Self-Portrait

That would be my self-shadow against the clover and sour grass of our backyard today in the warmth of a spring day. Lots of basketball in only t-shirts, plus the ice cream man came by. It was also my daughter's friend's birthday party day, so she made her a card out front in the morning sun.

It was also another sleepover Friday night, pizza and movies and lots of Runescape. One son hates his photo being taken, so all I can show is his hand.

The early petals of fruit are bursting here, swelling under the sun's heat, saving up their moisture and sweetness for a later moment. Now we can kiss and make out. Later we can suck the almost unimaginably rich fruitiness out of the purple ovals these delicate white flowers will grow up into...

Walking through the warm Mission District tonight, my home, I came upon a pretty Latina, navigating her two large bags of laundry to a local Laundromat. As she rounded the corner, I noticed she had one bag balanced on a skateboard -- a truly creative solution -- and that her long black hair was streaked with blond. We exchanged pleasantries.

Our lives are so layered. Earlier, during a phone call with one of my oldest and closest friends, we both were shocked by how many overlaps we share. This person and that person, here and then there. In the old days, this used to be called "community," but in our time, growing up as we did in the revolutionary '60s and '70s, everything has fallen fragmented like so many spring blossoms to the moist soil below, waiting to recycle us all.

As you walk around, remember you are stepping on the compressed remains of all who ever have dwelt on this planet. It's funny that we snap our photos so earnestly, as if our physical forms matter one whit in this cruel ecology. No, the best we can hope for is to be a mere shadow, as we pass over these lands.

My own was still here, as of today, in a brilliant sun, and as I shot him, he looked okay to me, a lot better than that old guy in my bathroom mirror.

Meanwhile, I continue to puzzle over the various requests I get for help. This one needs a recommendation letter; that one needs an introduction; this one seeks advice about her breakup; this one hopes I might introduce him to an agent; that one needs an edit; but this one presents me with an unusual request: to help her edit a flyer that advertises, among other attractions, "heart ass for women."

Now, in my long, checkered career, I have occasionally been described as a "hard ass," though hardly as hard an ass as my old buddy Paul Avery was, he who is the star character in a new movie released this weekend, "Zodiac." Quite a few of my journalistic colleagues over the years have been portrayed in film; sadly, I have to say I hardly recognized any of ye, boys.

I will admit to having had one girlfriend, however, who claimed she had a "heart-shaped ass," and I happen to have a photo that could illustrate her case, but I will not post that, because that should be her choice, and she is far, far away, and very much remote from me now, though recently, during a breakup, she reached out to me briefly, only to quickly again retreat into the shadows.

My suggestion is that we all henceforth present our self-portraits, not in the flesh, but as the shadows we truly are, visitors here on earth...

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