Hello and thank you, old friend for coming and visiting
Frau Kolb and The Talkinggrid, again. We return to each other, like lovers seeking stray kisses across a mountainous duvet.
“Darling!” I squeal. Arms link. Hugs melt away tension, raise spirits. We hug.
“Most sincere and honored being!!! How delighted I am to see you!!!”
Take my hand, let us sit, eat. Feast! Drink and be open with me, unlock the doors of your soul. I am waiting, receptive yet patient and full of an uncanny ease that comes from persevering, past exception and desire, leaving Death waiting and returning to the world of dish washing and stir climbing. Home life is central now.
We haven’t spoken in months! Where does the time go? “I went to to the bank where The River Styx flows. I was on the ferry amid the putrid stench of rotten expectation and desire. Where were you?”
My mirror image, you might say:
I’ve returned. I am here to entertain you, to remind you to laugh at my mistakes if your own are not juicy enough. I am here to nurse you, feed you off the teat of my intellect, regardless if you judge my skills to be fine or not. I am your friend. I host you and care about your children even if you haven’t had any yet. I care.
I am moved by your eloquence.
We haven’t gotten cosy, talked about the intimate details of our lives, investigated the lineage that defines us as parallel figures in history, in ages. We haven’t deconstructed how magical it is that our orbits ever touched and that we both know the magical feeling of touching each other’s souls. We haven’t undressed and danced in the moonlight of the Jersey shore, but there is always the possibility.
We have met, many so many times that you think you know me. I hate to inform you that that is an illusion. You know the me that has floated up on the internet for you to see and dissect, at will. I invite you to take apart an image, this season. Shred one of your hard won traditions, a sacred “cow,” try to buy nothing… give it all… love like love is on the brink of extinction and you and only you can save it. Mirror me, if you please, become the person you dreamed you might be.
I said my goodbyes and then was granted a coda which will extend into the ether, diminishing only when the applause die down. The applause haven’t begun, yet I expect they will start soon, thereby allowing me to enjoy another year, or two, or ten, twenty works—sort of—but I’m just getting started. I am open to hanging out at art gallery openings in forty or fifty years when I am beyond the silver citizen stage and have become pure social gold, a butterfly made of metal. I intend to be the old lady with a gaggle of admiring suitors and invitations to spare. You know her, right?
Mirror each other’s most gracious gestures. Learn to imitate the ones we admire and let leaders be representative of our best traits. Don’t be afraid to be shallow, as long as you present a polished surface onto which others can project super human qualities. Let’s look to each other for inspiration. Be better. Be healthy. Smile. Eat more veggies. Improve yourself the way you polish the specks on the surface of your super smart phone. Shine!
Sincerely,
Frau Kolb and The Talkinggrid
PS: To my friends in Berlin. I love you. Christmas markets are sacred. I’m sending love from Southern California.
Mixed Media on Canvas, Painting by Frau Kolb, 2010
For the Romantics, out there, celebrating Valentine’s day comes as naturally as a bodily function. The Romantic simply oozes LOVE, LOVE, LOVE! They have buckets of red paint at the ready. They are intent on hitting the streets, this Saturday, 14th of February, year 2015, their pubes freshly waxed, to PAINT THE TOWN bright crimson, vibrating vermillion, luscious labia incarnadine, throbbing rose, and scintillating sienna.
You know the type: they got up early, last week to ensure that all their Lovers got long well-worded, heart moving, gut wrenching, LOVE letters written on top quality stationary. They own and are not afraid to use a fountain pen. Their hand writing proves they went to art school and the content of their letters shimmers with allusions to the voluptuous works of English poet, John Donne. Nothing is too grand for this type of being. Helicopter rides, no problem. Couple’s massage, with cinnamon oil and brisk strokes, assured. Red velvet cake and capes, required.
For those that LOVE, love the day is infused with a glow of giving and receiving, not so much cheap chocolates and factory made cards, but attention, affection, and erotic thumbs up from other sexy souls that seek any opportunity to connect and express emotions not often celebrated by the general population.
For Others, Valentine’s day is just another day. Perhaps the last time that they sent out a Valentine’s greeting was when they were in Kindergarten and the little kid they especially liked failed to get the message and just threw their little paper card away… Since then, they harbor a distrust for the holiday and don’t hesitate to express their lack of enthusiasm for Valentine’s Day. “It’s a Hallmark Holiday,” said one women, meaning that it was a bit of capitalist fluff, commercial hodgepodge holiday meaning nothing to Nobody.
How sad!
Stuffed Cloth Heart A Valentine By Annabella Kolb
It is for these downtrodden Lovers that Frau Kolb writes the following:
Talkinggrid List of 13 Reasons to Celebrate Valentine’s Day
1.) LOVE ROCKS!
Sorry, if you haven’t experienced this for yourself, yet, but if you have ever felt the sting of baby Cupid’s arrow, you know the poison propels paupers to the realms of princes, lifting one UP to new heights. It is wonderful to feel energized, charged, and ready to reach for the moon, fearless of falling into a pit of cliches, trusting.
2.) Celebrating Secures Sweet Memories
By investing time and thought into planning and producing a special sensation in another one creates a lasting impression, a memory of goodness shared. These memories hold couples together through difficult times in hospitals and under duress. Making dinner, setting the table, a single rose… candle light, it all adds up and get stored in that reserve of goodwill from which we draw when work, obligations, and personal difference threaten to erase our bonds with Loved Ones.
