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Articles by Miller Time
I Love Luna (64)
UNITED STATES—The Master of Luna has developed a clear predilection for traditional spring-driven rat traps. They strike him as more “humane”—a word to be ever bracketed in quotes. A quality ever in search of itself, ever evolving. You hear that crack of the trap snapping, just what your ears sought. Experience in this long-running contest between humans and rodents has instilled in the master the need to arrive at the death scene ASAP. When the poor animal’s body is still pliant.
I Love Luna (63)
UNITED STATES—Always a star…It is another week and there is a new war on, right here in our home. It is a war with the rats. In addition, now to Iran, Saudi Arabia, Albania, Russia and heaven knows how many more places are on the list. War seems to be quite the popular thing now. And I, Luna, am right in the thick of this war with the rats. It’s all the Master can do to wake up in the morning and blurt out Rats! in the sense that genteel World War II vets used the term in polite company.
I Love Luna (62)
UNITED STATES—Surely I, Luna have been having my funzies to a ripe degree. Meanwhile, the Master has not been immune to a chuckle for two along the way. Last night after picking his daughter up from a movie theater in Los Feliz. The ride was an act of kindness intended to prevent her from setting g off all alone across the big empty that is Los Angeles on a weeknight.
I Love Luna (61)
UNITED STATES—I, Luna, have been going easier on the Master, as he has suddenly found himself couch-bound. In the thick of a historic heatwave. And this one suits him just fine, as in the past he has been known to fly or drive great distances to enjoy the heat. This time, stricken by gripa (as the malady if known in Spanish) he is delirious and prone to luxuriate in a day away from the job. We should not have to look far to find an example of his being totally out of it.
I Love Luna (60)
UNITED STATES—”Put kibbles on the grocery list,” I, Luna, bark out to the Master. He must’ve got the message, since he sighed, “It’s always something. Put big bag of kibbles on the list.” This week the Master started giving us rice mixed in with the kibbles to forestall a trip to the store. He wasn’t fooling anybody. He’s cheap and inside the fridge was a big bowl of white rice frozen hard as an iceberg. Certain powers that be deem is proper to keep our fridge at the coldest setting.
I Love Luna (59)
UNITED STATES—Luna, sez me to myself, I am a Kwazy girl. Sleek, athletic pit-bull lab with a zagged white streak down the middle of my redwood-brown belly. Crazy as I am, I’m concerned about both the master and my boon companion, DeVille. The Master left us bowls of water this morning and now, it is nightfall. There’s a hush in the air and the Master is pressed to add a new chapter to the annals of Luna. And he should really be getting fresh air and going out for a walk.
I Love Luna (58)
UNITED STATES—Sunday was quite a momentous day for the Master, who is not an ascended master—not by a long shot. He’s always looking ahead, and this prevents him from looking at the ground right under his shoes. I, Luna, am his Jedi, bearer of peace and wisdom, despite my feral jaws. The Master was walking around the perimeter of the house, smitten by scribbling. The inspiration blinded him, as surely as a black sleeping mask would.
I Love Luna (57)
UNITED STATES—The readability analysis is good; it’s a pat on the back for my Master. It still shows an approving crosswalk-light green. It is due to the fact that he has yet to write a single word for the lexicon police who crave short declarative sentences. By now he has already been downgraded from a pleasing “good” to “needs work.” As a matter to fact, eight minutes into this new episode of “I Love Luna,” the Master is amused to see that the rating remains.
I Love Luna (56)
UNITED STATES—The Master was sleeping yet when Luna’s barking aroused him in the sepia hours of dawn. The Amazon delivery man cometh and goeth. Since our front gate meets the hinge of our neighbor’s front wooden gate, he’d placed our neighbors’ parcel (in an act of kindness) by opening our gate and depositing it. Acts of kindness can boomerang, of course.
I Love Luna (55)
UNITED STATES—Saturday is not supposed to be this way, thought the Master, as he was launching gung-ho into the dance of Saturday morning quickly as it started, it was capsized. He dearly paid for the brief lapse of acuity. This humbling realization arrived first by smell. How could it be? After so many past mishaps in pursuit of keeping the walkway safe for visitors, he trod right onto one of Luna’s gifts. He quailed before looking under the sandal.
