Author Archives: Robert

The same day that I received news about my friend Brooke, I also found out that jazz legend Blossom Dearie died.  While some people may not know Ms. Dearie by name, any kid from the School House Rock generation knows her distinctive voice…

Figure Eight 

Unpack Your Adjectives

As a child, Figure Eight left a strong impression on me.  I’m not sure if it was the haunting melody or the warning about skating on thin ice and seeing the boy falling in the freezing cold water.  Either way, her wispy voice stuck in my head for years.  I had no idea that she was an accomplished musician and had released several albums–a couple being added to my music collection over recnt years.  I am sad to hear she passed away.  

My favorite Blossom Dearie song:

Rhode Island is Famous for You
[audio:Rhode_Island_is_Famous_for_You.mp3]

Brooke and I met in 1990.  She and I worked for a company called Entertainment Partners in Burbank, California.  We were, without question, cut from the same cloth.  We hung out all the time making each other laugh and talking about the mysteries of life, love and the universe.  I adored her and can say with utter confidence she adored me as well.

Brooke could make me laugh more than anyone.  She was what I called a guy-girl.  Very pretty and feminine but could burp like nobody’s business and kick your ass at pool.  She was a delicate flower but had a mouth that could make a longshoreman blush.  Men flocked to her like moths to a flame because she was totally sexy and liked to tell dirty jokes.  Women hated her for the exact same reasons.

I adored her.

One of her favorite things to do was to pantomime giving me a blowjob while sailing down the 101 freeway in my pickup truck.  She had a beautiful head of thick wavy black hair that would fluff up and down over my lap while other drivers would stare in astonishment.

If we were in public she would, without warning, shout out “I told you mister, leave me alone!  What do you want from me?!  Stop following me!”  and then run away leaving me standing there with a shopping mall full of people staring at me like I was some perverted asshole.

We had our own language–little isms that only the two of us understood.

Eventually our paths took us in different directions but Brooke and I managed to stay in touch over the past nineteen years.  Every once in a while we would both send out “the signal” and within a matter of hours or sometimes days we’d be on the phone with each other and in typical fashion, the time between us would melt away as if we had just spoken yesterday.  We were connected by some cosmic cord.

We both wanted to be writers and encouraged each other.  I was so proud of her when she wrote a children’s book about a boy living with HIV (her younger brother died from HIV complications years ago).  She pushed me to start (and continue) blogging and would laugh when I mentioned my “tens” of readers.

We relied on each other for occasional spiritual checkups over the phone.  It seemed like every time we talked we were both sharing a new success story and discussing the next new creative thing we were going to do with our lives.  I managed to get my college degree at the age of thirty-three and she, bless her heart, was just a few credits shy of getting her AA at forty six.  She wanted to become a psychiatrist so she could help others who had been though rough times.  Her childhood was something left to be desired.

While driving to the gym this morning, I had a fleeting thought of Brooke.  The signal was coming through loud and clear.  I had plans to workout, install my studio equipment and then shoot some timelapse of the impressive cloud coverage we were having.  I figured Brooke and I would be catching up on the phone at some point during the day. 

I was sitting in my office wrapping up my studio project.  The timelapse was clicking away in the backyard when the phone rang.  Ray looked at the caller ID and said “Who’s David Clavet?”  “That’s Brooke’s husband” I said.  Excited, I motioned for him to hand me the phone.  I clicked the talk button.

“I was totally just thinking of you!” I shouted.

Silence.

“Hello?” I said.
“Is this Bob?” It was a man’s voice.
“Yes.” My stomach tightened.

In the mish-mash of recollection, all I can remember was hearing “Brooke blah blah blah passed away blah blah stroke or aneurysm blah blah blah forty-seven years old blah four children…

Brooke died.

Dead…like no longer alive.  No longer breathing.  No more laughing.  No more catching up.  No more pantomimed blowjobs.  No more Brooke-isms…

The worst, worst part is that she died in early September.  Her husband couldn’t find my phone number. 

From what I can piece together, she was at home in the kitchen and suddenly collapsed.  Her son asked if she was OK as she started to stand up.  She said she was fine and as she got up she collapsed again.

By the time she got to the hospital, she was paralyzed on her right side and could not speak.  They inserted a feeding tube.  Over a few days, she started to improve.  The tube was removed and they started therapy.  Her speech started to come back.  One day, she complained that her head hurt and then, just like that, she quietly slipped away.  If only I had known, I could have seen her one last time. 

I hung up the phone.  Brooke had been dead for months but somehow, through her husband,  she still managed to send out “the signal”.  With that realization, I started to cry.  A little part me died too.

Oh my God Brooke, you can’t be dead!  You’re my other half.  You make me laugh.  You’re one of my most favoritest people in the whole world!  We loved each other unconditionally.  You are one of the only people in the world who understands the inner workings of me.  We still had so much to experience!!  We’re not done living–you’re not done living!!