3.) Art you my LOVE?
Drawing on your infantile art skills or masterly verve with pen and ink; you can touch another’s heart and create that scrap of sunshine to warm up winter’s coldest days. YOU CAN! Allow yourself to find a good piece of acid-free paper, a scissor, some glue, glitter and BABY you can make your LOVE swoon.
4.) Pump UP the HEART Valve!
We are here now. We may not be here tomorrow. We owe it to ourselves to create a feeling of fulfillment in ourselves by expressing our fuzzy FEELINGS! Nothing will give you more JOLT or excitement than running up the temperature of your heart with warm words and woozy feelings! Expressing LOVE is a workout for the soul. Stay fit! Keep your soul from becoming a floppy blob: find yourself a LOVE worthy of words, wine, and worlds of wonderful exchanges, priceless endearments.
5.) It is good for the economy!
Think of all those chocolate makers, rose farmers, and vendors of paper products (cards, stickers, and trinkets) where would they be without Valentine’s Day to make February, an otherwise dull month, something snazzy. Valentine’s Day is indeed a commercialized holiday and you have a choice if you want to buy into it or not. You can celebrate with homegrown flowers, stinky little buds, preferred. You can make your own cards (see number 3) and write your own sonnets.
Some decide to splurge on jewelry, jets, and fireworks… Over-the-top? Yes and great for the providers of diamonds (always a rip off), charter plane flights to Maui, and explosives. HURRAY!
6.) Distinguish Yourself
You could be one of those cranky, irritable, sad, and sometimes lonely people that resist and resent LOVE in its throbbing pulsating glory. Or you could rent a white stretch limo and ride around town listening to “Thus Spoke Zarathustra,” by Richard Wagner. The choice is, again, yours.
7.) BEHOLD THE WHITE ELEPHANT!
Valentine’s Day is a great opportunity for secret loves to throw caution to the wind and FLAUNT their LOVE! Go ahead invite your Other Man/Woman over for dinner with you and your official partner. Who knows you may find that polyamory or pure honesty are not as foreign to you and yours as previously envisioned. YOU can use this day to reveal your real feelings and thus release yourself from artifice and arrive at a more authentic being. (Or, you may become part of an scandalous triple murder suicide and thus earn your fifteen minutes of infamy.)
8.) Quality and Content Matter
This is your chance to state, affirm, and expose your true feelings for the ones that are either in your life or you would like to attract and attach to. The gift(s) you choose (or don’t) say a lot about the type of love you feel and what you have to offer and what you wish for in exchange. For all the women getting boxes of silky nothings… you know what is desired in return. For all the men that discover lovingly deforested females… on this magical day… well, you know you are LOVED.
Valentine’s Day 2015
9.) Keeping UP with The Kolbs
Observing tradition and flowing with the yearly calendar of opportunities to celebrate our bond is of the greatest importance to us. This year we celebrate our sixteenth year together. My husband has never failed to surprise me with roses red and sweets of various types. I’m pleased to say that I think we are just at the start of discovering the texture, color, and many shapes our love can take.
10.) Keeping up with The Kardashians
Just kidding.
11.) Friendship is worthy of Celebrating too.
Do not underestimate how much it will mean to your grandmotherly pal to get a card from you today. The other mothers in your mothers group will also feel appreciated if you send of an electronic or paper missive listing sweet qualities and good times had.
12.) The Jehova’s Witnesses Disapprove!
This may be my absolute favorite and strongest reason for celebrating Valentine’s Day with gusto; the Jehova’s Witnesses (an international door-to-door christian spirituality cult promising eternal life to the select and destruction to the rest) insist that Valentine’s Day is a Pagan holiday and that celebrating it is … blah, blah, blah… whatever. I grew up going to meetings three times per week. Thanks to them, I’ve read the King James Bible (in Spanish, no less) from cover to cover more than twice, yet I don’t understand why they think themselves better, more worthy of salvation, than anybody else. So… please pass the red heart staple gun. Thank you.
13.) Why Not?
Seriously, what are you afraid of? Eternal damnation? Revealing LOVE and being rejected? Spending too much on overpriced roses?
Get over it and get ON with the Party that is LIFE!
The year is wrapping itself up into a tight wad. You call to confess to me, that you are you “TOTALLY FREAKING OUT???” Are you running around, trying to cater a party for 30 when you have enough chairs for 3? Is your budget stretched to the limit? Are you contemplating bankruptcy or, at least, a reduction in the size of your Barney’s Binge Shopping Budget in 2015?
NOW, before I begin to dish, my special brand of savory information, a delicate stew of warm MUSE NEWS, to which you have become increasingly accustomed, being that it provides a nourishing substance… you require. I readily advise you on how to shake those often ugly, hardened, stormy feelings that threaten spring upon you, to choke you, violently clouding out every ray of positivity, which might blossom, IF carefully tended and coaxed into fruition, during the HOLIDAYS, but instead FESTERS, like an open sore… oozing. I find myself instantly getting depressed when there is so much pressure to be HAPPY! Enforced Christmas Cheer pushes my buttons.
Not everyone LIKES Holiday music… Not even every ELF is a Sinatra Classics FAN! Yet, it is impossible to avoid, between October and January!
Perhaps… like many people… you HATE CHRISTMAS MUSIC and come around October, they start to BLAIR THAT CRAP… in every space that has the mojo to command a cash register. Don’t they understand that by giving US so very much of Christmas, many of us GET SICK of IT? Holiday music is like rap, country, or heavy metal music… not everybody’s cup o’ Joe… and maybe if it was just for ONE month, say December, then it would be almost bearable, but the shopping centers are relentless in their stream of sonic sales stimulating musical brain invasion!