I Love Luna (54)
UNITED STATES—At the dawn of time, from the primeval mists sprang the bark. And there would be no bark without a canine, so came to be through the eons of eons, the super-spreader of PTSD, Luna. That’s me. Such a nuisance I have been for the Master, who is in dire need of inspiration, be it from coffee or other indulgence. The Master would like to put the spotlight on Baby Deville, who has a tag to renew. I, Luna am grateful to live off the dog grid.
I Love Luna (52)
UNITED STATES—It was my revenge all over again, all mine, Luna’s revenge. Far away from the paths of my prolific poop, the master was strolling over the deliriously green greens of a local college campus. There rose to his nostrils an unsettling yet familiar odor. How could it happen? That was simple enough: in the dusky dawn when the master set off for points east, he had inadvertently cast a blind eye to the jinxed steppingstone that had some pellets of my digested kibbles and meat bits in gravy.
I Love Luna (51)
UNITED STATES—The Master of late if given to a lot more tomfoolery now than in the pinnacle of his debauchery. The ever-shifting scenery of life vomiting out of a hand-held, cyber-digital black hole leading to topsy turvy windowsills on an expressionistic edifice deconstructed by an increasingly deranged architect, spawns’ yawns and the default reaction: It’s time for a nap. Tonight I surprised the master at the front door, bedraggled, and gave him a standing hug.
I Love Luna (50)
UNITED STATES—Sunday can be a drag, the master believes, all those shallow Sunday smiles and that sunshine. There is a positive urge to leave the dogs to their own whiles and have a vacation. Yet… and this is a mighty yet: call of duty beckons. It beckons with the insistence of dogs s scratching at fleas. The water bowls must be filled to the brim, then come the kibbles–a cup for Miss Luna and then a hint of meat from the can.
I Love Luna (49)
UNITED STATES—The readability analysis is good. I haven’t yet barked out anything yet for her master to type out. Though there are no bad days, yet there can be horrendous ones. And yesterday was one such day for my master pitted against an old adversary, stemming from a primal fear of being shut out. This crisis was triggered by an annually recurring battle with a password attached to a job he likes but has long outgrown.
I Love Luna (48)
UNITED STATES—”Luna, you lazybones,” the master enquires, “It’s that day of the week. Time to extend your chronicles. It’s that day of the week, Luna, sweetheart.” The hot and still weather is not the kind of weather you’d choose to go to Home Depot in. Or for that matter, go to Auto Zone. It seems not so long ago the master replaced the headlight bulb on the trusty Honda Civic coupe. And as spring follows winter, the burn-out bulb on the left has followed its predecessor on the right to burn-out.
I Love Luna (47)
UNITED STATES—The “master” has his ever-changing Ten Commandments carved in Styrofoam. The order changes depending on day and mood. One is: Thou shalt not cook when engaged in transmitting Luna’s dictation to the written page. I, Luna, the unpredictable pit-bull lab who have brought much drama and frenzy to the master’s staid life. “Oops!” he gasps now. “I left it on the stove.” Off he scurries like a fumigated cockroach. All that cultivated Zen serenity thrown under the bus.
I Love Luna (46)
UNITED STATES—The master got a welcome break from me, alias Luna, for seven days of freedom—a whole week, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday. Yes, freedom so appropriate for the lead-up to Independence Day. Both mine and the master’s. His independence from me began with Thursday’s departure from Los Angeles. The morning departure, as it turned out, got a bit postponed, leaving him free to collect his wits and see that he packed the essentials. Phone charger, for example.
I Love Luna (45)
UNITED STATES—Yes, the master with his Jupiter-sized ego, according to my confidante and canine sparring partner, Baby DeVille, was out walking the Chihuahua-Terrier, and stopped mid-step when someone sped past and shouted out the open car-window: “Maestro.” He instantly thought he was being mistaken for Leonard Bernstein or Gustavo Dudamel. Silly goose! It was one of his language students, maestro means teacher in Spanish.
