Tag Archives: Jim Arnold

Mexico Trip: Puerto Vallarta

On to the final part of the Mexico Trip: Puerto Vallarta!

A view of the Pacific from my Airbnb.

I was a little worried about morning traffic from Chapala to the Central de Autobuses de Guadalajara in Tlaquepaque, but I needn’t have been. An acquaintance of Chris and Terry’s who drove a cab picked me at the designated time and got me there in less than half an hour.

The ETN bus ride took about 6 hours. Once in PV mid-afternoon, I called an Uber from the bus station (which is in the north of the city, not too far from the airport, actually).

In PV I also stayed at an AirBnb. (In fact the only hotel I stayed at the entire trip was the Real Maestranza in Guadalajara.) It was on a crazy hill (see photos). I can’t say that I wasn’t warned, as the place description and the all the reviews mentioned it.

Beachfront/Zona Romantica

PV is well-known as one of Mexico’s premier beach resort cities which is also extremely popular with the LGBT community (both Mexican and foreigners). The week I happened to be there coincided with Gay Pride Week there, so there was probably even more going on in that regard than usual.

You’ve Got Friends in Puerto Vallarta

It was great to end the trip in PV for a few reasons, not the least of which is that I had three friends who happened to be there: Michael, a friend from LA who lives in PV about half the year; James, another LA friend who was on vacation for a few days there; and Jim, that friend who moved to Mexico City who was also on a little vacation in PV (and who has since moved from CDMX to PV).

I have to admit that as I get older I’m becoming one of those people whose fascination with the beach ends at the edge of the sand, looking out. It’s so pretty! It smells so nice!

But I don’t really want to lie in the hot sand with my body slathered in oils (to which the sand will stick) to frolic in waves of questionable cleanliness. (I guess I’ve turned into that guy.)

But I was down for long walks along the Malecon, which was the best way to get from where I was staying, a couple of kms north of the main touristy area, the Zona Romantica (which is also the gay area).

One of the best things I did was go to dinner with James at Casa Kimberly, a fine restaurant located in Liz Taylor‘s old Puerto Vallarta house. Here’s a photo of me on the footbridge there:

Blogger at Casa Kimberly

Vallarta Botanical Garden

One of the days Michael took me to the Vallarta Botanical Garden (along with Billie, his pup). Well worth the trip. We walked around the grounds, looked at flowers, plants and some fauna (I saw an iguana! In the wild!) and then had lunch. A perfect activity for the men of a certain age (and dogs of a certain age). We took a cab back into town and I thought that would be the last ride of my life – the guy was constantly passing on the two lane cliffside road.

But — here I am. Adios Mexico Trip: Puerto Vallarta – till next time.

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I Was Right About Palm Springs

Did you even wonder if an important decision you made long ago was the right one? I do it all the time! Yet a recent visit provided reinforcement that I was right about Palm Springs.

Right about Palm Springs? What am I even talking about? (or, what kind of first world problem is this?)

Blogger in Palm Springs 3/21/22

Here goes: I made a decision to sell a condominium I owned (and lived in) out there in the desert in 2011 basically so that I could retire early and fund the gap between then and the time I’d be able to collect Social Security.

Great Recession

It was the end of the Great Recession awfulness and job prospects were dim, especially when you were 55, as I was that year (2010). I’d gotten laid off and I didn’t want another corporate-type job anyway, and when I weighed options on how to support myself, using this asset seemed to make the most sense.

Also, I had determined I was an urban person, not a suburban or small town guy. I wanted to go back to the big city for those social and cultural benefits.

This was the living room at my condo there.

Through the ensuing years I was happy about that part, but did miss the condominium itself — the space, the design, the patios, the complex with the pool and especially the Jacuzzi.

And that Jacuzzi is on the left here.

Missing the Desert

I also missed my friends out there. Turns out, after all was said and done is that it’s hard to make new friends, it’s hard to renew friendships that have lapsed, and I think all of this gets harder as one gets older.