The Annoyed Consumer, is forced to SUCK UP the “steamy,” sound of “Santa Baby…” for months, imagining tarty girls flirting with their fat Santa, Banker or Hedge-Fund SUGAR DADDIES… Worse, the sensitive soul is ground down by the schmaltzy mix of materialism muddled with a diluted, polluted, Christian message which is pumped into our veins in the toxic form of mainstream HOLIDAY Culture. YUCK!
Sometimes, just lighting a candle and taking a moment out to be silent is ALL the Holiday Celebration you need.
The pure elixir of belief is being mixed into the cheap sweet carbonation of hyped up SALES and shopping frenzies; what might be an authentic spiritual opportunity is turned into a SALES Event! The materialism revolts you…You wanna scream like the Edward Munch painting. YOU CAN’T TAKE IT! Yet… the holiday MUSIC follows you into Starbucks, another place I want to avoid. “Jiggle BELLS!” “Jiggle Bells!” Cry monstrous children, that chase you in your thin and flimsy dreams. YOU WAKE UP!
Stressed… the bills are mounting, the kids (you don’t even have any but IF YOU did it might be dangerous, this year!) are griping, screaming, and shouting! Their horrific excitement about ALL THE TRASH they are about to spew out into the universe. Wrappers. Packing. TAPE! The HORROR of Holiday Cocktails with people whom you do not trust and you must keep your guard and be very polite, ever so NICE!
(Chill OUT! It is clear that YOU have a BAD CASE of The HOLIDAY HORRORS! YOU have come down with a highly infectious disease. Yes. IT IS TRUE! You must contain yourself. You must find a means of protecting others from the bad vibe you are emanating. Yes, you.)
Thank goodness, you have come to the right place for instant on-line healing.
Please, allow me, Frau Kolb ARTIST comic relief and aspiring adolescent, laughing here, HEAD and IN CHARGE of ALL THIS FABULOUS CONTENT, on www.talkinggrid.com, to diagnose poor depressed and spiritually depleted,YOU, with the following flowing one-size-fit-all blanket of “ISSUE,” which you may or may not cling to in a desperate attempt to DISCOVER some greater truth, than the basics we ALL KNOW. The Holidays, are best invested in self reflection, go easy on the booze and pass on the sticky buns. You don’t need those easy escapes and quick fixes now. Concentrate on loving yourself, better than that.
Sure, like everyone else on the planet, YOU have problems. Now, forget about it… The truth is: It isn’t easy being human. We all struggle. Just getting in and out of pajamas… buying pajamas and washing pajamas is an epic undertaking. Add traffic. Sex. Finances. Children. War. Race conflict. Loud Americans (or whoever you feel is invading your space simply by being audible…) and… well… We are ALL ready to SCREAM! SCREAM! SCREAM!
Yet, here’s the rub: we all have to find the strength to move gracefully from one day to the next. It is our responsibility to seek out happiness, good spirit, Cheer. Not just during the holidays but year round for our health and for the health of others. We might benefit for some of the prescribed Merriment. Yet, How? Come on, my friend… step over here. Sit down. Here, on this silken pillow. I know you are tired. Exhausted. You feel used and abused. No one loves you (except Talkinggrid, of course). Well… I will tell you a secret…
Sit down. Take a seat. Breath. So… Here it is:
“YOU want to shake this terrible Holiday Helplessness that hits you with the force of a Caribbean storm. Yet, what to do?”
Here are SEVEN SECRET, Foolproof, steps to maintaining a modicum of MENTAL HEALTH & Happiness during the sometimes nauseating attacks of Holiday Panic, Holiday Horror! Okay, I LOOK at you and I tell you what ALWAYS works for me. I have SEVEN SECRET ways out of any little steaming HOLIDAY HELL which you may have wandered into this muddy pit, by accident but… NOW YOU are stuck in the muddy molten lava nightmare, yet HAVE NO FEAR! Frau KOLB is HERE to SAVE YOU!
1. NOW! Move IT! Nothing will make you feel better about yourself or your situation than doing some sit ups, jumping jacks, yoga, whatever primitive mode of self tuning you practice… get to it. At least half an hour per day. NOW! Go UP THE STAIRS! Walk to work. Avoid the elevator. Try skipping, as children do.
2. Start your New Year’s RESOLUTIONS EARLY! Hit it. NOW! Consider quitting drinking NOW! Do a juice fast. Wheatgrass. Everyday. You will feel better and you will thank yourself when instead of gaining weight this year you enter the NEW YEAR looking fit and fabulous.
3. Write everybody Holiday LOVE LETTERS! Screw the materialism. You don’t have to buy anything for anybody. Write them letters of praise, LOVE. What we all really want for Christmas is good old fashioned praise and love. Write your loved ones a few pages of script, extolling their virtues and enumerating their strong points. Better, mail it to them, even IF you live in the same house. Send actual cards, with handwritten words and perhaps a printed photograph, to, at least, ONE person. Yes. One is more than enough. (You can even send your letter to yourself in order to ensure you get HOLIDAY MAIL from someone special.)
4. Sleep. Turn off the phone. Say, “Goodbye Computer.” Turn INWARD. Contemplate. Peace.
Nothing hurts you more than forgetting to nourish your body with rest.
