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Recent Columns:
The face of JonBenet Ramsey emerges once more from the dark archives of her death a dozen years ago.
Lazy days in old L.A. Dream-walking in heat that bounces from 110 in the Valley to 75 at the beach. A soft breeze rustles the new green of the oak trees. Grass on the hillsides turns amber, dying under the relentless beat of the sun.
We were lunching at Musso & Frank's, which is a glorious old restaurant on Hollywood Boulevard once filled with luminaries from the worlds of literature and cinema, but almost empty on this particular day.
There are those who say that no 16-year-old should be allowed by his parents to challenge the storms and the loneliness of the sea by himself.
As some of you might have guessed from my weekly rants, I am a person of age. I would say that I am old, but that is not politically correct. I am a person of years? I'll buy that.
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times ..."
When Weeping Liberals gather to drink cheap wine and commiserate, there are often tears shed over the woeful state of the nation, the environment, the war and the devolving human condition. We don't always take action to improve anything, but when it comes to wailing about these problems, there's nothing like the high, melancholy howl of a Weeping Liberal. But that's changing.
Iwas having lunch in Hugo's the other day, a kind of healthy-eating restaurant in the Valley, when I overheard one woman half-whisper to the other, "That man looks like death."
I received news the other day that Freddy Torres had died.
The reason I don't make connections easily, my wife informed me one day, is because I walk around most of the time disconnected.