Writing an E-Book.

An idea pops into my head. Ok, the truth serum is kicking in. An idea is germinated by something I hear on the radio. I decide to move forward with the idea, thinking it should be fairly simple, as I am going to crib most of it from my own seldom read blog. There was my first lesson. While cutting and pasting is somewhat simple for us, the e-book is a very specific creature. First I would have to choose between formats (cassette or 8 track? VHS or Beta? Soy or Coconut?). The Apple world has iAuthor. A fairly simple program, much like its other "art" programs; iMovie, iGarageband... Choose a design, drag and drop. Except when you want to do something else. Then arrggghh. The Kindle uses a more complex professional program, Adobe InDesign was the one I chose, that will let you do those "arrggghh" things, but it is far more time consuming. I started to format the book in both programs. The reason one can not just pick one is because if I publish in the easier one, Apple, I am forbidden from publishing on the Kindle brand, which cuts off the largest ebook store outlet, Amazon. But to save my sanity, I did pick one, hoping that some big author would sue and that problem would go away. So far, that hasn't happened.
But the real issue is not the formatting issues. The real issue is me. As we know from past musings, I am an underachiever. Laser-like focus on one project is not my best skill. I enjoy verring away. Taking a side road. Usually to a dead end, but as they say, its the journey. But now, as the final act begins, I desperately want to leave something. It seems that just having a body of under seen work is not enough. I don't have a child (the typical way of leaving something) and although I have been a part of many wonderful artistic endeavors, I don't have that one thing to point to. Not that one can physically hold an e-book, but you know what I am getting at.
However, (can't get the legalize writing out of me, no matter how many years have passed), I am slowly chipping away at it. I have 30+ pages lined up. Pictures too. Soon I will let someone else look at it and then I will have to be open to criticism and accept that some of the things I think are funny, just aren't. But that too will be ok. Because at the end of some day, I will have something to point to, even if it is on a iPad screen.

Assisted Living: When you just need to GET AWAY

Over the past 8 years, I have managed to go away several times. Early on, I could leave the Old guy alone, with some pre-made food, arrange for someone to take him out one night. If I was to be gone for a longer period, I would have him stay with the "sister wives". One time, I had people scheduled to stay a night or two at the apartment. But recently, I have been reluctant to ask for this help. Oh I know people would say, "Of course, I'd like to help" when discussed in the hypothetical, but, when it comes down to specifics, the discussion gets a little fuzzy. And since it is the American Way to be self reliant, I decided to do it the old fashion way: pay someone. There is a great advantage to this, and the obvious disadvantage (cost). But I am able to do it and it provides me with peace of mind (or is that a piece of a mind? both probably). Old Guy gets a companion for the time who will be nice to him (she is paid) and a different cook. But mainly it makes him very happy when I return. As for me, I get a good chunk of time to return to my swinging single life. (insert tire screeches here) Yeah, that's not really true. I have, sadly, aged 8 years, and so, funny in an ironic way, not haha way, I have slowed down too. But I did get to enjoy just taking care of myself.

All the experts will tell you that taking care of the caretaker is very important. The truth is, it is very hard to accomplish. But, when you do get the chance your heart and head will thank you for it.

Then, its back to the grind.

Upon return:
"How was the wedding?". "What wedding?" "Didn't you go to San Francisco for a wedding?" " No, I went to Sacramento. No Wedding." "Oh, my mistake"
Next day:
"How was the wedding?"