I Love Luna (44)
UNITED STATES—A look of love… As a pit-bull lab mix, I Luna, have a magical effect over people, none more than neighbors coming out of their gate in the morning and, of course, mail carriers, especially when a new one is filling in for our regular guy. He knows to chuckle and keep his arm held high when passing the day’s bills and bulk mail directly to my master. The “master” still remains comically prone to gaffes and miscalculations when it comes Luna protocol. Yesterday.
I Love Luna (43)
UNITED STATES—I have been unbound from tawdry routine and the daily grind. It turns out good ol’ Luna loves travel as much as that tabby cat that got plastered all over the neighborhood. Poor thing hasn’t been seen, or else the owners forgot to take down the poster. The “master” holds out hope that he can be a feline rescuer still. I solemnly promise and cross my paws. I did not eat the tiger striped tabby cat. Meanwhile, I got to trip this week.
I Love Luna (42)
UNITED STATES—In which we consider the badventures of DeVille… The “master” proposed to take me out for a walk, at the pivotal moment, after he had already taken a few initial steps out of the house and into a day by turns blustery and sunny. The master was seized by the mildly altruistic of getting me off the couch and airing me out. Me: little Baby Deville, snuggled under the San Marcos blanket that weighs like the leaden bib’s dentists place over their victims when taking X-rays.
I Love Luna (41)
UNITED STATES—Today we follow the “master” with my sidekick, Baby DeVille, on a walk through Hollywood. It will be excruciatingly prolonged. He will feel obliged to air the dog, the Chihuahua-terrier, who wouldn’t budge from the couch during the recent overcast days, that provide the master with a gloomy solace, as these leaden days remind him of childhood days wreathed in the gray flannel of sullen clouds. Now with the sun out again, DeVille instantly perked up when the leash hook was dangled.
I love Luna (40)
UNITED STATES—It was just one of those days for my “master,” all around humiliating and ultimately redemptive. He’d left early for a business meeting, and when he got to the curb, he felt the jolt: I have left without the canvas satchel that contains my books and important papers. It is always harrowing, that moment when just by conceiving something has vanished, the tension-tautened body reacts. (Now now now, Luna, what are you barking at? he thinks.
I Love Luna (39)
UNITED STATES—Well, I’ve done it again. Just a few moments ago all bedlam broke out in our quiet little corner of Hollywoodland. I, Luna, once again defend my title of ‘Princess of Chaos.’ Also, I shall continue to live under the alias of Luna where press, television and vaudeville are involved. My master was all tuckered out after a day wrestling with the digital beast, fraught with so many sinkholes, his innards were more twisted than a pretzel.
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I Love Lupe (8) | Canyon News
UNITED STATES—The dengue fever of which I speak is not the Los Angeles based psychedelic rock band that mingles Cambodian rock with 60s and 70s pop. It is rather a mosquito borne disease that could infiltrate my dwelling after Lupe, the erratic pit bull lab, saw fit to leap atop a bench below the window that provided a cool vent for the overheated living room, and slashed it with the mark of Lupe: a perfect vertical + sign.
Banana Yellow (160)
UNITED STATES—Allied Fruit girdled the globe from Boston to Bogotá. From Veracruz to Barbados. The largest private Navy in the world was its very own Great White Fleet, that took tourists to tropical ports, heretofore undreamed of, and brought back bunches of bananas. The cheeky motto, “every banana a guest, every guest a pest,” underscored the fleet’s merchant mission.
Banana Yellow (159)
UNITED STATES—The loveliness of white skin—white as soap melting in the soap dish, it is gorgeous to see emerge from bedsheets, tender and unflawed, the color of fluorescent light. Here as we live the dinginess of late capitalism, indeed the very twilight of capitalism. Pinch your nose. And something happened before he knew it, Miller had hung up his angel wings, and was doing exactly what he said he would abstain from doing once he got into a position of wealth and power: rode in helicopters.
Banana Yellow (158)
UNITED STATES—You had to look to the funny pages for something of substance. Pig is talking to goat, over a cup of joe (“In coffee we trust”). PIG: “How does a capitalist system work?” GOAT: “In theory if you work harder than other guy, you’ll get ahead.” PIG: “And what’s the the other guy doing?” GOAT: “Working hard to get ahead of you.” PIG: “What if we both just agree to nap?” Yo, El Supremo. You look around and see the debris of flattened ketchup and mustard packets.