All that made me wonder if I’d made the wrong decision back in 2010-2011. In the 10 years that have passed Palm Springs has become unaffordable to me, and in Los Angeles I’m locked into a rent controlled apartment. On the one hand, that’s good, because the rent is below market. Then you realize you can’t move anywhere else in town because everything is so expensive.

So I’ve joined the ranks of friends and relatives in cities like San Francisco and New York who’ve lived in the same rental apartments for 40, 50 years. And now I understand why.

I Was Right About Palm Springs

So back to Palm Springs. I recently went out there for a couple of days, for some R & R. The weather was great, very warm but not too hot, dry, and I was reminded of what I’d loved there — the stillness. That wonderful aroma of dry. The general ease of doing things.

Love the quiet up on the mountain.

But I also remembered the unease. The claustrophobia I felt living there was back right away as soon as I drove into town. The suburban ethos of the civic design — which means you need a car for basically everything. The smallness of the place itself — which I could see in total from a perch on Mt. San Jacinto during a hike.

So it turns out I was right about Palm Springs. It was not the right place. For me, anyway.

Here’s Eve Babitz, from her story “Bad Day at Palm Springs” in the book Slow Days, Fast Company:

“The peace that some claim to find in all that sand will never happen to me in Palm Springs, no matter how I hope for flat dry hot air so bloodless that I won’t even have to breathe or think.”


 

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Nearly Naked in the Nineties

It’s true, I was nearly naked in the nineties. At least for this photo session displayed here.

This was the story: I was turning 40 soon, and I thought I should have some pictures taken of myself, because everybody knows what happens when you turn 40.

Suddenly, you’re old, out-of-shape, undesirable, a has-been. Joking, of course, but I’m not immune to our culture’s adoration of youth, even when it was my own.

I knew a photographer and liked his photos, so I booked a session with Jason Wittman. These photos are the result.

Jason likes sepia

Jason really liked printing his film in sepia tones, so that’s why there’s a lot of sepia here. Makes it look like a certain period, yes? I did minimal digital adjusting. These are pretty much what the old-style prints I have look like (I scanned the originals – this was pre-digital).

Kind of a rough look, kind of hinting at low-rent? Sleazy yet inviting, at least that was the intention. I guess you, the viewer, decided if that worked or not.

May do another shoot soon

I’ve been thinking about doing something like this again (naked photo shoot), even though I’m about 27 years older than when these were taken. I guess I’ll call it “Naked in the Twenties” or maybe “Naked in My Sixties.”

I mean, really, why should the kids have all the fun?

Hope you enjoy my “nearly naked in the nineties” photos. (Taken in 1994, I was 39.) All photos (except one as noted) Copyright Jason Wittman, 1994.

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Things That Really Changed in the Pandemic

I suppose everyone is different in how they experienced the last year and a half-plus. Still, there are things that really changed in the pandemic, although our lists will differ.

I got my Moderna booster yesterday, and I’m beyond grateful that I could get one. Also, I was pretty darn impressed by Kaiser Permanente and how quickly they seem to have ramped up and repurposed areas for vaccine administration and testing.

Blogger Getting Covid-19 Vaccine dose, February 2021

That got me thinking about how much has changed in the last 19 months or so and about how our lives are different. My life in particular, of course.

Here are the top five things that really changed during the pandemic – for me, anyway.

Exercise/Working Out

During lockdowns I was relegated to taking walks in the neighborhood, then incorporated some resistance band workouts to my routine once I was able to buy them. Slowly, I added various pieces of home equipment including a dip bar, a chin-up bar, and finally, a set of adjustable dumbbells and a legit flat bench.

Dip bar and resistance bands in apartment hallway
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Like everyone else, I was thrilled when the gyms reopened, first as an outdoor venue in a parking garage, then back to the old building with a mask mandate. Problem was, they didn’t enforce the mask mandate and I was uncomfortable, even being vaxxed myself, around maskless heavy-breathing gym bros and gals. So –

I’ve gone back to working out at home and hiking. For now.

