"Return acts of kindness with kindness and never avenge insults."--Confucius, from the Pocke Philosophical Dictionary, VOLTAIRE

The week unfolded as a collage of contrasts: joy and grief, films and postcards, Europe and Los Angeles.

November 2nd (1999) began with anticipation. I bought tickets to see BASH at the Canon Theater in Beverly Hills — a play starring Calista Flockhart, then riding high as America’s “Ally McBeal.” The performance was set for December 12, and I looked forward to seeing her live, without the filter of television.

Photo:  Charles Tafoya

But life balances itself. That morning, I received word that my relative (first cousin once removed) Charles Tafoya had died of lung cancer in Colorado. The decades of smoking had finally taken their toll.

Alan and I kept our rituals intact. I photographed him reaching into the trunk of his classic red car for our newspapers before we drove to Peet’s Coffee in Brentwood. Later that evening, thanks to free passes from my French Consulate contact, Lisa, we saw the French film Train of Life.

It was unlike anything in Hollywood — a surreal tragicomedy about Jews escaping the Holocaust by pretending to be deported. At times absurd, at times devastating, it danced between satire and sorrow. It left me haunted, reminded that history can be reframed not only with suffering but with imagination.

On the 3rd, we gathered food from Whole Foods and picnicked at our “Secret Spot” in Pacific Palisades. The bench there overlooks the Pacific Ocean — a place where thoughts expand and settle at once.

The next day, November 4th, I poured myself into a long letter to Paloma in France. It became a meditation on Europe, music, and the shifting colors of culture. I told her about discovering CDs by Lutricia McNeal (365 Days) and U96 (Heaven), about missing Europe’s easy rhythm:

“When in Europe I love to watch the music channels on TV because they show different videos than here. Then I write down the songs, groups, & try to find the music.”

I even wrote about house hunting — comparing Los Angeles real estate to Europe — and slipped in celebrity gossip from the Hotel Principe di Savoia stationery I was jotting on:

“JFK Jr.’s loft was too expensive — they marked up the price just because he lived there. But we’re walking distance from where he lived.”
“Johnny Depp got some French model pregnant — Vanessa Paradis, I guess she’s an actress, not just a model.”
“In the NY Post, police raided an apartment in Texas for noise complaints and found two men naked — one of them Matthew McConaughey. Now that’s gossip!”

That same afternoon, Alan gave me a postcard that felt like a kiss on paper:

“You are the best chatter around. You love to read to me — articles, magazines, business notes. You are so complex and full of surprises. I love that about you. I especially love listening to you talk. Today, we had coffee at Joni’s. Next April, let’s try Bouley Bakery in New York. Love you, Alan.”

Later that night, we dressed up for a Gourmet Magazine Christmas cocktails party at Geary’s in Beverly Hills. It was a swirl of crystal, hors d’oeuvres, and mingling — but no new clients came of it. Que sera sera.

Friday morning began with a run, abs, and the daily ritual of Joni’s Coffee Shop.

On Saturday, I read my newspaper at Peets Coffee, Alan snapped a photo of me, and then Gloria joined us for lunch at the Farmers Market in West Hollywood. That night, the four of us — Alan, Gloria, Jack, and me — went to Century City to see The Bone Collector, with Denzel Washington as a paralyzed detective and Angelina Jolie as his rookie partner. Dark, suspenseful, atmospheric, it played like a chess game with a serial killer leaving cryptic clues. I gave it an A-. 

That day we also prepared a card for Mom and Virginia. On the front, a photograph of our shelves stacked high with folded T-shirts. Inside, we wrote:

“Dear Mom — The little things you do are BIG things to us & we want to thank you for your special touch. Love, Michael”

“Dear Virginia — Thanks so much for caring about us & making sure we wear the right T-shirts. I appreciate it! Love, Alan.”

Alan placed another postcard on my desk that Sunday, dated 11/7/99. His words carried the weight of time:

“It’s just about two weeks until our tenth anniversary. A tender relationship takes a lot of work, patience, and continuity. We’ve done quite a good job working at it, don’t you think? We clearly picked the right person.”

That evening we dined at Asia de Cuba in the Mondrian Hotel with our new friend Randy Cooper and his pal Neil (a coincidence, since Neil is also Alan’s middle name). The evening ended with a group photo on a leather couch — stylish, slightly mischievous, the kind of picture that belongs in an album titled Los Angeles Nights.

Monday was quieter, spent organizing at home. Later, Alan and I went to see Michael Mann’s The Insider. The story of a tobacco-industry whistleblower, played by Russell Crowe, with Al Pacino as the journalist who risks everything to air the truth. It was taut, intelligent, and heavy with moral weight. I gave it a B+ — strong, but a touch long-winded.

In the span of a week, life gave me the shock of Charles Tafoya’s passing, the poetry of Alan’s postcards, the rituals of coffee shops and folded T-shirts, the glamour of a Beverly Hills cocktail party, and the haunted laughter of Train of Life.

The gossip scribbled on hotel stationery — JFK Jr.’s loft, Johnny Depp’s affair, McConaughey’s scandal — sat side by side with whispered I-love-yous on postcards. And somehow it all belonged together.

Because the cinematic quality of life isn’t just in the movies we watch, but in the words we exchange. Sometimes gossipy, sometimes tender, always alive. And sometimes, it arrives as simply as a postcard slipped across a desk — a kiss on paper.

The Vagus Nerve is the largest and one of our most important bundle of nerves.  It is connected to digestion, sex, and breathing--to the mechanics of being alive.   When we witness suffering our Vagus Nerve makes us care.  People with especially strong Vagus Nervers (Vagal Superstars) are more likely to cooperate with others and to have strong friendships.  Practice the simple act of bowing down (as the Japanese peoples often do).  This gesture actually activates the Vagus Nerve.--Susan Cain, in her book, BITTERSWEET