This year has been an example of highs and lows.

Highs being that I am truly my most content with who I am, who I am with and what I am about.  I am planning a wedding (it’s as much a high as it is a low – ha – can you say CHILL WEDDINGS ARE STILL STRESSFUL? at least if you are moi). I am marrying my best friend and someone who makes me laugh and laugh at myself.

The lows being all the icons who are departing this plane.  David Bowie hit me hard.  So did Garry Shandling, to name a few.  So early in the year, the reaper started tending.  Last week, Shaka and I were discussing who the next big icon would be to rock our world if they were to die.  I said, Madonna and Prince.  And today, as if the Universe heard my hypothetical chat, we lost another. Prince, I didn’t think you were done with creating and rocking our world with your world.

The thing with these icons isn’t just that we are losing people who have made us think, or laugh or who inspire us, but we are truly losing magic.  We are losing people who shine a little brighter than the rest of us, as if to show us how the stars work.

It’s a little dimmer for sure in this reality, but it really showcases how we need to harness the stardust they have provided and live a life truer to our creative natures.  What moves you, should MOVE you, get it?  MOVE you to create, inspire and shine.

I went looking through old emails to find the photos I took at the Prince concert at the Forum back in 2011.  

The treasure trove I uncovered of old writings, musings, blogs, emails, etc. was kind of like a time capsule.

This is a piece I wrote ages ago after meeting a kindred soul one night.  He and I remained friends and I forgot that I wrote it. But today, when realizing all we have is our creativity to capture our stardust, I thought I would share it.  I really like it.

Slippery

  A birthday party in March on a rainy Hollywood night.  I sat down at the empty end of the table not knowing that it would become the cool end of the table.

 You showed up late and sat across from me.  You had friendly eyes and your rapier wit was able to keep up with my repartee.  You had my attention.

 I was nursing a bruised knee with some ice.  Earlier, I had slipped on Hollywood Blvd., outside Musso and Frank’s.  You asked me which star I had fallen on.  I couldn’t recall since at the time, I was more concerned with regaining my footing in front of the audience of pimps, winos and hookers.  I told you I would go back and look when the rain stopped.  I never did.

 You seemed embarrassed that you were the only one at the table who smoked but repeatedly departed to alleviate your craving.  I drank to alleviate the pain in my knee.

 Something in your humility outshined your confidence and something in your confidence cast a shadow on your humility.  I doubt I was really aware of the duality at the time.  You made me laugh.  Really laugh.  Not the polite-I-want-you-to-like-me-so-I-will-laugh-so-you-think-I-get-you-sort of laugh, but really laugh.  You had a clever way of wording things.  You made me think.

 We left as a group and the air outside brushed our faces with a reprieve of rain and a brief breeze.  We walked as a group down the streets of Hollywood to a bar.  We entered as a group and stood as a group and tried to converse and figure out what the next plan of action was.  Were we staying?  Going?  Going somewhere else?  We stayed as a group who was losing its excitement.  The night was wearing thin and voices were raised and ears were deafening in the din of the music behind where we stood.  We exited as a group back into the night air, now ripe with the scent of rain, exhaust, and endings.

 And like a train dropping off passengers at their cars, we fell off in the groups we had come with.  We looked up at an abandoned building and said to Mark who was being forced to move, “Hey Mark, if you lived here, you’d be home right now.”  I think we laughed.  Who knows, it was funny.  Who cares?

We dropped you off at your car.  The rain started again and I wondered if I would take another spill on the sidewalk.    This time, however, I looked forward to seeing which star I would land on.