After a good long cry, I collected my camera equipment.  The timelapse had been shooting for a hours (Ray managed to get into a few frames).  I plugged everything into my computer.  When I first saw the footage, I could feel Brooke there with me.  Seeing time moving along so quickly reminded me that life is indeed a fleeting moment and should be savored like a fine wine.  It should also be used, abused and bruised.  Don’t ever stop living just because you might get hurt.

To quote Auntie Mame (one of our favorite movies), “Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving!”  Brooke and I tried to live by that saying.

She used to say she couldn’t wait to grow old and be that crazy old lady on the end of the street screaming at the kids to “git off mah lawn” while squirting them with the garden hose.  I guess that won’t be happening after all. 

This video is for you Brooke.  I love you very, very much.  Please put in a good word for me wherever you are and remember, if you’re in heaven, you may want to watch your language.

I was twenty-eight and miserable.  He was thirty-five and had his shit together–and he was on the phone.  It had been years since I last spoke to him.  I cupped my hand over the mouthpiece and leaned over to my roommate,

“He says he’s moving to Chicago…want’s to take me out to dinner…hey, free dinner…”

The guy I used to rent a room from was moving to Chicago.  Instead of having a big blowout party to say goodbye, he went through his phone book and took his friends out to dinner one by one so he could actually say goodbye.  I never considered myself one of his friends.  He was cool, handsome, had a nice body and was successful.  I was…I was me.  Dorktastic. 

I never had any attraction to Ray when I lived with him.  In my opinion, he was way out of my league.  I just put any thought of the two of us together out of my mind.  Now, here he was two years later asking me out to dinner.  I’m not one to turn down a free meal.

We went to a place called Cobalt.  Ray ordered Cadillac Margaritas.  They were strong.  Halfway through my second one, I was examining Ray’s handsome face while he was talking to me.  I suddenly got a flutter in my stomach.  I was surprised at my sudden attraction.  I was also feeling really loose from the booze. 

The next morning, I woke up in his bed.  So much for courting.

He was still dealing with the sale of his house and getting other things in order so he was going to be around for a couple of months.  At that time, I was desperate for a relationship to the point of driving people away.  They could smell it on me.  Even the most eligible suitor is going to recoil at the notion of someone who is desperate.

The situation was perfect, we could have a “play” relationship for a few months and then he’d go away.  I was going into it knowing that there was an expiration date.  No fuss, no muss, just some great sex with a hot man that I already knew.  Hell, we had already lived together.

Ray and I play dated for a short time and then, one frosty morning, he drove away.  Having no expectation of seeing him again, I stood there and waved as his car disappeared down the street.

A few days later, he called to let me know he made it to Chicago.  A short time after that he flew out to see me.  Then he flew me to Chicago to see him.  Before I knew it, I was engaged in a long distance relationship.  This went on for a year. 

During one particular time while arranging a visit to LA, Ray kept changing the dates and postponing because things were busy at work.  This long distance thing was starting to wear thin.  We both knew I would never leave LA.  I had just got to the point in film production where I was employed way more than unemployed and the band I was in was playing clubs on the Sunset Strip and we had some minor record label interest.  Things were starting to happen for me.

Ray called to tell me that he was going to have to cancel this trip but he was ready to set something up for next month.  I told him that I didn’t want to do the distance thing anymore and politely broke his heart over the phone.  He agreed that this was getting difficult.  During the entire time we dated long distance, he never once brought up me moving to Chicago because he knew I wouldn’t. 

A few weeks passed by.  Surprisingly, I didn’t really feel any sort of sadness.  Hey, I went into this knowing there was a termination date.  It was not going to last.  I was OK with it…but I sure did miss him. 

One night, I was hanging out with a friend when the phone rang.  It was Ray.  He sounded a bit tipsy–he was drunk actually.  He said, “I love you. Please move to Chicago” and I said “I’ll think about it”.

The next day, I went to see my friend George.  George has degrees in psychology, biology and theology.  He was also a Native American and kind of like my spiritual guide.  I told him that I had to make this big decision and that I wasn’t sure how to do it.  I felt that I was doing everything the right way.  George quickly informed me that making a decision was the wrong way.  He told me to let it sit and the “for sure” answer would come to me in an instant.  I told my roommate (who was also the lead singer of the band) about this.

A while later at band practice, our guitar player stopped short right in the middle of a song and told me to turn down my keyboards.  The nano-second those words were leaving his mouth, I was engulfed by a tsunami of clarity.

I hate our guitar player!  I hate LA!  I hate the film business!!  There’s a totally hot man in a new exciting town waiting for me to move and I’m standing here being told to turn it down!!!!

I shot a look to our lead singer.  The smile melted off his face as he simply said “Oh shit! You’re leaving.”

And that I did.  I left it all.  My hometown, my career, my band my friends and family.  Left it in a cloud of dust and I never once looked back.  It was the best thing ever.  Ray and I started a new life together in Chicago and then here in Arizona all from a dinner that happened fifteen years ago today. 

Happy fifteenth anniversary Raymond.  I love you more than ever.

