Friends-
I've been remiss with my updates, I know. After my last epistle in September, wherein I described going to the Playboy radio talkshow, Night Calls, to talk about HoneyBun, several people suggested I write a book about the vagabond marketing of HoneyBun and my newfound gypsy lifestyle.
Then it was time to go the International Lingerie Show in Las Vegas, preparing for which consumed every waking minute for almost a month. After Las Vegas, I was waiting for some major revelation to come to me about Las Vegas to come to me that I might share some grand new insight. Alas, what can I say about that place which hasn't already been said?
I just finished a stint of house-(and dog)-sitting in Laguna Beach.
Lovely house. The dogs were three adorable pugs, cute, affectionate,
prolific beyond any expectation in befouling and beshitting the lovely
home up on the hill.
My cup runneth over.
Acquiring one of these pug dogs (rescue cases) is both noble and
honorable, I think; two: evidence of neurotic and masochistic
tendencies of the most narcissistic and grandiose kind; three:
symptomatic of mental illness, unimaginable grandiosity, borderline megalomania, plain and simple.
But the house was lovely and when the dogs were peaceful or
sleeping, afforded a magnificent view of the Pacific Ocean.
In the
afternoons, the sunlight on the water shimmered like a great silver
pavilion stretching to the horizon, rippling into blue at the edges.
At
night, the moon rose in the sky and its light made a shining pathway
across the waters. Venus shone brightly right above the moon in the
dark, star-splattered sky. The multi-colored lights of jets, whispering
in and out of the Long Beach airport, floated across the muted blur of the
horizon in the distance.
Along the reef in the bay, calamari boats
lined up, perhaps two hundred feet apart, halogen lights burning down
into the sea to attract the squid—an incandescent necklace on the calm
waters of the bay. They moved night after night, following the squid.