5. Ritual Bathing. Listen, don’t knock it, till you’ve tried it. I put a marvelous mixture of sea salts and oils, oatmeal (skin soothing) and green tea powders in warm water and soak away much of what ails me. Hey… costs very little and most of us can access a little hot water and epson salt. No?
6. Create. You know, seeing ALL THOSE flashing lights and shows… it leaves you feeling a little EMPTY. Try painting it out. Paper. Canvas. Board. You decide. Or… use words, music… write a SAD SAD Christmas BLUES SONG and blow everybody away at the company Christmas Par-Tay with an impromptu performance!
7. Apply the SEVEN BOOK RULE! Here is the KEY to the verdant private garden of Frau Kolb’s imaginary and real experience of total life success: READ, READ, READ! The deeper your interests, your knowledge, your connection to the fabric of humanity, through its thought which may be directly accessed in BOOKS, will sustain the fragile sensitive you in times of duress. Yes, books, are my best and most stable friends. I retreat into them and in them find constant comfort and guidance. You can read, whatever you like, whatever uplifts YOU! But give yourself permission to avoid topics that prove toxic or debilitating to you. In other words, censor yourself, if it means avoid the turgid sea of Ugly Holiday Horror.
Try reading about the Early Christians, Alternate forms of Jewish Faith, The Fluctuations of Stock Market Wave patterns… whatever floats your boat. IF it elevates your mood and is not a gun manual, read it.
Personally, I enjoy books on history. What kind of history varies. Lately, I find myself reading more and more books set in or about China. It seems that Chinese and Asian Studies are emerging as a major focus. This makes for yet another hobby which while absorbing much of my time, delivers timeless knowledge and thus inspires me to take my personal issues in stride, aware that I am but a drop in the bucket. Reading is constantly shaping my perspective on LIFE. I am after many years of interest into Chinese Art and painting but a novice at investigating the language, the characters, the gorgeous pictographic/calligraphic writing system. This multi layered interest, has brought new SPARK (PASSION!) into my, already full and delightful, life. By investing my time in learning what I find remarkable, I enrich my life and protect myself from succumbing to the HOLIDAY MELTDOWN which so plagues the Armies of Shoppers, mobbing Walmart for “last minute,” gifts.
What do you want to learn? What do you want to master? Tell me. Tell yourself and treat yourself to time dreaming, thinking, writing, and planning a better now by being more at ease and grateful simply for the gift of being, which in no way means, that we aren’t aware that not everyone is as lucky as we are to be breathing, NOW… and that is my point. Don’t allow the creepy mood of militant outward displays of canned Christian sentiment crush you! YOU are more ZEN than that!
Now finally, perhaps this year, I will write you again, a word or two… nothing major… but it is time I hear from you. Please comment. Mark LOVE at the top corner. Share this or another, your favorite of my stories, and PLEASE IF YOU are a regular reader and wish to contribute to the YEAR END Frau KOLB Christmas Par-TAY FUND, CLICK donate DONATE donate at the bottom of the Talkinggrid’s front page. By DONATING to Talkinggrid you ensure that I will continue making time to writing and thereby AMUSE and UPLIFT you with Frau Kolb’s Muse News and Talkinggrid FUN!
EXPRESS YOUR LOVE and APPROVAL for independent Artist/Blogger Absurdist World Traveling Imaginary Friend and Intricate Fuzz Ball, Frau Kolb, via the DONATE button, on the bottom of the cover page.
Frau Kolb & DJ Pink Frankenstein in front of three “Rush Hour Grids, For New York,” Paintings by Frau Kolb, 2011
I dressed up as a BLACK BIRD, loosely inspired by the blackbird in the delightful coming-of-age love story, “Moonrise Kingdom,” another great film by Wes Anderson. I was feeling shaken, having had a medical emergency earlier in the week. Fortunately, all were forewarned that I was, “mysterious.” Which made my entrance all the more smooth, that and the super tunes spilling from DJ Frankenstein’s turntable, I could have to arrive on a stretcher to the wonderful party arranged by Julia Martin, and I’m sure it would have not offended the super-cool crowd or the proprietress of the new Nitespa Loft in Mar Vista, on the West Side of Los Angeles.
Lovely Ms. Martin has successfully established new place for our set to meet, hang our hats, get our nails done, a massage, a facial, a needed Brazilian… all kinds of services to help us recover that coveted baby-fresh and pampered GLOW. Nitespa is a space specifically tailored to those that are looking for a more personal, intimate, fitting refuge from the mundane, the coarse, the ordinary, impersonal spa.
(We all have so much to worry about, with ebola, police brutality, social disparity, the cost of living, the tumbling market, the children’s issues, marital demands of fulfilling obligations you never imaged you might ever be expected to meet, all the while maintaining one’s standard of living, in a world where the competition and the caprices of the ancient goddess, Fortuna, are not without a cruel sense of humor.)
Fortunately, Nitespa has expanded. The new location ROCKS! Some of you remember the dilapidated little beauty shack where we drank wine, communed, and got our nails down in Venice, Beach California. It was very hip and easy access. It was near Abbott Kinney Blvd. I’ve written about the spot before. The NEW LOCATION is a true hideout for those needing serious pampering in an indulgent VIP friendly, luxury loft location, which feels like an upscale home, where BEAUTY is welcome to perch.
You really must experience Ms. Martin’s unique sense of urban hospitality. She is creating a new way of being beautiful, in a breezy easy, health conscious surge of FUN! Nothing could be better for you than going to Nitespa, in my book.
