On Thursday, I was Rolfed. 

I’d always wanted to be Rolfed. It was almost a bucket list item for me.  When I found a Groupon that offered Rolfing in Oakland for 70% off regularly priced Rolfs, I jumped on it. 

I’ve had back & shoulder issues for decades. Years ago, shiatsu was my de stressor of choice   Over time, I realized I needed something more intense, more physically manipulative. Rolfing, with its extreme pressure on muscles & tissue, sounded just right.  You know what? It was. 

Jed Bentley’s studio shares space with Oakland Floats, a flotation tank facility. It was eerily quiet in the reception area. All I could think of was William Hurt in “Altered States.” I hoped no one was de-evolving in their tank. While I wondered what I would do if a proto-human burst out of a tank, my Rolfer, Jed Bentley, arrived.

Jed explained that what he does is release energy. Each light or intensely hard push against a muscle or connective tissue releases energy. That allows the shoulders, for example, to return to their original form. Rolfing was easy to understand but hard to explain. 

Jed worked on me for an hour. He has great body intuition and strong hands. Some of my pressure points hurt like hell when he pushed on them. It felt so good when he stopped. 

Afterwards, I felt surprisingly energetic.  Jed explained that was the energy being released. If Jed didn’t charge 150, per session, I’d go once a week.


Happy Purim: My Basket

I received my first Purim basket as a “single” person this week. Rather than fall into “woe-is-me” mode, I focused on the fact that for the first time in 16 years, I didn’t have to share the bag of goodies. I could  have the tangerine and the Clif Bar. This year there was a package of Red Vines and you know what? I could keep that, too. I felt a little selfish, thinking along those lines. The initial shock of receiving the basket in the first place could have plunged me into a depression, but I didn’t let it. I forced myself to feel better by focusing on the basket. So I think sometimes it’s okay to be a little selfish.

Queen Esther & Stupendous Man, 2003

RIP Lloyd Fonvielle 1950-2015

Uncouth Reflections

Blowhard, Esq. writes:


Lloyd Fonvielle — writer, artist, friend to many of us here, our 5th Beatle — died earlier this week at his home in Las Vegas. His creativity, humor, intelligence, and generosity will be missed.

I heard a voice from heaven, saying unto me, Write, From henceforth blessed are the dead which die in the Lord: Even so, saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labours.

Lord, have mercy upon us. Christ, have mercy upon us.

— The Book of Common Prayer

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Kevin Costner is My Kind of Movie Star – SPOILER ALERT FOR THE MOVIE “DRAFT DAY”

Kevin Costner is on my mind. Last night I had a few hours to kill before I could go home so I went to the movies. Until last night I hadn’t heard of Draft Day. I chose it because it seemed to be special effects-free, starred Kevin Costner, and started in fifteen minutes. Ron Shelton directing was icing on the cake. The movie had me at Kevin. Kevin is my kind of movie star. Kevin is fifty-something and it shows. It shows and it doesn’t look like he does a thing about it. His hair, what’s left, is still golden brown. Now it looks like a bunch of twigs. He could see a stylist or a surgeon about that. I love that he -seemingly- doesn’t.  I don’t know if Kevin gained weight for the role of Sonny Weaver, Jr. I’ve seen photos showing him on the chunky side. He wears it well.{Kevin could become the spokeperson for a kind of anti-AARP.} Kevin makes me believe that the overweight, upper middle-aged guy not only gets the girl -Jennifer Garner- SPOILER ALERT SPOILER ALERT – he impregnates her. 

Draft Day grew on me. I like it even more today. This is clearly Kevin’s Oscar performance. 


NB: My keyboard is broken so insert punctuation and other symbols as needed.

PS; I haven’t written in ages so that’s what I did, I wrote. I’ll come back and add pictures of Kevin and links to things and maybe even a video of Kevin and his band. In the mean time, you can google anything on the page yourself, right? Note that I still have the Question Mark.

The Hospital Gives Me Good Advice

Earlier today, I thought it might be a good idea to read the papers I signed last week at the hospital.  I sat down with a cold glass of Gatorade, and readied myself for some serious legal obfuscation. Just as my eyelids started to blink their way to slumberland, my eye caught on the word “provocative.” That woke  me. Was there something unusual about my treatment?  I read the whole sentence and discovered that we were being asked not to wear provocative clothing at the hospital.

Given that we’re going to be traipsing in and out of the hallways of a mental hospital, this is probably very good advice. This hospital treats some tragically ill people. Some of them are ambulatory. As sick as I am, I don’t live in the same universe as these residents, thank goodness. I’m “just depressed.”  I’ve seen enough of severe illness firsthand  to know enough to leave my Donna Karan shiny, black mini-skirt and fishnets at home.  Because you never know who’s going to join you for lunch Imagein the cafeteria.

One Flew East, And One Flew West


So, I haven’t written in this blog for two months. I have a good reason. I was depressed. I am depressed. I hope that soon I will not be depressed.

I’ve been on temporary disability since June. You’d think I’d be writing about this experience “as it happens,” but I haven’t been interested chronicling anything. There are still a few things I can force myself to write. That’s another blog entry for another day.  I have not been writing, I have not been reading books. It’s been summer, and I wasn’t even eating peaches.

More than one doctor has told me that I’m not getting better. More than one doctor has advised me to enter a day program for adults with severe depression. My only other option is ECT (electro-convulsive therapy.) I reject ECT. I choose hard work and therapy, neither of which is a favorite.

I had my intake at the hospital today. I start the program on Monday. I’ll be writing about it here. I’m ready to talk about depression.

Feminism “No, dear. That is not at all what I meant…

Let’s say this was pre-Ms. Magazine and leave it at that. 

“No, dear. That is not at all what I meant. I detest male-bashing. I meant equal pay for equal work & that means for men as well as women. I mean everyone, men and women, should have reproductive rights. Feminism could have been the great equalizer, but it was hijacked and misrepresented by so many men and women, it’s become a derogatory term. I’m proud to be a feminist. I’m not proud of the women and men who think feminism is a license to be abusive towards men.”

My answer to someone equating Feminism with Male-Bashing just happens to be my definition of Feminism.

It’s my blog so I figure it’s OK to quote myself. I promise I won’t do it often.