. It covers up the very real artistry that makes up every human being, yourself included.— February 4, 2009 4:49 p.m.
John Brizzolara returns to former home in Mission Hills; it's not the same
Dear John: I so much enjoyed this essay. I have never, ever felt a connection to a place where I have lived. I used to think it was a California thing, since I was born and raised in that state. Folks from other places with a longer history might feel differently about the sense of "self" that a place can give. The truth is you were building memories just as you added and tinkered and improved the house. You built it, and it built you, in a manner of speaking. Faulkner's quote comes to mind: "The past's not dead. It's not even past." Thinking of you, my friend, and extending best wishes.— February 1, 2009 5:31 p.m.
Spin Dry
The last paragraph of your essay tells the tale: "home" is living around the big hearted and imperfect people you describe. Souls, not stucco. And who would think that the face of God would peer at you for a moment in the glow of an old Bruce Willis movie, surrounded by people some would call sinners, but you rightly see as fine comrades-in-arms. You were the one who got me reading C.S. Lewis again, among other Christian authors. Here is a quote that I thought of as I read your essay: "“God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” God has been shouting at you for years, John, and your essays are a powerful echo of those shouts. You remain in my thoughts and prayers, brother. Drop me an e-mail when you have the time and inclination.— January 21, 2009 9:52 p.m.
Doubt and Indecision
Dear John: When I was particularly down, many years ago, you suggested I read "The City of God" by Augustine, along with Merton's "The Seven Storey Mountain." I wasn't sure why at the time. I do now, and I thank you for those suggestions in 1989. There are many words by far wiser hands than my own. But you are not alone, and the only reason that darkness seems so stark is because of the contrasting Light. Hang on, as Winston Churchill urged. You have many, many more friends than you expect.— January 14, 2009 3:15 p.m.
Supposedly Endless Summer
Dear John: Do you remember the source of the "rectal temperature of cats" reference? Speaking of the Zeitgeist. And we all know what it really means, true? I miss our in-jokes, truth be told. Hope you are dealing well with San Diego, where most months seem more cruel that April, borrowing from Eliot.— January 9, 2009 4:24 p.m.
The Time Machine
Dear John: I have been out of touch for a long while. Everything is okay with me and family, and my absence has nothing to do with you. All my issues, I assure you. E-mail to follow. Please know that I have read each of your columns with appreciation, affection, commiseration, and laughter---depending on the piece. And always, with pride that I have a friend with genuine deep skills in wordsmithing. You remain the spiritual brother you have been since 1988. I wanted to be sure to write before the New Year. Best wishes, as I have always had for you.— December 31, 2008 4:41 p.m.
Like Young
Truthfully, John, I have done a lot of thinking about this. My nature is not positive, so I work hard to "fake it until I make it" as the saying goes. Another friend of mine told me once that constant praise has no value. That may be true. I may be guilty of that, if you will forgive the psychodrama. But the other thing I have learned as I grow older is that most people are doing the best that they can, given who they are and the location of their lives. We live in a culture that has utterly no problem complaining about things, but tends to stay silent when it comes to appreciating the accomplishments of others. Yes, I wish you could be more positive (while in no way claiming that you haven't earned the right to feel bitter about many things). But you are far more positive than you were a while back---and I am trying to encourage that trend. You have so many positive aspects to yourself, yet you remain your most flint-hearted critic. You are far kinder to me than you have ever been to yourself. 90% of life is showing up. I haven't been able to be present when you needed a friend since I moved. So perhaps I am trying too hard. Mea maxima culpa. As for Manly Wade Wellman, he was the OG of horror. He died by inches of gangrene (multiple amputations due to bedsore infections). But I have entire bookshelf in my little library devoted to his work. You didn't whine very much at all in this week's installment. And I do enjoy reading your stories. Even if you did an in depth analysis of the inventory of the medicine cabinets of ten randomly chosen people---because you would find a way to make it funny and poignant. Sorry for going on about this, my friend.— May 1, 2008 8:52 p.m.
Like Young
You are lucky, John. At so far as music goes. Though time is burning me down to ashes, too, my first memories of "youth music" was during the awful car-crash intersection of disco and punk and hair-rock. So Led Zepplin gave way to Lipps Inc giving way to The Clash. The older music was purer and better---and fun, even when it had sadness. My age group didn't get The Beatles the ways your did. We got Rod Stewart (who was very cool in Faces and singing with Jeff Beck) donning Spandex and too much hair product. I teach 18 year olds in college, and it is interesting to listen to their music and talk about it with them. They see it as money oriented and overproduced (both of which it is). Then I play them some Jimi Hendrix and it is interesting to watch their mouths drop. Then some Clapton. And though you may laugh, John, the music that most reaches them is the latter stuff by Johnny Cash (who I call "OG" for "Original Gangsta"). I then break out the blues music that *you* taught me about long ago, Brother John. So I enjoyed hearing about your music, from your youth. My parents had a record player, but they would only play Country Western music. And I don't mean Cash or Hank Williams. I mean Kenny Rogers. Thus, I didn't explore music until leaving home. Have a great week....— May 1, 2008 8:15 a.m.