Sex

As a single gay man of a certain age, the ready availability of partners had been dwindling already pre-pandemic but came to screeching halt once lockdowns kicked in.

I didn’t go into the pandemic with a partner or any FWB’s like I may have had earlier in life. The helpful venues we had in the community (the baths, the sex clubs) also closed down. Hookup apps don’t really work for me (I just really don’t want to meet status-unknown strangers for right-this-moment-sex at this stage of my life).

I’m ready for you, guy.

Honestly, it reminded me a lot of the fear of the early AIDS days. So basically I went back to what I did then – porn and chat lines became my closest friends. As some sex positive play venues reopen now with mask and vax mandates, I’ll be testing the waters – slowly.

Cooking for One

Can you believe I never ordered food delivery at all pre-pandemic? Yet ordering takeout to be delivered right to my door became my Saturday night treat for months during the pandemic.

It was one thing I could look forward to all week. Even though I mainly ricocheted between a gourmet burger joint and a Lebanese restaurant over and over. It was worth it.

Easy Whole Wheat Bread

Also, I continued to bake bread for myself, something I’d begun pre-pandemic. I also made a few different kinds of stews (all vegan) which I portioned out and froze. It got to be a steady habit so I’d have to say I ate more consistently and much more healthy during the pandemic. (Basically the cratering of dining out just by itself made me healthier, I could feel it both in my waistline and my wallet.)

Structure

I began to structure my solo days, and soon realized that my life had come to resemble a never-ending kind of high school schedule: The morning walk was first period PE. My creative writing/book work became second period Creative Writing/English. Firing up Mango Languages/Novela watching became third period Spanish. My piano practice became fourth period Piano/Music Theory.

Finally, the Sciatica stretching/Kegel routine became fifth period PE-lite. Then came lunch. And then I made everyday a short-schedule day so I’d have the afternoon off.

I kept this structure six days a week. On Sundays, I replaced most of it with grocery and other shopping and then cleaned the house. I ended up getting a lot done and having much cleaner floors!

Is Going Out Worth It? The New Calculation

Finally, I’ve had to make a new calculation about leaving my house for really anything at all. As in, is it really worth it? As strange as this sounds, living in Los Angeles definitely has its drawbacks, the chief one being, for me, traffic.

Closely followed by general congestion in that there’s just too many people out there. Most of the time.

Actually leaving the house: The Blogger at an Orange Line stop, waiting patiently.

Things that I do: movies – even if theaters are open, do I wanna sit in a closed theater with strangers for two hours? Maybe I’d rather watch the movie at home where I can pause it to go take a piss?

Back to the gym – do I wanna fight traffic, find parking, and spend an hour in a gym with inconsiderate unmasked bros (and gals too)? Maybe it’s more pleasant and safer working out with my own tunes in my little hybrid home setup.

The 12 Step Meetings I’ve been going to for over 30 years: Same as gym with traffic and parking. It’s so much easier to log into a Zoom call. And I don’t have to be wearing pants to do so! So there’s that.

Restaurants – the main attraction had been the company. Not the food, really. I am not a great cook, but I almost never sicken myself in my own home. I often feel sick the next day after eating out.

So yeah, I think I make a different kind of calculation for going almost anywhere – is it really worth it or can I get what I’m looking for right in my own backyard, so to speak?

I guess time will indicate whether or not these changes are permanent. At the same time I don’t intend to be a hermit.

A sense of isolation pervades all this and I didn’t/don’t like that. But I do want to make better choices for myself and the planet.

Overall, I know these pandemic changes will appear shallow to anyone who was really impacted by the pandemic by getting sick or having loved ones die, and I’m aware of that disconnect. I’m grateful every day that I have been privileged to have access not only to vaccines, but also to government actions that did their best to mitigate the pandemic’s damage in our city – and I’m talking about masks and lockdowns.