WE, Julia Martin and I met years ago, when I tripped into Nitespa Venice for a manicure. I was delighted for the white wine she, so graciously, served and the cute Japanese girls that were creating lovely nail art for Julia’s fortunate cliental, including me! My nails wet, I asked Julia to rummage in my big old patchwork leather bag for my wallet. She was amused to discover a little travel bottle of tequila in there (I still, almost a decade later, have that same little bottle… somewhere in my home). Our pure connection was instantaneous, we felt ONE with each other’s fun loving spirited being!
Over the years our friendship has grown. Other less firmly founded, connections from that fun frenzied Los Angeles period, have faded away. In contrast, I am continuously impressed with J. Martin’s unique sense of urban hospitality. The astounding tenacity and insight of a woman with goals, a family, and a business to run is a wonder to behold and an inspiration for anyone. She managed to keep Nitespa on the map, in Venice, while so many other businesses folded in the high rent, high density area, jammed with trendy restaurants and slick boutiques competing for clients among the cash strapped, the striving, and the few that are flush, alike on the pure force of her personal charm and dedication to providing excellent beauty treatments to extravagant eccentrics and other demanding divas. She managed this feat by being a friend to her neighbors and an active part of the local art and business community.
“42nd Street, Times Sq. Grid,” acrylic painting, 24×30″, 2011, by Frau Kolb
A supporter of artists, including me (notice that four of my paintings are now available for viewing at Nitespa’s beautiful big white walls…) , Julia Martin has earned her place of recognition, trust, and affection in the west coast art community, from San Francisco to San Diego Julia Martin is LOVED and her following grows more staunch, loyal, and determined with each year of her continued success. No wonder that with so many beauty options available in Los Angeles, those in the know, have come to prioritize the ever-soul replenishing treatments offered at her open yet exclusive beauty hide-out and become her frequent VIP guests. Julia’s new Nitespa location is spacious and private with comfortable treatment rooms and a full kitchen available. Her space is a place where we can face ourselves and make time to ponder matters of personal and public significance in a comfortable, yet luxurious, Townhouse loft.
How do we tune into our selves and find time for all the parts of our being that might otherwise be neglected?
(I’m so glad I managed to get my act together and appear as Frau Kolb, in full Frau Kolb verbosity, at Julia Martin’s Royal Moonrise, Wes Anderson tribute party, on Saturday Night. Especially because, I was the Guest of Honor!) I’ve NEVER had that happen before. I’m touched!
Friendship is the answer. Last week, Frau Kolb had the pleasure and privilege of being honored by the honey eyed-genius, behind the living vision of intimate manicures and memorable massages, Ms. Julia Martin… a unique source of good in the world of Beauty. She is now The West Coast Beauty Muse for Talkinggrid as of last week’s splendid display of magnificence in entertaining a fun-loving group of way-ward intellectuals, part-time revelers, and party crashing troubadours in search of cosmic booty! What a grouping of interesting humans! I even had the pleasure of a powerful art chat, with an informed and active art collector, residing in Santa Monica! (He promised to have us over for dinner that we may enjoy his private art collection. Imagine that! )
We had a blast! The magic number of cool, elegant, educated, chilled-out, party-people, sipping cocktail punches presented with faultless aplomb by the excellent Ms. Martin. For the party she wore a short fur and a stripped dress, a loose interpretation of Margo Tennenbaum’s smeared eye liner, big fur routine, in Talkinggrid’s favorite movie, by Talkinggrid’s favorite director.
We were hoping Owen Wilson would just magically show UP at the party. I prayed for his super-coolness to just appear, but alas he did not. We did, however, enjoy discovering a lemon juice soaked ONE dollar bill inside a lemon… thanks to magician, who entertained us with the old fashion slight-of-hand the soul craves and somehow, my Post Paris Blues have VANISHED! I am cured!
Thank you, Julia Martin, superlative hostess, proprietress, and vision behind the one-and-only Nite spa, Mar Vista for a more than merely wonderful evening. It was a true pleasure and I can’t wait to come in and have lovely French, Pascal take care of my visage and lovely Christina to paint my nails, like little masterpieces, each one.
We were early, the first customers of the evening at Je thé… me, a romantic restaurant known for its good food. We crossed the thick curtain covering the door and into a comfortably furnished, tight, dining room. The host, Jacky Larsonneur, tall and erect, is standing at the center of the room, his mischievous blue eyes sparkling. He pounces on us with the grace of a well fed tiger! We were to be his willing prey for the evening. We loved being the center of his sage and savvy attention.
He ushered us to our padded seats and fully welcomed us to his place, with a touch of formality which would be soon brushed away, he instantly signaled that the ancient rules of hospitality were in effect. We had arrived into the care of Je thé… me, a space where we could put our guard down and swallow the delicious fact that we had entered a restaurant unlike any other. Larsonneur has deftly owned and operated the enchanting restaurant for almost three decades. The space is a home away from home, a well polished jewel of romantic corner kitchens, an absolutely perfect, quintessentially French spot. I’ve quietly dreamt of such places my whole life. In New York, we attempt recreate the energy of such spaces… perhaps Balthazar’s succeeds. The shelves are filled with books, tea pots, and other “comforts of home.” The warmly furnished room is acutely inviting, a place to melt away stress and enjoy a fine meal. The Germans call this feeling, “Gemütlichkeit,” which loosely translates to, “cosy,” or “warm and familiar.” It is a complex word, really… yet it fits perfectly in thinking of the warm embrace of the space, the restaurant, Je thé… me… such a sensual name… such an excellent evening, about to unfold.
