Don Cornelius was a dirty old man...and I loved it.

Don is dead.

I read a few weeks ago in the New York Times that Don Cornelius had died by his own hand and found myself profoundly sad. He was found in his apartment with an apparent gun shot wound to his head. He was recently divorce, had trouble with the law and there were rumors of health problems. Some say Parkinsons, others say Alzheimers. Either way, it was all too much for Mr. Cornelius and took a gun and you know the rest.

But you probably read this story too. I wanted to tell you a different one, the one and only time I saw the man himself. Though not monumental, it was something I have always remembered.

I was at The Polo Lounge at the Beverly Hills Hotel on Mother's Day in 2002 having brunch with my mom. We had been traveling up and down the coast enjoying the sun and shopping our hearts out. I had decided that for mother's day we would splurge a bit and check out this historical hotel. (No sign of Balushi's ghost or any Marilyn sightings though.)

We sat in a booth near the back patio and enjoyed a lovely brunch when a lovely couple comes around the corner and sits in the booth next to ours. It was Don Corelius and his new Russian model and porn star wife Viktoria. I thought to myself, how cool! I never thought I would spot a television innovator, pop culture icon and advocate for social change at The Beverly Hills Hotel. And I have to say that I also patted myself on the back a little for even recognizing him, as I can't imagine most people under 40 knew of him.

As my mom and I finished our brunch, I noticed that a certain someone was looking my way. I leaned over to my mom and whispered, "I think Don Cornelius is staring at me..." I imagine I was a little his 'type' because I possessed some of the qualities his wife had. Red hair, tall, thin, pale. Perhaps he was just spacing out and was 'looking though' me, as sometimes people do. 

After brunch, Mom and I toured the grounds, wandering around the various paths and hallways in and out of the hotel. We decided to have one more mimosa before we hit the spa so we went to the bar, where a very tall man squeezed past me (it was a bit crowded) and stood beside me, apologizing for brushing past me in that deep smooth voice that made the hairs on the back of neck stand up. I look up at him and smiled, "That's ok."  I giggled internally and called my best friend who had no idea who I was talking about. And that was it.

I still joke that Don Cornelius hit on me at the Beverly Hills Hotel. People roll their eyes and laugh. That trip to L.A. as a young lady was a pretty strange trip in itself and that episode added to the strangeness. Perhaps that is why I'll always have a soft place for him. He helped contribute to my strange journey and I will always be grateful for that.

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I very much recommend VH1's documentary on Don and his Soul Train for those who aren't familiar with the tremendous effect he had on music, fashion, dance and even civil rights, to a degree and helping launch the careers of countless superstars. Catch it if you can.

http://www.vh1.com/shows/vh1_rock_docs/episode.jhtml?episodeID=162182

Welcome back to the light.

ok, I've been a huge slacker.

Ever since this whole thing with the chief, I've been distracted. But now I'm back and (hopefully) ready to get back to writing.

I'm back to the business of being excited about life.

Today, I'm excited about a warehouse in Los Angeles. A friend calls me saying that he thought that I had mentioned to him a very young designer (or puppet figurehead, whomever you choose to believe) Kira Plastinina. She is a teenage Russian girl who happens to have over 40 shops all over the world and has finally come to LA. She's huge onOMG, like, I'm bankrupt! the scene, hanging with Paris (gag, choke) and the lot...But there must be some problems, cause someone isn't paying their bills... A storage facility will be selling off a tons of her and other designers clothing because someone wasn't paying their storage fees and now the warehouse company legal owns all the property within the overdue facilities.

Too bad, so sad. I guess I must reap the benefits! I've sent him a shopping list and wired him some cash and I will be getting some sweet cotoure in no time!

This recession sucks, if I may be so eloquent. Not that I really care that Kira's stores are going out, because I know she'll be okay with her trust fund and allowance and such. I do care about people who are really in need. People on the verge of losing their homes or skipping lunch to be able to afford dinner.

I know, I go from "Yay, I'm getting new clothes" to "Those sad poor people!". So I give you this for your pipe, so that you might smoke it. For every piece of clothing I get from California, I'm giving away 3 other pieces. I've been meaning to do some spring cleaning and I know there are those who could use them more than me. I mostly think of myself as a child, searching the racks at the good will, hoping for that amazing find, that one cool dress or shirt that would give me the confidence to get on that bus and show up for my first day of 5th grade(or 8th grade... or 12th). I know there is a little chic out there looking right now and I'm giving her my crochet caps and small (for me) skirts and tops, braided and metallic belts, skirts, shoes and anything else I can find that I haven't worn.

There is really nothing better than a good find at the local good will shop or Arch or whichever. I just wish I could be there to dig through and find treasures in the LA warehouse... Oh well.

Pictures of happy new dresses to come!

Ok, it's mean, but I laughed a little

• Teen Russian Designer Kira Plastinina Closes Stores

Heroes belong to stories

I never had an answer for that question.

It seemed to private, like asking about someone's religion or their sex life. It was an intrusive question that I couldn't answer to anyone.

Who is your hero?

Most kids picked historical figures or their parents. I told them no one. I didn't have anyone as my hero. Or if feeling a bit cheeky, I'd say Superman or lesser comic book heroes like Aquaman. (Now wouldn't life be a sad thing if Aquaman was your hero?)

But I did have someone I looked up to. She did the things I wanted to do and lived the life I wanted. She was a writer of young adult novels and not widely known to all. It was like she only belonged to me. My own person Jesus, if you will. I carried her beautiful books around with me at all times and I read them at every chance I got. I even met one of my best friend because of her.

On my first day of college I sat in a class room with 200 people in it, feeling exposed and alone. I pulled one of her books from my bag and disappeared for a while. Then a girl from two rows back whispered to me, "Hey!" I turned around and she held up the same book. Both our eyes lit up. We found each other.

Her books were filled with every thing I felt as a young girl. The girls in her books felt isolated and alone. They loved and hated their new bodies. They saw the things that kids my age took for granted. And they lived in worlds I wanted to be in. Faeries and magic and gritty life and the bad guys never won, not really.

Last year I found myself in LA, helping jump start an internet company of a friend of mine and I checked my email between meetings. That same college friend sent me an email that said that our favorite author was hosting a writing workshop there in LA in just a few days. I quickly wrote a check, shipped it off and waited in absolute anticipation.

One week later, I left her house feeling strange. She was just a woman. Her hand shook when she wrote and she had bits of gray in her hair. She was so thin and small. She was quiet and timid, not at all the strong, motherly type I had envisioned. She had been more beautiful than I had imagined. And her home was just how I pictured it. But in the end, she was just a woman who wrote beautiful stories. She did not hold the answers to the universe. She did not hold the the power to make me understand me.

Heroes are best left to stories. Fables and fairy tales. Because those that dwell on the surface of this planet can be no more than just what they are. Yes, they can do heroic things, extraordinary things. But the heroes we build up in our minds only live in fiction, as they should. That is way too much pressure for one person.