Tonight was supposed to be Walnut Creek.  Still not sure exactly how that gig fell apart, but I’m kind of glad it did.  Give me a day to regroup and recuperate.  I went out in Alameda and played golf with my old friend Lou Stein.  Sweet Lou.   Lou is one of the funniest Jews I know.  And I know lots of funny Jews.  Even though he would never admit it, he does have a lot of athletic skills.  But he is a totally self-taught golfer, and sometimes when he swings I am shocked that he actually hits the ball.  But he does. And blue has many moments during a round when he plays really well.  Makes Putts.  Drives the ball in the fairway.   But during every round, before every ball he hits, Lou will tell you what’s going to go terribly, horribly, irrevocably wrong. Self-fulfilling prophecy at its very best.  If you predict the worst, and it happens, you’re vindicated.  And not disappointed.  Because you were expecting it.  If somehow something actually does go right, you’ll be pleasantly surprized.  It will be the exception that proves the rule.  Lou is an amazing bass player.  He’s played in bands for 20 years.  30 years.  Hell, I think he played in Ed Sullivan’s house band.   Right now he plays in San Francisco’s preeminent lesbian band, Finding Stella.  They’re actually really good.  The lesbian who is the lead singer is very cute, she has a voice that reminds you of Janis Joplin in the best way.  Lou also plays in a Tom Petty cover band.  Sorry, a Tom Petty tribute band.  The Renegades.  But I keep telling Lou he should make his own music.  Rather than just being a hired gun in someone else’s Tom Petty lesbian American dream.  Hey Lou, I just had an idea, maybe you should get the bands booked together.  And have Finding Stella sit in on American Girl.  So Lou drove me around quite a bit, he’s also one of the most generous Jews I know, I know lots of generous Jews.  And I was trying to convince Lou that he should write a memoir about when he was Homer the Brave, the big-headed mascot of the Atlanta Braves.  That he should put his great talents, as one of the funniest Jews I know, to good use.  There’s gold in them thar hills.  But Lou is the dude who stands over his tee shot and tells you everything that’s going to go terribly, horribly, irrevocably wrong.  How it’s all going to turn to shit.  I feel bad that this is Lou’s worldview.  What can I do?  But Lou is getting laid these days, I’m very happy about that.  But Lou, come on, use your great gift for the betterment of mankind, it’s cruel to hide your huge tools from a world that so desperately needs them. 

Anyway we had a blast playing golf.  It was one of the hilliest courses I ever played.  And I’ve played some very hilly courses.  It was hot.  We had so much fun.  The last hole, the 18^th, is a 650 yard par 6.  Unprecedented.  I’ve played tens of thousands of holes of golf.  I never played up par 6.  Straight downhill.  I  hit an astonishing 5-iron for my second shot.  Just crush the shit out of it.  Everything came together.  I was loose.  Oily, in the words of Sam Snead.  Took a big sweet simple uncomplicated athletic swing.  All body no brain.  I wanted the ball to fade a little bit.  It did.  Just a little bit from left to right.  Exactly like I saw it when I creatively visualize it before hand.  It felt so unbelievably good, this deep down bone crunching feeling.  Very caveman.  Very primal.  But sophisticated at the same time.  I felt giddy afterwards, I thought of my baby girl Olive.  And a silly smile bloomed on my face.  I ended up in this deep gully In front of the green, which was 50 feet up on a hill.  Somehow I hit a very soft wedge.  You couldn’t see where the pin was.  I hit it very soft and high.  Again, just like I visualized.  I wasn’t thinking about my swing.  Just about where I want to be balls to go.  And that’s where it went.  So I got up on the top of the hill, and there it was, my ball, 15 feet away from the hole.  Lying 3 on a par 6.  Insanity I tell you.  Insanity.  Of course I missed my eagle putt.  But it was a tap-in birdie.

 And that’s why I love golf.

I also worked on getting some interviews.  So far I’ve had absolutely zero success in getting any media.  Which really surprised me.  And pissed me off.  I used to always get a picture in the Arts section of the San Francisco Chronicle.  But I wasn’t even in the listings.  Never mind that picture.  I thought maybe some would even write an article about the three of us, me and Beth Lisick and Alan Black in this memoir to her that we were doing.  I got nothing.  Bupkiss.  It was very frustrating.  I’ve just been working so hard, sending out so many press releases following up doing everything in my power to get the word out.  Because I know there’s a lot of people who are interested in this memoir event.  They would be interested in my book.  I keep getting these wonderful e-mails and little reviews online.  There are so positive.  They give me hope.  And, I worked hard on my short little pieces about the memoirs of John McCain and Barak Obama, and about the economic meltdown as it relates to my book in the 80s and Chippendales in a culture of excess and economic collapse and my own cocaine addiction.

And I keep grinding my nose on the stone and rolling the rock up the mountain.

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