Le Vin, the wine, cements a new friendship at Je thé… me in Paris, France.
“English?” He asks after a few pleasantries in French. He introduces us to his menu. It was poetry in food, just delightful. Salivating over the options, we allowed him to guide us, making recommendations, choosing which wine we drank. At ease in the roll of Culinary Guide, he takes us on a marvelous trip into a familiar yet new world of flavor. We eat and drink with silent reverence. Other guests arrive. First a man with two beautiful Asian women, who sound 100% California. They are seated on the other side of the attractive room. Later, they come to appear flabbergasted, mouths open, eyes bulging, at the wealth of attention we receive from our talented host. Shortly after an older woman and her (likely) granddaughter appear and are seated. Finally, a young blond couple from Denmark take the table next to us, where they proceeded to make-out passionately for two hours. Did they eat food? I don’t know. I was busy scarfing DOWN my entire plate, making every morsel vanish, worshiping drops of reduction sauces, expertly prepared.
Fondréche 2012, Ventoux
I am transported to a purely sensual zone. Ms. Crane, The Muse, sits next to me on the bench, laughing, making funny comments about the cast of characters around us, the universe, and beyond. Hours slip by, we don’t fret. This is a time reserved for eating, drinking, and conversation. My adoring Big German Scientist husband, enjoys the view, across from us and documenting our good time without being intrusive. Speaking of welcome intrusion… did I mention that Jacky planted his laptop on our table and sang to us, old French songs? He did. He sang to us! He serenaded our table! (How’s that for entertainment?) He has a marvelous voice. He popped his laptop on our table and shared with us a video of him, on youtube singing in a choir as a young boy. He was an angel. He sang solo, brilliantly! The camera loved his blond boy beauty. Oh, Jacky! You are a restaurant man beyond compare! What talent! Pure charm! Je thé… me.
IL ÉTAIT UNE FOIS, 2012
The food was divine. Yet, I refuse to divulge the details of what I ate. Eat bite was a discovery, an explosion of flavor in my mouth. No, I won’t write a laundry list of ingredients. No. Exactly what I ate doesn’t concern others… Unless, of course, they man-up NOW and venture beyond the barnyard gate, to Je thé me… in Paris! Once there, I can imagine, a parade of pilgrims, FRANCO-FOODIES by the herd, hereby and henceforth, respectfully paying homage to Larsonneur’s impeccable hospitality, good wine, and super-fresh French food with bus tours (god forbid) and other (less tacky) fanfare. I will just say: that if one does not live to visit Jacky Larsonneur at Je thé… me, is simply missing out on enjoying living, breathing, singing history in action.
There is no television in the historically preserved room. By and large, French restaurants do not bombard you with advertising while you are eating. French food is to be taken s l o w l y, quietly or boisterously depending on the mood. The music, wine, and incredible quality of the food all collaborate to take you to sacred heights within yourself and in communion with tradition. French food is famous, of course, but when you actually sit and eat food that deserves this degree of reverence it changes you.
I will never again be the same woman. I have changed from the inside out, a part of me, my heart… I think… is now––forever–– French. I do not know IF the Potato Eaters at the other tables felt the same AWE over the delicate, fresh, innovative, yet totally traditional FRENCH cuisine, prepared sensitively, and served with intimate flair.
At our table, Ms. Crane, Hartmuth and I were swaying in a whirl of FOODIE JOY beyond general comprehension. It was a secular, intensely sensual, culinary-come-religious-experience. In this mood, of beyond bliss, the hours passed and we continued eating. Finally, we begged Jacky to pick our desserts. He brought one for each and each was pure perfection with the entree, eaten. WE had NEVER had such a meal, such service! The wine… ah… it was sublime. I shall never recover from this re-introduction to what food can be. Food is a potential space-ship with direct shuttles to heavenly JOY! Now, from the shelf, tumbled one of the encyclopedias on France. (OK, I admit, that I could not resist pulling one of the books off the shelf and perusing it, while the ice wine was being retrieved.) The book popped open, before us and there was Jacky, turning the pages to his Chateau… really? Yes, he pointed to a picture in the book and said that this was his family’s country property. Oh… now my American mind wrapped itself around very foreign concept. His Chateau… WOW!
That our host enjoyed our company was demonstrated in that he invited us to stay with him for a few more bottles of wine. We were out till the earliest hours of the next morning, sitting, conversing, laughing like lunatics well past midnight, playing, and dancing with Jacky. The Muse, Hartmuth, and I Frau Kolb… this evening could be the stuff of legend and myth. We were early, the first customers of the evening for Je thé… me. We crossed the curtain and into the room and found ourselves in a new relationship with the world, with life. We were welcome, ever so welcome, so we stayed and renovated our selves, with intensive healing doses of hilarity, studied frivolity, and unfiltered joy expressed in hearty appetites.
The Muse, Jacky Larsonneur, Hartmuth, and Frau Kolb at Je thé… me in Paris, France. Summer, 2014!
From the ether of fantasy and wishful thinking, surrounding Paris and The Muse, that which prompted this life-altering trip to a new return destination, a NEW cultural base for Frau Kolb & The Talkinggrid from which to learn and grow, the health and happiness of yours truly and those that truly crave a slice of a very good way of life, the French Way. I will return again and again to now beloved Paris, France and specifically to see Jacky Larsonneur and the most romantic of restaurants, where we feel in love, not just with the food, the wine, the host, but also with Paris, Je thé… me.
