In the Brave New World of the Blabbersphere, I'm supposed to keep a running update on my every movement, bowels included. As you no doubt have noticed, I haven't been able to keep it up this year. I hope I'm disappointing anyone too much. It's just that too often I find myself choosing between living my life or chronicling it. I don't know how other people do it.
So I feel sheepish just now posting photos from--hello--May. But better late than never, I suppose.
While I was in LA I sat for painter Don Bachardy, the longtime partner of one of my favorite novelists Christopher Isherwood. It's no exaggeration to say that it was a dream come true. When I first read Isherwood when I was 24, I fantasized about becoming a novelist like him and having Bachardy paint my portrait. Nearly twenty years later, it actually happened.
Don captured something weird and unsettling about me. In both sittings I was self-conscious about certain features, which he instinctively emphasized. I found the whole process intriguing and plan to sit again the next time I return to LA. Don is an enchanting and fascinating person, full of impish vitality at 75.