Banana Yellow (157)
UNITED STATES—Andrew Carnegie had been born in 1835 in a one-room house in Dunfermline, Scotland, the son of a handloom weaver. Its walls charred by the small hearth which kept it warm. But when the weaving of cloth was mechanized in the 1840s, the Carnegies became impoverished. Under the leadership of Carnegie’s strong-willed mother, the family emigrated to Allegheny, Pennsylvania, in 1848, when Andrew was 13 years old.
Banana Yellow (157)
UNITED STATES—The president of Carnegie Steel was Charles Schwab, whose name would live on in a discount brokerage. To think all this time I thought he was a contemporary who has askew glasses and ill-fitting worsted polyester suits. Late 1900, a dinner in Charles Schwab’s honor was given at the University Club in New York City, Julius Welch, who sat next to Schwab. The Fricks, the Vanderbilts and Astors were in attendance. Even sitting down, the 6’ 2” Welch towered over most of the men of his age.
Banana Yellow (155)
UNITED STATES—In New York, the Scotland-born Graham Bell founded the American Telephone and Telegraph Co. in 1885. It was incorporated to operate the first long-distance company. U.S. Steet the baby of another Scot, Andrew Carnegie, was Pennsylvania in the 1890s. Microsoft was Seattle in the 1980s. A corporation really is a body, a reflection of the flesh, determined by the time and location of its founding. It lives, it’s born and it dies.
Banana Yellow (154)
UNITED STATES—The heartless abandonment of the banana towns by Allied Fruit reminded me so much of Taft—that’s where I first saw it. The exodus of the company execs for Santa Barbara, far more comfortable than that an inferno in the Mojave. There was the Jameson Estate on the hill behind the town. The Jamesons were an old oil family. The roomy sleeping porches, roomy living room redwood-stained wood, a big picture window over-looking Taft and Ford City.
Banana Yellow (153)
UNITED STATES—It was all possible because the neighborhood had changed. America had gone through a hell of a lot, and it started falling apart and descent into dysfunction and third worldliness. In Seattle, the coffee pot of the world, the institutions crumbled, disrepair was apparent, streets weren’t maintained, weeds grew through the cracks. The sewers were clogged, the sirens sounded joylessly. They were going on a sandwich pickup. The power was there to take, and Concordia was the result.
Banana Yellow (152)
UNITED STATES—It was Miller’s own rapacious nature, so well masked under fictions noted for humor and humanity, that put Cuba on his Geopolitical radar, years after it being on his literary radar. Cuba was estranged from the U.S., so close and yet too far to hug. An outsize presence in the things that really counted, poetry and music, to Miller.
Banana Yellow (151)
UNITED STATES—Plans for the invasion began under a bald bullet-headed President in the twilight of his administration. The former Supreme Allied Commander of World War II, Warren James Krautheimer surmised that that Cuban government was infatuated with Communism. Krautheimer’s solution: overthrow the island nation’s government.
Banana Yellow (150)
UNITED STATES—Many moons after the disastrous three-day Bay of Pigs incursion, which resulted in almost 120 dead among the invaders and 1,200 captured by Castro’s forces when the United States reneged on its promise to send Air Force bombers, the wizened veterans of that misadventure were no longer the youthful and idealistic alliance of students, lawyers, bankers, former.
Banana Yellow (149)
UNITD STATES—Pierre Salinger, entered the White House as John F. Kennedy’s press secretary in 1961. Salinger later recalled being called into the oval office one frosty February evening, just a few weeks after the inauguration. For which Robert Frost, a San Franciscan by birth like Salinger, had specially composed a poem, “For John F. Kennedy’s inauguration.” Which concludes with a couplet, heralding: A golden age of poetry and power / Of which this noonday’s the beginning hour.
Banana Yellow (148)
UNITED STATES—It ended like it was supposed to, on that feather-like island, I’m gonna tell it as easy as I can. It was very telling that Miller the Leader had seized the house in Sun Valley, the Death House, so to speak that belonged to that aventurer/writer who took it outdoors, to the real and feelable and observable. Not at all the personage that Miller embraced—from the beginning he wanted to go the European Model.