Drained from racing to the top of a collective dream, we retreated into the refuge offered by the elegantly understated, Hotel Pullman. Our room is done in inoffensive shades of plumy gray. A wide desk, a leather lounge chair, and a generous floor lamp allow for serious securing of ideas and floating impressions, gathered all around The Eiffel Tower, and retrieved from memories of last night’s adventures. Our room is a perfect haven for two tired tourists to recover, before transforming themselves into rare, industrial strength, Urban Butterflies.
Ever competent, Hartmuth, is on his lap-top searching for “The Perfect Restaurant.” Reading reviews in FRENCH, with no difficulty, my husband never ceases to impress me. (He found this, La Fourchette, a website, much like the trusty Opentable.com, website in the United States, where he made our reservation for the evening.)
We coin our affection for the gray on gray, plum room, our temporary HOME by giving it a fitting nickname. “The Womb Room,” embraces us. Soon, we will be born from it, and ready to go out and enjoy what Paris has to offer. At the moment we are content to each melt into our very own perfectly comfortable twin bed, separated by a trim twilight gray on dusty plum nightstand, stacked with Guidebooks and anthologies of short stories set in the contemporary French Capital, which I happily hauled across the Atlantic, in my indestructible, stand out peace-sign print, carry-on bag.
WE are hosting The Muse for dinner out tonight! She’d offered to come to our area, in the 7th arrondissement. The Muse! Coming to see us! Hurray! What excitement! Anticipation!
I can not tell you how much fun we had the night before. I really can’t. I won’t. I refuse to reveal just how splendid it was. (I’m hoarding the story, savoring the lingering taste of the mind boggling pleasure of roaming deep into Paris, into the sweet Summer Night, in the quiet and refined company of pure Beauty and Handsome Strength.) In the same league of excellence as my husband, Ms. Crane is an amazing human. She positively thrills me with her keen intelligence and juicy observation skills, an avid people-watcher Ms. Crane makes KILLER cracks about The Audience.
The Audience? Yes, “All the world is a stage,” after all… wherever we go, Ms. Crane and I experience… a surge in public attention, a blanket of external focus, which wraps around us, creating an interesting bulge. Lumpy is the attention hurled at us, everywhere. We only catch that which is useful, wholesome, deftly allowing all the rest to fly past us. Undeniably, The Muse is so beautiful people crave to facilitate, to pave the way around her, and I benefit for this power she wields, without seeming to notice. Yet, from experience I know that THE MUSE notices everything. She is sharp, keen, calm, and alert.
Our friendship sprang from a mutual connection. Yet the force with which it grew, took us all by surprise, like the famous beanstalk, which Jack accidentally planted, our friendship immediately lifted us UP and apart from others. We found in each other a source of the most precious fuel. An immediate rush of mutual support and genuine understanding, which yields a bounty of frame shaking laughter, and truckloads of unmitigated earth moving, JOY! Few times in life have I felt such a strong bond for another.
It happens to be that the first time I met Ms. Crane I was in the company of my very best friend. Having flown in from Manhattan, she is a secretive Muse, a blue-eyed lady ninja, who has always had my back. She approved of Ms. Crane, immediately promoting her to “Someone Special,” status. This New York Muse, being an apt judge of character, is always watching out to ensure that I’m aware, paying attention to who plants roots in the garden of my heart, she acts like a beneficent pesticide, killing weeds that seek to spring up and take over the ordered peace I cultivate.
Many are startled or envious of The Muse’s intense physical beauty. The first response is understandable, the second unforgivable. The Muse has green eyes to make emeralds jealous. She is a tiny mountain of dangerous Alpine Curves. What breasts! What body of knowledge! The grooves in her brain must be very symmetrical, electric. Her hair smells of apricot blossoms in ripe summer meadows. She is a living ideal of human perfection, in Frau Kolb’s humble estimation. The desire to climb to new heights in her arms must be universal!
I experience unparalleled pleasure each time she hugs me. Her hugs scoop me up and carry me away from all mundane, ugly, and sinister nonsense which threatens to invade the pristine landscape of my picturesque imagination. That Frau Kolb would gladly travel to the end of the cosmos, to have lunch with The Muse is no question. (The timing of my first trip to Paris is but a token of my commitment.) No friendship can compete with The One that gives you reason to forget all the HORROR and arrive at the simple hilarity of reality. Together, Ms. Crane and Frau Kolb laugh and laugh at all the minor league and rather pathetic, mean people, the two-faced hordes of Los Angeles Liars, the lame Game Players, Aspiring Professional Actors, and cheapskate Name Droppers. We laugh at the pretentious “Grand Dames,” and the cheesy, “The Mean Girls.” In short, we laugh at all those that try and fail to harm us, to damage our enduring sense that living is a worthwhile choice.
We laugh. Laughter heals. Over lunch, or our soon to be dinner, we invite the world to laugh with us and thereby heal itself, because we can not help but roll with mirth when we contemplate our good fortune in having found each other.
