atop the Santa Monica mountains

i was sitting at the edge of a mountain, the top floor an unfinished Lloyd Wright house.

ipod on Pyramid Song,
feet dangling over the edge, thinking about what matters in the end.

i went into the soul of a bird

dead and alive, everywhere and nowhere.


random vignettes

*every Armenian cab driver I have asks me “You Armenian?” “Frida is Armenian name.” (sometimes I tell people my name is Frida to avoid having to say, ‘Not Bree, F-R-E-E.’)

*I’ve been having recurring dreams of tidal waves since I was a small child.

*I took candy from a stranger once.

*my left middle finger fingernail won’t grow long. I guess it’s from too much usage. Actually, it’s because I got part of the side of my finger removed, due to some sort of acid torture on assignment in Peru.

*I am a jack of some languages, but master of none sort-of One: Spanish, French, Sign Language (I do a smashing rendition of “You Light up My Life"), Flemish, German… and as of late Russian.

I’ve got the English language down pretty good. Spanish would have to come in next…. French – only if I HAD to. My last tutor was all about negative reinforcement, and it completely killed my confidence. Flemish (Dutch): don’t need it, but it’s easy for me to catch on. in a matter of a couple of weeks, I could communicate with children ages 8 and under. Russian: I’m totally into it! I’ve got a smokin’ hot tutor (positive reinforcement, beeches!) and it’s coming easily to me. I think I’ll be able to get around like a dumb tourist in the next few (???) -- or at least shop at Loehmanns with ease.


When I was 6 years old, I was sent to this crappy daycare. I hated it and their lousy half-servings of cheerios, animal crackers (you got two), and their ghetto activities. It smelled like a 1950’s basketball gym (you know, the kind you find 100 miles on the outskirt of any Midwest or Southern city). It was one location scout shy of being used in a B-Horror film.

At my Shangri-la away from home, there was a deaf kid named Michael, who no one talked to. It made me sad. I went home to my room and my Encyclopedias, and learned the basics of sign language (i.e., the Alphabet). Later that week, I sat in a corner with Michael and we talked. I remember talking to him about songs and school. (Now that I think about it, why did I talk about songs to him? He couldn’t hear.) When I recall this memory, I remember like it was yesterday how happy I was that we could communicate and he wasn’t alone.

Yeah so give me a humanitarian award. La la la…..kids can be cruel or sweet. Jennifer pissed me off in Dodgeball and it wasn't pretty. (She had it comin’ to her.) Step off, Wench!





was it something i said?

I’m in my neighborhood walking near the Canyon Market – and I run into Paul. He’s talking to Alex, who owns the market. I come in on a conversation about how cool it would be to transform the adjacent diner into something a little more upscale, a place where more neighborhood peeps would be inclined to dine. (Right now, it’s a half-ass greasy spoon that is never busy – and it’s very brown.)

I interject: “Oh yes, that’s a great idea! The only reason I don’t eat there now is because the food is awful.

(At this point I find out Alex also owns the diner. Oops.)

I ignore the rock of embarrassment in my stomach, smile and say: “Oh, I’m sorry (I increase my Southern Twang – it gets more mileage at times like these), I know you’re not the chef… and I mean it’s a prime location. You could definitely get more traffic if the restaurant served a more sophisticated menu -- and – you have this great wine store, you could incorporate that into the dining experience and just have a cork fee.”

words, words, recover, change the subject, blah, blah “…well it was nice seeing y’all….”


I am reminded of a time when I was about 8: The fam was invited over to the Boss’ house to have dinner. The Boss’ wife cooked steaks for everyone. I attempted to cut my steak, and announced, “Mom, I can’t cut the steak, it’s too tough!” (She said to me very quietly, “No it isn’t.”) I mean, c’mon, at the age of 8, I hadn’t learned the intricacies of subtlety – so I said, a little louder, “No, it’s tough (as I’m trying to cut it), it’s tough, it’s tough! (I put knife down and slap my hands in my lap.)

