I firmly believe that you've gotta accept & love people just the way they are -- lock, stock, and teardrops, right? Doesn't mean you have to have everyone actively in your life, or anything, but certainly those folks that you do love, you've gotta just accept them the way they are, the whole package, b/c we're all on our own journeys, our own paths to enlightenment. We're all here doing the best we can to come out "more expanded" on the other side. Each of our unique voices adding to the heady mix of eternally expanding creation, right? So hands off everybody else's expressions and just take care of your own garden of the soul. B/c the overall cosmic Garden needs you to be unique. On & on.

Even though I totally believe this -- I'm not saying that sometimes it isn't a challenge to let people be who they need to be -- but I do completely believe this. And yet I really never apply this compassionate idea to myself. How amazing that I am almost 50 and this is the first time I've noticed this about myself. I mean, in just those exact words. "You've gotta let people be who they need to be in this life." I say that constantly. I really do. And yet I never consciously include myself in that maxim.

I was telling Jay this the other night, as I battled once more with depression -- or at least that feeling of depression squeezing in on all sides, with me battling it like that awesome battle scene in Lord of the Rings, when those hideous monsters just kept coming & coming & coming from the bowels of the Earth. Anyway, that's me & depression; a constant battle against the ugliness coming up from the bowels of the Earth. And I said to Jay, why is it that I can so readily accept the many flaws in other people but when it comes to myself, my first reaction is that I have to commit suicide? You know, meaning that I'm not fitting into my own idea of perfection so I'm not allowed to live. That horrible concept that has dogged me for decades already. I don't really remember what his answer was. There probably wasn't an actual "answer" -- just the fact that he lets me talk openly about all this craziness is what ultimately matters. That alone can help the pressure in my head diffuse, you know?

We were at the jazz concert last night (which was phenomenal, gang; a tribute to Louis Armstrong & Ella Fitzgerald), and Jay attempted to point out to me all the stuff that I had on my plate right now; that maybe I'm not realizing that I am under a lot of pressure: Two really huge novels on my plate at the very same time: Twilight of the Immortal and Freak Parade. No, I guess I don't realize it. I am always just trying to handle everything. And the music, the musicians, the singers, were really just beyond gifted -- seasoned jazz pros, you know? They transcend; they can take you with them in that sea of their gifts and deliver you to some other shore, right? That is a gift from God, gang -- when other people can extend their gifts to you so willingly and help you transcend the ordinariness of the "now." At these jazz concerts, I always have the same seat b/c my mom is a subscriber to the series. And the little brass name plate on my seat doesn't have the name of a charitable donor on it like all the other seats have; instead the brass name plate on my seat says: "To the glory of God." Isn't that so remarkable? That specific seat means a lot to me. And I got it "by chance" 3 years ago, you know? "To the glory of God" and those musicians always save me; they always lift me up outside the non-stop insanity in my head and they deliver me to that rejoicing place instead.

I do feel like it's God saying, "Come on, Marilyn, get over it already; move on; allow for the masterpieces in your life and have a fucking cigarette once in awhile if that's what makes life on earth magical for you." Yes. So that's when I had the epiphany that I accept everyone else for exactly who they are; why not accept myself in that way, too? It's very interesting.

Speaking of magic... So Alice in Wonderland premiered last night in London. Yippee ki yi yay.  It will be here next Friday and, naturally, my cousin and I will be seeing it together -- in IMAX 3D. I can't wait. But it is alarming how time is flying. It seemed like we were at the Public Enemies movie in July when she told me, "March 5th, Alice will be opening." And I was like, first off, astounded that she already knew that. And second, I was feeling like, "wait a minute; that means that in the wink of an eye it will be March 2010." And sure enough, one wink of an eye later, here it is... Alas. It gets scary, when I think of all the times I've gone to see either a Tim Burton and/or Johnny Depp movie on the day it opened, and realizing now, "that was 12 years ago" or "that was 16 years ago," or "that was 25 years ago." Christ. Shit. Just slow the fuck down everybody, okay???

Now that I have a little breathing room between me and the Tim Burton exhibit at MoMA last week, I can talk about it. First of all, it was like a little miracle from God that I was there with Joe Queenan and also that he saved me from having to stand in about 17 hundred endless lines. Just being in MoMA with Joe again was enough of a gift -- we hadn't been there together in, yes, nearly 20 years. But to see the Tim Burton thing with him -- something that meant so much to me. Wow. You know, I just kept looking at Joe and feeling like I was just so totally blessed. But the exhibit itself. Jesus. There were only about 217 million people there, all milling about, shuffling from room to room, speaking in various languages, pushing strollers, talking way too loud, etc., etc. In the days when I worked at MoMA, I would have been allowed to go into an exhibit like that when the museum was closed and I could stand there totally just by myself, alone, for as long as I liked. Those days are gone obviously. But I really have been so blessed that I've been able to spend so much time totally alone with brilliant works of art, you know? Or even the blue jeans James Dean wore in Rebel Without A Cause (there was a special Warner Brothers movie tribute there back in the late 80s and those blue jeans were on display and I was such a James Dean fanatic in those days; I couldn't keep my eyes off those jeans. And they were so fucking small. I was like, no way. I mean, I was only a size 10 in those days and yet those jeans would not have fit even part way up my thighs, you know? Anyway.)

I found the Tim Burton exhibit a little unnerving. I'm not used to seeing so much personal stuff about an artist who is still alive. Usually, when you see all these papers and such unearthed from an artist's past, they've already been dead for 252 years, right? So it was weird to see all this stuff and know that he wasn't even really that old yet and he was still perfectly alive. I saw the entire exhibit -- both floors. And I saw everything there was to see -- from all the many drawings to the movie memorabilia. And the one and only thing that truly stuck out for me -- and it stuck out glaringly, like it was this indecipherable cosmic red flag -- was this term paper he had written in high school. I think it was like a Senior Class project or something. But I saw, like, immediately that he had written it on Johnny Depp's birthday in 1973 or something around then. Early 70s for sure. That was just too weird to me. Of all the papers they could have displayed, or that I would have made a bee-line to so immediately -- that it had that date on it. And then to just look around that room at all the art that came afterward.

I don't believe in coincidences. And I don't believe that time is linear. I believe time happens all at once and we just perceive it in this parceled-out way. That being said, I couldn't stop looking at that date, you know? It felt like everything you ever need to know about life is right there with you in plain sight at all times -- we just don't know how to decipher it until all this other stuff happens. For me, it was like seeing this weird little Johnny Depp fetus tucked into that Tim Burton term paper from nearly 40 years ago. It was both exhilarating and creepy at the same time; I couldn't let it go. For me, it felt like the sole thing anyone needed to see of that entire exhibit and yet nobody was seeing it.  I said to Joe, "I've seen enough now -- are you ready to go yet?" And he said, "Yeah, let's go. We'll get some lunch." And off we went. And, just fyi, the lunch was incredible, gang. Small, out of the way Italian place up by Lincoln Center. We were the only ones there, the food was to die for and the conversation was priceless.

Okay. Have a great Friday wherever you're choosing to dine today!! For us tonight, we're dining Thai-Chinese. I'll be thinking of you! Thanks for visiting, gang. See ya.