Banana Yellow (147)
UNITED STATES—“Change is good,” would say the old acquaintance in Ketchum, and you would smile, because they were the bearers of the true American faither, and they honestly believe –poor dupes—that because you were back in the fold, at last, after wanderings in Spain and France and Cuba and Africa, that this was you home and everything would be fine, even if neighbors did not talk to each other.
Banana Yellow (142)
UNITED STATES—The French steamship which blew up dockside in Havana harbor was sabotaged by a Cuban dockworker. A frightened Oklahoma cowboy, Jack Evans fled to Miami after the explosion. He was terrified his knowledge of the anti-Castro plot could catapult him into Cuban jail or before a firing squad. An unidentified Cuban dockworker, Evans said carried a package containing six sticks of dynamite aboard the French freighter Le Coubre.
Banana Yellow (140)
UNITED STATES—Of course, like many aspects of his life, how far you regard Che Guevara as a terrorist or a liberator is up for grabs. Ultimately, it’s easy to romanticize martyrs – especially when they die not only fighting but young, handsome and charismatic, and their mythologies get a helping hand from Hollywood. The Motorcycle Diaries sure didn’t do any harm. “What explains the Che mania?” wrote former guerrilla and friend of Guevara Orlando Borrego in a 1997 issue of Newsweek Magazine.
Banana Yellow (139)
UNITED STATES—In the words of director Bruce LaBruce, whose 2004 film about a bumbling group of modern revolutionaries The Raspberry Reich features Che’s face adorning clothing and a giant mural – terrorist chic is “when somebody wears a Che Guevara T-shirt and they haven’t a clue who Che Guevara is – emptying out the signifiers of radicalism and using them purely for fashion.” Shifting his image from one of political meaning to one of fashion, Korda’s portrait has been sold on products by...
Banana Yellow (138)
UNITED STATES—Miller would be the first to penalize those who took away our feelgood by opposing virtues and rampant monetization. Numbers, numbers that measured as they tarnished—they could elevate you and they could devastate. Only then would we, could we call ourselves land of the free and home of the brave. Cars that crashed, and left debris scattered in all directions, were promptly seized and destroyed.
Banana Yellow (137)
UNITED STATES—The poster went up on a telephone poll in Hollywood: If I die Unhoused –Forget Burial– Drop my body On the steps of L.A. City Hall So, this is how Miller connected to Pratt, and over lunch of calamari they talked about the concept of the mini-houses, and Pratt, who’d made a campaign promise to deal with homelessness was whistling in the wind. He didn’t have a plan; it was embarrassingly evident.
Banana Yellow (136)
UNITED STATES—As Inspector General, Miller had the power to persevere and give back to the people through these redundancies that he detected. It was odd how that once he became an artist –long before he was recognized as such—Miller’s innate mathematical intelligence, long unused in lieu of more artistic endeavors, but here it gave him supernatural gifts for detected excess and downright fraud. There would be no prosecution, and the malefactors were all too glad to pay back into the system.
Banana Yellow (135)
UNITED STATES—Graydon had always kept his eye on the ball, and even when he started hearing the Voice, it wasn’t voices and he didn’t say anything about it (not for fear of lunacy or the risk of being called a madman, because quite simply: not only was his at home in lunacy, it was his birth right) the voice was objective out of him and it came at times clearly as and instruction manual. It was as a radio tuned in to a single channel with great accuracy and eliminating static.
Banana Yellow (134)
UNITED STATES—Graydon Miller, now Inspector General of District 2 brought to bear all the dogged qualities developed when he roamed South Central and collected rents for a couple landlords, who use to facetiously refer to themselves as “slumlords” as every business leader always fancies looking a little meaner and tougher than they are in reality. In his new post Miller mostly chewed the fat. He liked it there.
Banana Yellow (133)
UNITED STATES—A touch of banana yellow brightens a bureaucracy. Graydon was really going places now. He had parlayed a Post Office Box on Crenshaw Blvd. into an office at City Hall.
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