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The Recent Pretty Pictures Post

I did something to my back. Not quite sure what, and here I am thinking that yoga would make that type of thing a thing of the past. Apparently, not so. So I’m not really feeling up to posting much of a prose post, but kids, I have pictures. Just some recent shots from my life, for your pleasure. I’ll try to caption intelligently so you know what these things represent.

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Jim Arnold Communications November 2013 Newsletter: Tips for Better Newsletters!

JIm Arnold Communications November 2013 Newsletter

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Please click anywhere on the newsletter image above to access the newsletter and make the links live. Thanks for taking a look!

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Writer’s Workshop: A bit of “Kept”

2365800428_0cc260e6a8Here’s a little excerpt from the new book I’m working on, called “Kept.” It’s a sexy, crime ridden, over-the-top melodrama set out in my favorite decadent dry spot, Palm Springs. Enjoy! Please post comments if you have them. 

From Chapter 2:

Connor Hurst should have washed the truck before rolling up to the Jones home. A more professional, polished look is what he continually strove for each and every day, but this morning it was just not coming together the way it usually did.

The shitty, dusty, red Greco & Greco logos on the silver truck doors were chipped along their edges. Not a good look for the town’s best, if not largest, remodeling outfit, he thought. Better if they were clean and smooth.

On the other hand, Connor looked just fine. He looked so Irish he might have been a Celtic warrior or a leering priest in some other, less ordinary life. He told everybody he was black Irish, though nobody really knew what that meant; even he wasn’t really sure. He guessed his dark hair, so brown it read black, and the blue eyes were evidence enough, and his looks had stunned enough women—and men—over the last few years to make further explanation unnecessary.

Connor and Jacy Martin fell out of the pickup into the 115 degree heat of the fresh, late morning asphalt, its chemical odor signaling what Connor liked to think of as a sign of industrial progress: they were making some headway, their actions had consequences.

And they made quite a pair. Dark, Native American and short, squirrely Jacy’s role was always sidekick to the regal Connor: the shadow side, Lone Ranger and Tonto.

Jacy wasn’t the type to trust too much; he was the type to check behind himself before he spoke. Just in case. But even Connor knew it wasn’t good that Jacy told stories of their tribal chief shooting and killing protected sheep, even if it was on the res, on their own land, in their own fucking nation.

That kind of thing got around.

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Jacy spat on the red gravel oval at the center of the Jones’ circular drive, just missing a perfectly round blue barrel cactus. Connor would ignore this. He’d do the same, but never with anybody around. I mean, come on. He figured the Joneses had to be the richest African-American family in town. They had to be. Look at this place.

The low, Spanish style house loomed substantial from the street, but even that was deceiving. It stood at the top of a small rise, then spread out slowly in back, rooms tumbling down to a pool and a fucking tennis court where the landscape leveled off.

As dark as Alice Jones was, Connor wondered if she needed sunscreen at the pool. She told him she never played tennis. Her son had, though, and quite well, so the court was good luck and they kept it up.

She opened the finely distressed heavy oak door with just one hand—which, of course, showed off her diamond and gold wedding rings, as well as a totally separate emerald on her index finger.

The pounding hammers of the other Greco & Greco workers already inside rose up, as did Jacy’s panting, which reminded him of a nervous dog. Then there was Alice Jones, holding the door wide open, wearing one of her green and black caftans from Africa.  Her tits jiggled. No bra today. She knew he was coming.

Jacy was used to the drill. He entered first after a clipped “Ma’am” to Alice, heading straight for the guys who were finishing up new drywall in the media room, which was next to the library, which was down from the dining room.

Far enough away from Alice’s bedroom which was the only important location.

She clutched Connor by the forearm and led him down the hallway, a gallery where they’d positioned spotlights to hit the artwork at precise sweet spots dictated by a professional curator flown in all the way from New York.

“Mr. Hurst, can you come with me?” she asked. “I’ve got some problems to show you in the back.”

He threw Jacy a smirk, though the smaller man was already out of sight. Small problems in the back, yeah right Alice, I bet you have them, Alice!

At the end of the long hallway a door closed, blocking out the daylight—as so many of these desert homes seemed designed to do. Probably better when you had things to hide.