The Story of FED UP FEM FOILS FELON

I remember the day. Warm enough to ride a bike and want to spend the afternoon in the movies. I went to Pink Floyd’s The Wall by myself. It was shown at the now defunct but much remembered St. Marks Movie Theater at 134 2nd Avenue and St.Marks. I just googled it and as of that picture, it is a clothing store; who knows what it is in 2013. People loved that theater because you could smoke pot in it. They had couches, but being the middle class California transplant I didn’t dare sit on them. I did love that they existed, tho. So the movie. I am not sure why I even went. I was not a fan of Pink FLoyd and I had no idea what the film was supposed to be about. Still don’t. I do remember that it had very violent images mostly against women. When I exited the film, I think it was around 5 or 6pm, I rode my bike towards 3rd on 9th. I was looking for a hip resto that I had heard about. As I approached the corner, I saw a kerfuffle. A woman of about 60 was distraught shouting about her purse had been taken, to my right down Stuyvesant St towards 2nd, a man was running with the purse, followed by another, whom I call the Good Samaritan. I began following both of them. Oh did I mention I was on my bike? They ran down 10th to 1st avenue and it was about here that the Good Samaritan lost his mojo, having less of an incentive to keep going than the perp. But unbeknownst to both of them, I was there. I followed at a safe distance,but close enough to see him when he turned onto East onto 11th St. and jumped into a sub-basement dugout that NYC has on many buildings. I rode past quietly to see him crouched down, rifling through the purse. I rode across the street to the pay phone (remember children, this was the early 80’s, and personal phones were only on Star Trek and in Beverly Hills) to call the police. They wanted me to give my name, and I almost didnt but they wouldnt let me go if I didnt. I am glad I did. I jumped off the phone to make sure he was still there. I waited across the street in case he decided to leave before the cops arrived, and as I watched a car go up 11th towards 2nd Avenue, he popped out, minus his jacket and purse. This dude was happy, as he made off with the crime, and was now heading to his dealer. But he didn’t figure the raging feminist following him. He was making pretty good time, walking fast but not running. An undercover cop car pulled up next to me and asked if it was the two Puerto Rican kids, and I said with glee, “no the tall white guy!” . Suddenly two unmarked cars did a “V” move, trapping him up against the chain link fence. He said, cocky and all “Is there something a matter, Officer?”. Since he did not have the purse on him, the cops looked to me. I said he was down in one of those sub-basements. I was a little confused with the moment and went to the wrong one, but then we found the purse and his jacket. BOOYA!
I rode to the WOW Cafe on 11th street, flush with excitement. No one there seemed to care. So I rode home. Just as I finished my 5 flights of stairs with my bike, my phone rang. A man asked "if I was Debra Miller, the Debra Miller who found the man who mugged my wife?" He was so grateful and happy and wanted me to have a reward. They invited me to dinner and gave me $50 bucks! They were great people in that fantastic apartment building, The Brevoort, on 5th Avenue at 8th.
But it didn’t end there. In NYC the way criminals are prosecuted is through the ancient “Grand Jury” system. A group of citizens are impaneled for a year (it becomes their job), where they decide if a crime warrants prosecution. These people had heard everything. They were over it. The DA is examining me and I am telling the above story. They still don’t react. Finally he says, "Ms. Miller, tell the Jury how you caught the perpetrator?" "On my bicycle." They all sat up. You must remember that in addition to no cell phones, bike cops had not yet been “invented”. I may have been the impetus but I’ll leave that decision up to you (Forrest G anyone?).
So how did the Daily News find out about you? Well, some time had passed, and I was telling a new friend the story (cuz ya’all know I like to tell my stories). She said that I was a Crimestopper. A what? Clearly, I was not a Daily News reader. She proceeded to write the story up and send it to the paper. They investigated, and viola! I am chosen.
My friend drove me down to the paper on the back of her Vespa, where I was interviewed. I had been up late celebrating an Opening Night with my friends, The SplitBritches, so my head was a wee bit foggy. The writer basically eek-ed the feminist twist out of me, but it wasn’t really too far from the truth, since we all know that I have been a proud Fed Up Fem(inist) for all my life!

And the Award never goes to: a comedy! Or my unglamorous life....