I will assume at this point that the silence was awkward (hindsight is everything).

My mother told me in the hallway after dinner that what I said is not something you say because it is insulting someone’s cooking. I giggled. This was one of *many* times I found pleasure in being a rebellious strong-willed child.

I still think it’s funny. If only we could be that honest as adults. I guess that sort of happened in the first story.



a coupla weeks ago -

I got a flu bug.

I believe when you get the sick it is corresponding to something emotionally or spiritually.

After the fever and chills stopped, I started seeing my acupuncturist on a daily basis. He told me, “Your Shen is weak.” (Shen is spirit.) Hey, that made sense. “You’re too warm in your chest and head, and too cold in your solar plexus and feet.”

I immediately think about what is going on in my emotional/spiritual life:

On the third recording of the record (which I’m grateful for, but it’s stressful) & lots of business stuff and family stuff going on… and the creative stuff – seriously, I could easily sit down and write an entire record before the end of the year, but I can’t. I’ve been screwing around, jotting down songs and musical ideas, songs, but if I roll up my sleeves on a third unreleased album, I’ll just get in trouble… My manager’s having a hell of a time now as it is, with 3 of my projects…. I have to get this stuff sorted….It’s been challenging…. The body will make you stop.

I remembered got very ill the Monday after the Saturday evening I declared something on the edge of that mountain @ the Lloyd Wright gathering (which I will write about soon)…. The Fall Equinox symbolizes death of crops and sustenance required by what you have built earlier in the year. I declared getting rid of the “pests” that could destroy all I had cultivated. I meant it. It was a purging of sorts. I guess it was making its way out. Destructive emotions, ideas, memories, attitudes, choices -- they can live inside of us, until we do something about it. I’ll be damned if I go out like that.

As soon as the first needle went into my foot, I started feeling better. Acupuncutre feels like a mix between epinephrine/caffiene/and pre-orgasm. I'll take any or all of those three, and in no particular order.

And you know what my favorite part is? When shit is gettin' straight inside your soul, the outside world lets you know it. My feet are warm tonight.

"You miss 100 percent of the shots you never take.” - Wayne Gretzky




ladies and gentlemen... i present the P. Diddy of furniture:

The table in the picture above held a party for its new release. It is priced somewhere in the six figures... (i don't think any table should cost that much unless it can give me a massage, cook for me, clean the cat box and give me a 'happy ending.') Nonetheless, i had never been to a party for a Table, and I was drawn to the anthropomorphic quality of the whole thing.

The space was filled with people and friends who actually work, who have something to say. There was laughter, openness, meaningful conversation, as well as smiles and new connections. I found it ironic that a party for an inanimate object has been one of the better Los Angeles events! However, the table that threw this fabulous party was a no-show. It was too busy in New York and wasn't able to make it.

It sent sincere apologies and Cristal for everyone.


The evening before, i went to a charity event (so i thought). I was very interested to get information on it and hear the head of it (celebrity) talk about their mission. When i arrived, the valet had mysteriously jacked up their usual charge (i've been to this place before). We get to the door and are forced into making a 20 dollar donation (we are not allowed to come in until we pay them).

We walk in, and it's very "scene-y." Ms. Celebricon has no information about the charity, does not speak to the crowd (at least thank people for coming to support a great cause) ....there was no literature, video, no information on volunteering -- it was just a dumb LA party with a bunch of people standing around looking important and getting their picture taken with the hopes it will end up in US Weekly, etc. I was terribly offended that this was in the name of charity and doing good.

Note: Donating the 20 bucks wasn't an issue for me, the issue was it was blatant that our 20 dollar donation was more of a cover charge that paid for the party (the open bar, the staff, etc.).

I plan on writing them a letter, encouraging them to, at the least, do a better job at putting the cause at the forefront of their 'events,' so as to making it seem like they care.

peace love and harmony