I found a replacement component for my music studio.  It was much, much cheaper than I originally thought.  It should be here by Thursday. 

Yesterday I had lunch with someone to discuss the possibility of collaborating musically.  We bumped into each other last week and she asked me about recording.  Seems like we both have the same tastes musically and we’re both the same age.  I like that.  The age thing.  She just wants to  make music.  Not really chasing fame and rainbows.  Famebows?

She gave me a CD of her recent work.  It was intimidatingly good.  Ray and I listened to the first two tracks while driving home last night.  Just as I was thinking how much her style is similar to what I’d like to do, Ray turns to me and says,

“This kind of sounds like your stuff.”

Could life, the universe, God, be setting me up for my final frontier?  I have always wanted to produce music but had to deal with a self-appointed creative block the size of Manhattan.  The past two years were dedicated to getting past that block.  Practice the guitar! Get your studio up and running!! Keep singing, no matter what!!  I just feel like I suck!  I am my own worst critic and I’m good at what I set my mind to.  You do the math.  Medic, I need a medic!  I’m beating the shit out of myself over here. 

I have invited my potential new partner in crime over this Sunday to check out the studio and to play some of my own less intimidating music.  I had a little review of my “collection” last night.  Fuck, it sounds terrible in comparison to her refined polished sparkly stuff. 

In all honesty, I’m scared to take this leap of faith.  What if I totally suck?  What if she tells me that I need a few more years before I should even try to produce anything and then eats my head off?  Oh fuck it, I’m just going to give it a shot anyway.

I really shouldn’t be blogging.  I should be in bed.  It’s 11:45.  I’m never up this late on a school night.  I’m going to regret it tomorrow.

I have been in a funk the past few days.  Not sure what’s going on.  I just feel emotionally constipated.   For some reason, I have been experiencing loneliness–which is weird for me.  I’m never lonely. 

In actuality, I should be happy.  I got my new sparkly camera.  It works better than expected. 

OK, I have to go to bed. 

I shot some time lapse this evening.  It’s of the moon setting.  

UPDATE 10:32 AM–next day:  For some reason, YouTube keeps taking down my time lapse video.  I have replaced it with a video of my very talented cousin Maggie playing a little ditty on my iPhone in the style of a concert pianist.  You may want to turn the sound up a little bit. 

OK, I’m going to try again, this time I’m going to embed the fucking thing myself. 

Arizona Moonset

This weekend Ray and I headed out to California to visit our mothers in the greater Los Angeles area.  Having grown up there, we both dread visits to the land of smog, traffic and memories of the past. 

We arrived at Ray’s mother’s house late on Thursday.  Exhausted, I crashed after a late dinner accompanied by several glasses of wine. 

The next morning, I hopped in the car and made my way to Thousand Oaks to visit my mother.  It was one of those rare LA mornings with the sun shining brightly and not a hint of smog.  There must have been some recent precipitation as there was a green hue covering the mountains.  It was spectacular.  It was also in the high 80’s.

Just as I got on the freeway on-ramp, I popped the Cocteau Twins album Blue Bell Knoll into the CD player and immediately selected track three, Carolyn’s Fingers.  The reverbed guitar intro and Elizabeth Fraser’s ethereal vocals combined with the newness of the day worked together so well that for a fleeting moment I almost wished I lived there again.

<<cue sound of needle scratching off a record>>

I quickly came to my senses.  I don’t like LA.  When I left 15 years ago, I left behind a part of myself that I didn’t care for anymore.  Whenever I go back, that old self starts tapping on my shoulder in an attempt to drag me back into the despair of a twenty-something boy named Bob.  I turned the CD player up as loud as it could go and decided to enjoy my little LA moment knowing full well that by the end of the weekend, I’d be back in Arizona a forty-something man named Cobban. 

This morning as I rushed off to work, I had a hankering for track three.  I was excited that Obama was about to take the oath of office and couldn’t help feeling that this really was the dawn of a new day.  Once again, Elizabeth Fraser’s vocals combined with the heavily reverbed guitars conjured up mental images of clouds parting, birds flying, angels rejoicing and a sun shining so brightly that I started to giggle.  Then I started to laugh.  Before I knew it, I was shedding tears of joy.  The days of George W. Bush are over.  I had not realized how oppressed I felt under his reign until it ended.  I was laughing and crying so hard I almost had to pull off the road. 

Good-bye George you motherfucker.  Eat shit and die–no, eat shit and live.  How’s it taste?

Hello Barack, please make things better.  I don’t expect you to fix it all but I do expect you to fix it. 

This song is for today.   Ms. Fraser’s vocal style makes it impossible to understand the lyrics but in this case, it doesn’t matter what she’s singing about.  What matters is that the music itself–for me–evokes feelings of a new beginning. 

Special thanks to Rick for reminding me just how much I love this album.  Turn it up, close your eyes and imagine…

Carolyn’s Fingers
Cocteau Twins
[audio:Carolyn’s_Fingers.mp3]