I really shouldn't complain. I had a fairly alternative glamour night yesterday (beware: name dropping to follow). I went to a huge art opening of the beloved and famous dyke photographer, Catherine Opie, where John Waters roamed looking at photos of Diana Nyad, the designing Mulleavy sisters, and my friends Julie Tolentino and Pig Pen. Among other well know faces were directors Kimberly Pierce and Jamie Babbitt; friend and producer Steak House, Valerie Stadler;my production designer boy wonder, Michael Fitzgerald, and my sidekick in troublemaking, the writer Michelle Meyers (Immaculate Complexion). It was crowded with interesting looking people who most likely did interesting type things. Then off to a small party in honor of an old friend, Holly Hughes, in town to perform and teach at USC. The performance artist/actor John Fleck as well as the lesbian folksinger (who opened for the Smiths in the early 80's)Phranc, were among the guests. So no, it wasn't the Independent Spirit award, and never would be the Oscars (that would mean a time machine, plastic surgery and talent), but it was something! And so it should come as no surprise that I blew my wad last night and today I am sitting at my computer, in a torn sweatshirt (formal gown at the cleaners), filling in my home ballot, before moving into the living room to watch the Oscar telecast with the Ol' guy. May the team with the most money for publicity war, win!

LESBIAN FAMILY VALUES

I am sick of people thinking that family values mean a primary typical family unit. I am here to tell you that it IS different for Lesbians (Dykes, Wimmen loving Wimmen, female homosexuals...). Many of us have chosen not to raise children. There are as many reasons as there are stars in the sky...but suffice it to say, we made a choice. The option of having a daughter (son...maybe) take care of you in your old age, say as I am doing for my father, is, well, none. What do we do when the proverbial cancer, MS, joint replacement, homelessness, hits the fan? We reach out to our, what is referred to as, the extended family of ex-lovers. This is very different from the hetero norm, or in my experience the gay men’s world.
I have so many examples of this, including my own, and one that is happening right now.
In my case, I needed a new shoulder (years of lesbian sex had taken its toll and I am proud to announce that...). I needed someone to take care of not only me, but my father, for whom I am responsible . Who did I call? Yes after Ghost Busters, my ex-gal pay from the 1980’s, (let’s call her Lynn). Now, Lynn had just been a year out of Chemo herself, and I had sent her some helping funds when she was recovering, since I could not get away (see above responsibility), but she volunteered to come out and take care of Dad and I. Did you see the date? 1980’s. That’s a long time to remain friends, ne, family.
Currently, an acquaintance,really,is going through a gnarly operation. She is staying with her ex and her ex’s current partner. Legions of friends visit her, and I imagine some are even her ex-lovers. Do you ever see that in the hetero world? Nope.

So in conclusion, I‘d like to say:suck on it right wing, cuz Lesbian have True Family Values.

I Suck.

I was reading Chuck Lorre (Yes, I am clearly obsessed by this man-which in itself is weird for a past her if ever prime and a les-bo-heim to boot)and he wrote an article entitled:
HOW TO CREATE A HIT SITCOM
A simple, step-by-step guide to prime time success.
It is, as you might imagine if you watch his shows, is funny.
But mostly what it made me realize is that I am a spectacular failure. I have one person following my blog, and I am pretty sure it is someone I am paying. I do not make any money as a writer, mostly cuz I refuse to call myself such or even show anyone my writing. I think having a highly commented on rant on fb is writing. Clearly, I am a v-e-r-y slow learner. I like to write. I like to write about what I think about things. There is not a lot of money in that- no wait, I think there is; I just dont know how to, as we like to say now, monetize it. I am not very motivated to succeed. What's up with that?
As it says in my copy of The Underachiever's Manifesto (yes it does exist and I wish I had written it, but I was too underachieving to do so)
GOOD ENOUGH IS GOOD ENOUGH. Actually it doesn't say that but that is the essence of the 10 points.
I would reprint the ten, but I will leave it to the next post. See if anyone reads this, of if it is, as I suspect, a very cheap form of self-therapy.
Enjoy this day after the second Inauguration of the first Black President (see it was not a mistake!)

Assisted Living (Help me Chuck Lorre!)