This feeling of LOVE is one I know intimately. Yet it is not ROMANTIC in the way that I am thinking of now… I will never forget our first date, he made me laugh right away. His humor cutting through my New Yorker attitude and introducing me to a new vulnerability I hadn’t been able to afford before his muscle and brains came into my life. Thereby, my WHITE KNIGHT books the room for love and laughter, healing, and feeling good. He secures the possibility of my joy. He protects me and provides for me, the way that I always dreamed ONE would. He performs this service and many others promised and did not deliver, without prompting. He is dynamic, active in his LOVE. Because, LOVE is NOT A THEORY! Love is laughter, support, understanding, and flowing fuel into the tank of one’s soul. Love is reciprocal, life sustaining, and energizing on the cellular level. It makes the world spin
NOW, my German Genius has found, “The Perfect Restaurant.” We are dressed. I’ve changed into a long sleeved silk blouse with a coral collar, thick black tuxedo slacks, with a traditional side seam, and I’ve carefully stuffed my swollen foot into platform Prada heals. I’ve applied a dash of make-up and we are ready to GLOW!
Thus, we set off to Je thé… me where we met and established the greatest admiration and affection for the most charming restauranteur and entertainer: Jacky Larsonneur He treated us like old friends on our first visit. We arrived early and stayed well beyond closing, indulging in fabulous French wines and the after glow of a perfect traditional yet innovative dinner to exceed our expectations and etched permanent smiles on our newly adopted French faces.
On Thursday… I think this is the first day I was here. I arrived early and exhausted, having guzzled entirely too much Champagne on the plane and barfed several times before landing. I even left my hot pink mobil on the plane and had to turn around when I was already on line to customs and the man, my seat mate, travel buddy, who may have kissed me on the lips, after my first few glasses, departed leaving me his telephone number scribbled on his plane ticket.
Fortunately, I got my phone back, took a taxi, and made it to sleek and immaculate Hotel Pullman, in view of the Eiffel tower. At first the room looked tiny; the balcony, a joke. I began to unpack and put my swollen right foot (which ALMOST caused me not to travel, to chicken out on this seminal voyage… which would have been really terrible) up. In contrast to my expectations, I waited for Hartmuth to arrive before venturing out. As I rested the room grew bigger, unfolding into a lovely well-furnished space to spend a few days. I read one of the many guide books, short stories, and novels I’d hauled cross country and the Atlantic Ocean. I floated off into jet-lagged sleep and when my husband arrived I was dressed and ready to venture out.
Frau Kolb is in bliss/shock to arrive in Paris!
Slipping out of the Hotel Pullman, onto the Paris street, “Gustave Eiffel,” we walked like jet-lagged in love zombies, hand-in-hand to the monument. Seeing it up close for the first time is quite the shock. It is so beautiful. She is perfect. I love grids and she is the grid going to town. She is divine. She. “La Tour,” they call her because she is undeniably a lady, a lady that loves her visitors, and welcomes all from every corner of the planet to drool over her long and lovely legs. We did not have the strength to climb La Tour immediately. Our bodies demanded nourishment. Thus, we pushed forward a few steps and went to the Cafe Champs de Mars.
We ordered, “Deux Coupe Champagne,” pate, and escargot. Tears of joy, washed down my face as I took my first sip since barfing on the plane to Paris. I was HOME. I was living the dream, inside the picture, which I’d carried in my head of Paris, made complete by the handsome French waiter, in white dress shirt black vest and neck tie, everyone dresses better in Paris…. even the homeless show so traces of style. My husband squeezed my hand and kissed me. I relaxed and took a sip of sparkling water, feeling blessed to finally be an American in Paris. I’ve dreamed of this very thing, my entire life. So far, there was nothing but bliss in being here. Puking and swollen foot aside… Frau Kolb has arrived. Paris embraces. Frau melts into a happy pat of Parisian sidewalk joy, nibbling on a chewy (delicious) snail (thank you snail for giving me your LIFE) in butter and herbs.
This morning my body was glued to the bed. James Katson, a recently acquired Facebook art pal, and selfie addict, also had the same experience of sleeping really deeply, last night. We are also both interested in the works of Stephan Zwieg, just like our hero: Wes Anderson director of Hotel Budapest. Anderson is my Darling.
It turns out I met him once… maybe that was him, sitting with Owen Wilson, another actor dream boat; a genius in his own right; as proven in his seamless performance in Woody Allen’s, classic, Midnight in Paris, one of my favorite films: EVER! I’d LOVE to work with… that drink soaked evening at Hal’s in Venice Beach California, after chemo, and binge shopping at Barney’s New York in Beverly hills. I was wearing this great blond wig, so I LOOKED al’ right.
Here is a picture of me earlier that evening at Nite Spa, in its former location, a dilapidated little house, which served as a hub for a bevy of fine females that congregated there for years. We’d get our wine and sit back while a lovely girl, my favorite will always be Christina, takes care of our nails. We get facials, designed to curb the effects of the party life and hectic schedules which prevail for Los Angeles residents. It was our hide out. Now, the spot has moved to Mar Vista. I’ve got it on my calendar to visit. Chill out and enjoy the services of the new French, aesthetician, they’ve hired.
Who know’s perhaps, we can even plan to bring some (more) ART into the space. I know my artists friends are ever ready to show their work. (I’m always thinking about how to maximize opportunities for my art-pals.)
My dear friend, Julia Martin, the proprietress of Nite Spa, has invited to me to organize an event or stage a performance at her new NITE SPA MAR VISTA Space. What shall we do? I don’t know exactly. I’ve put on my thinking cap. It is a three-foot long cone. I wear it and all I see is Owen Wilson and Wes Anderson… partners conspiring on the next project… at Hal’s in Venice.
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