Outside, in the brilliant sun, white-haired Bernard Jones inched his way up the Camino del Monte cul de sac and saw not just one but two Greco & Greco trucks in his driveway, parked on that almost imperceptible incline. So he had to park on the street. He didn’t like the idea of having to walk the forty or so extra paces to his door. It was hard enough getting out of the 911.

Jacy watched from the media room window, conveniently located at the front of the house, a window, which would soon be fitted with a custom removable blackout shade for movie nights. But today it was still just an empty window.

This is gonna be some trouble. Just what Connor Hurst has coming to him. White boy gets away with too damn much, about time someone kicked his ass! Jacy chuckled into his fist, a spasm of delight racing up his spine, making him jump.

Though Bernard Jones was a short old fart. Would they take it out to the pool, or maybe down to that tennis court? No, Mr. Jones wouldn’t want to get into it that way. He’d have a gun, probably close at hand. Probably had several, look at all this art in here. Plus, there weren’t many around Palm Springs who looked like the Joneses.

But sometimes loyalty trumps the desire one feels for right and wrong. Or maybe it was pure practicality, having to get along with your co-workers no matter who they were. Even if they were Connor Hurst. So Jacy moved into the hallway, a cheerful Indian ready to intercept the rich American.

Meantime Connor had got Alice up on all fours on her big bed, which was covered with a taut, blue-green abstract duvet with contrasting tan-black striped pillows, one of which her head was now buried in.

Her caftan was still partly on, bunched up in folds covering her shoulders and her neck, covering her face. Her beautiful cocoa ass pointed up toward the ceiling. Connor had just entered her, leaning over to whisper, “you like ‘em young, don’t you, Alice, you like ‘em white, too!”

Her voice was muffled by the pillows. “I like ‘em hard,” he thought he heard her say. He wasn’t exactly sure because there was commotion, activity unplanned and unwanted, somewhere not too far outside the bedroom door.

Bernard Jones was now in the hallway, the hallway gallery, where their important and expensive works of art had been positioned by the New York decorator with custom track lighting that had to be redone four times before Alice would approve it.

The heavy, dark wooden door at the end of the hallway, the door to his bedroom, was closed.

Bernard Jones headed toward it.

A short Indian was in the way. “We marked places in the sheetrock where your speakers will go, let me show you Mr. Jones,” the little man said, positioning himself directly in front of Bernard Jones, blocking his advance, trying to turn him around, then again, not trying too hard. “Let me show you the media room, man.”

“Get out of here, you fucking little bug! Alice?”

But Connor had already put it together. He was off poor old Alice, grabbing his pants, his Greco & Greco workshirt, his shoes, looking up to the ceiling for an instant, asking if she’d ever considered some “nice regal crown molding,” then easing himself behind the lux drapes and out the slider door. But not before Alice tossed him a couple of Benjamins—as well as his socks.

“Go!” she whispered, blowing him a kiss, already examining herself in the mirror, arranging the caftan back to its correct matronly order.

*   *   *

 

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The Forest Dark – Reading at Stories

Thanks again to Hank Henderson and the folks at Stories Cafe & Books in Echo Park. I have more from the reading, and I’ll add it once I process the video (added below). If you’re a member of goodreads, check out the giveaway below. . . or join!

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Jim Arnold Communications September 2013 Newsletter: Coaching Exec Presenters? Couple of Tips

Jim Arnold Communications September 2013 Newsletter

Jim Arnold Communications September 2013 Newsletter

Please click on newsletter image to access the newsletter and links.
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The Forest Dark: Eden’s Apthorp

The Apthorp, Broadway entrance.

The Apthorp, Broadway entrance.

Just happen to be in NYC this week, and thought I’d stroll over and snap a picture of the grand old entrance to the Apthorp apartments, where Eden von Eiff has a tiny but mortgage-free apartment in my novel “The Forest Dark.” I waited for awhile hoping reality might follow fiction but alas, there was no Eden egress!
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