I saw the note by blogger telling me to list people in my post, so I thought who better than the Jeffe of TV comedy, Chuck Lorre. I do not know him, or imagine that I ever will. We are in parallel worlds. He is famous, I am not. He makes people laugh: I make people cry. He lives in LA; I live in LA (and by that I mean, the LA he lives in is on 90210, the LA I live in is on COPS). But we do share a heritage, and a love of numbers (see his Vanity Card archives---see my unread blog posts 1-56). Plus if I tag him in my post then maybe someone will read them.
Of late I have not felt much humor in my situation. For those of you who can not be bothered reading "TDT/Assisted Living" from the beginning, I will surmise: Long time, past her prime,dyke inherits aging (82 at time, now 90)father (hereto referred to as: The Old Guy) and hilarity ensues.
Like I said, I have not been feeling the hilarity. Its a lot of work caring for others. And I don't mean in the "write a check to the charity" kind of care. Perhaps it is the reason I never had children or men have wives; it is HARD. Still, its best to find some humor in some corner or instead of hilarity, insanity will ensue. So now I laugh at myself. How crazy am I who thinks I can get him to remember something just seen 10 minutes ago? That is bend over chuckle worthy! I am just nuttier than those kids on Happy Endings or New Girl. And they are kooky, weird funny! Yup, 61, tattooed and still wearing high tops. Crazy!
Happy 2nd of 3 New Year's (not the one that you eat apples and honey and then fast, not the one that you eat whole fish and blow things up, but the one that you get falling down drunk and watch some 7000 pound "ball" fall off a building).

Assisted Living-So you wanna help...

UPDATE Transportation problems solved!
The several agencies that help individuals with transportation each have their own set of rules. Each agency contracts with separate private companies to accomplish this mandate. And so if one agency only takes people in a designated zone, they can't pick up in another zone. In order to facilitate the Ol' Guy to the 2x a week Adult Day Care (the wonderful One Generation-send donations or volunteer there), we have to use two agencies. After a surprisingly short wait time, I have a standing order for both directions. What I love about this arrangement is that I don't have to drive and I don't have to ask for favors from others! I was very lucky and had a good friend helping out, but really one can ask so much from non-relatives.
Take away:

If you are a friend of a caregiver and want to help, offer to help decipher the bureaucracy of the various agencies. That is the real work that will last long after you grow weary of driving

Assisted Living Part...oh who knows?

So. (have you noticed all kinds of people are using this small word to begin their explanations- not just ner do wells like me who have been using the word since 1974), I repeat, So, I have been busy living life and waiting for another funny bon-mot to be created by the Ol' guy and myself. Now that I have you suspended in space, I don't really have one. It's just more of the same "shampoo, rinse, repeat" or for those of you who don't follow my skewed brain functions: "say something, repeat, say it again, repeat, no, I did tell you, yes you have heard this before, now why would I lie to you?, repeat, bang your head against the wall, and hope that someone loves you-or at least is getting paid-when you do the same thing in the very soon future...."
I went traveling this past weekend. Alone this time. Although, leaving him at home involves preparation also. I had to get away; there are lives at stake!
Off to celebrate life and aging in Seattle. But isn't it funny, or in this case ironic, that I go to see and connect with many friends from the past, and on the first night I loose my voice! For those of you who know me, well, I am assuming that is everyone, or why are you reading-unless its that person whom I am sending checks to... you know that I love to talk. I love to tell stories, make non-sequitur jokes (see above), pithy comments, snide remarks. Apparently not this weekend. Still, I had a great time using my newly found listening skills.
That's it. Gotta run.
Oh, vote. No let me be more specific, Vote Obama.

Sunny October Day at Foxglove Guest House, Seattle, Wa

TDT-Assisted Living- part 6

TV is our common space. I try to watch a show with him every night I am home. I know it sounds weird, cuz watching a program with another human being is really a partial interaction. But it is the best I can do most nights. Sometimes all I can do is walk through the room and ask him what Vanna is wearing or who is wining the game?
Definition of: Awkward. There was this time, several years ago, I was watching an early feed of The L Word with Dad. At about 1/2 way in, I realized that I was incredibly uncomfortable; that watching a show, that had previously given me pleasure, with my father was not ok. So the next week, when it came on, I said, "Dad please go in your room and watch 60 Minutes". He asked "why" and I said "because I want to watch The L Word". He said, "I like that show". I said "I understand but I am not comfortable!".
I imagine that's what all relationships come down to after time is a form of peaceful co-existance. When all things are considered (yes, I do love NPR) I think that might just be ok.

TDT or Assisted Living- part 5

My new subtitle for my series will also be the name of my TV show. So networks, get ready! The Lab Visit. For some reason the Doc (the last one in a line of fired ones-more on that someday) thinks The Dad should have some blood work. So I proceed to the Lab. One would think that would be it-a little waiting, a little poking, a little leaving. But, NOOOOO. The Lab assigns take home duty (ah, yeah, that is a double entendre). Now, he has to engage in a difficult set of steps (3) of which I will not be a party to (yes it is ok now to end a sentence with a preposition...) It did not happen according to the plan. I am ok with that. What could it detect anyway? He has made it to the amazing age of 90,eye sight,walking with the help of a mere cane, ok he can't hear and his mind is going, but basically ok. I really don't think I have to push on this. Yeah, I know, more double entendres... and this is what my life has become.

The Daughter Track (TDT) part 4

Am I repeating myself, repeating myself? Sadly I have no patience. I was given the "does not suffer fools" stamp at birth and all my life I have had to fight it. Mostly, unsuccessfully. I am generally: snarky, sarcastic, deeming, rude. I know it and for that I have had to learn to apologize. Wouldnt it just be easier to stop this behavior? Ya think? See. Even in my imaginary conversation I can't help myself. I am a bitter ol'queen (this is not an offensive statement, because in my mind, BOQ's are quick and witty. Sure there is an edge of meanness. If you had been attacked all your life you would too. This is the gay version of The Dozen's. Look that up if you have no idea what I just said.0 Back to the original thought (and that's another thing about me. I get distracted easily-in conversation, that is). I have a particularly low threshold for my father's repeating things. I generally go from about a 2 to a 10 in nothin' flat. And I know this is wrong. He has no short term memory. I will repeat myself, for my benefit. He has no short term memory. And yet I want him to use what's left of his brain to try to rationally figure out things. Why do I do that? Most people are incapable of rationally figuring out things (see political situation in the US circa, well the whole life of the country really, but especially since Reagan...). So why would I think this sweet 90 year old man, who was never a Rhodes scholar could do that now? Personality flaw they call it is AA. Indeed.

THE DAUGHTER TRACK part 3

So back to the beginning. There I was a free-wheeling lesbian, living her unconventional life, darting around the world (ok NYC and London, some parts in between) working, loving, creating havoc and doing a little good. Now I was a stay at home mom. And I didn't even get the joy of a new love! I did get a new home and some furnishings that weren't culled from the resale shop. I set up my new home for Dad and I in what I like to call the Resort. This apartment complex, expensive but had all the enticements one could want. I loved it. We settled into a new life. I found Dad a few Tai Chi classes (Seniors Waving Arms), a Senior center and joined the LGBT Temple.

JUST a moment out of the story: Why do crazy people feel the need to SHOUT their inner conversation, as they walk down the street? Wouldn't it do just to speak in at a normal level, since they are talking to themselves? And were back: Joining the Temple was a stroke of genius on my part. I did it because I found out they were going on a trip to Israel and Dad had never been. I thought at the time, tempus fugit, so we went with 25 people we did not know, but upon return 25 new friends. It was a great trip, and I was very supported. From that trip I found my sister-wives, who have been so very helpful with my TDT. Everyone is so gracious with their compliments, but there are very few who actually come through with the actual help, and these two amazing munchkins have done that for me, for many years now. Part 4: didn't you say you were a lesbian?

THE DAUGHTER TRACK part 2

My original plan was to talk about the past, but today I am having a quintessentially TDT (The Daughter Track) experience. We are waiting to be assessed for ACCESS- the service that picks people up who cannot take public transportation on their own. It is in the obscure Arts District (you knew we had one downtown L.A. right?)-off the 4th street bridge. Enter the non-descript warehouse and a line of elderly, physically challenged individuals with their caretakers awaits you. Hulls of busses,dotted yellow lines, green arrows,amid a maze of that would confuse the best minds, let alone confused or those suffering from dementia. So Dad is finally called at 12:15-we arrive at 11am. Not too bad. Told to follow green arrows to bus # 2. He gets on that bus, for about a minute then name is called with 5 others and he is made to walk into another rm staffed by what looks like ex-cons-not that I have anything against that... made to sit down, sign again then told to go back to bus #2. ( why don't they have a lap top and take it to each person?) 10 minutes later he is called again for evaluation-what health conditions do you have? Dad: looks at me and guesses. After a few more invasive questions, he has his pluse taken again. You will hear in 21 days, if not call this number...one more thing-have your photo taken (again). Then, as if pigs were actually flying in edges of East LA, we were done. 1:00pm. Dad: Why did we do that? and you wonder why my new hobby is drinking...

THE DAUGHTER TRACK-part 1

I have recently realized that all my life I have fit into various current categories: Baby Boomer, anti-war protestor,Radical lesbian feminist, Sex-positive dyke, live-r of life on life's terms, "artist", and now I am in the words of the New York Times(the paper of record) www.nytimes.com/2005/11/24/world/.../24iht-daughter.html?...all the DAUGHTER TRACK. For the last 8 (or 9?) years, I have been living with my now 90 year old father. I remember as if it were yesterday: it was the last night of OUTFEST Film Festival. I was in the Orpheum Theater, and for some reason I felt my phone ring. I peaked at it and saw a strange number, Later that night I listened the message that would redirect my life. "Debbie. this is Dad. Ann (2nd wife) died and I wondered if you could come help me." The rest,is, well my life. I went to Fresno (yes, I have some ideas on how to make that place an actual destination, but that's for another time), did what I had to do: assess the situation and figure out that it would be mutually beneficial for us to combine resources, in LA of course. Many people say very nice things about what I am doing. It is refreshing

to be on the receiving end of praise. But really I did not feel like there was another choice (and of course as I say that I realize there is ALWAYS a choice). It just seemed like the right thing to do. So that was the beginning. And so much more.

Queer Realities: Fact and Fiction!

Thursday night has come and gone, but not forgotten! My hope in doing this program is to show the diversity of our stories, connected by our otherness and our humanity, which is what it ultimately all about. So you ask, Debra, how did it go?
The OUT Night at Ann Arbor Film Festival was a complete success! Thanks to an earlier time slot this year, we oversold the house. We laughed, we sighed, we cried, and we laughed again! Thanks to all the filmmakers who generously allowed their films in this program. Thanks to the local AUT Bar, owners and festival supporters Keith and Martin, for their continued emotional and financial support. Thanks to my host dyke family, Astrid, Gila, Fred and Gerta (the last two are dogs...) for their putting up with my 2 am arrivals after a night of unbridled film going and after-partying... And of course, thanks to the fantastic Ann Arbor Film Festival and their community for welcoming me and the gay community into theirs. It is a rare thing indeed to have a LGBT component of a general interest festival, and not one that I take for granted.

Back!

Here we go: films! The 46th Ann Arbor Film Festival! All attendees will be able to blog to their hearts content, and now you can hear my special POV. It will be exciting and perverse, of course. You would expect no less. All 3 of you! Here is a picture of the Michigan Theater where all the fun will happen. Of course there will be lots of parties too.