Email me

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

250th and 251st email

From: Stacey Marchenkova  
To: dom borax

Sent: Tuesday October 6th , 1999 10:11AM
Subject:  RE RE RE Change of topic
Dom, you win…you’ll always win…you are winner…they lose…they will lose you…and that’s the world’s biggest loss…
I love you…so much…
I hold you in my arms….
I say there-there…
I mop your forehead…
I lift your arm in victory, champ…

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax

Sent: Tuesday October 6th , 1999 11:01AM
Subject:  RE RE RE RE Change of topic
And again I am so sorry about the Tintin comment… I can't seem to get anything right at the moment…I’m  saying sorry so often lately…I hope it isn’t losing it’s power…or meaning..or whatever…anyway…I know it’s fucktard Marcus that likes Tintin...I know that…but I like Tintin too…but whatever…I screwed it…truthfully…and there is no excuse…excuse…except…how about I go into Marcus’s house and destroy everything Tintin related?  Or how about I offer a list of things for me to do to encourage your sympathy…I mean you always do that…you always list… and it works for you… so
1: I sell all my things for a one way ticket to LA to see you.
Okay…that’s all I’ve got…never very good at lists… what do you think?


Sunday, September 25, 2011

248th and 249th email

From: Dom Borax 
To: Stacey Marchenkova

Sent: Sunday October 4th, 1999 07:37AM
Subject:  RE change of topic
Come on Stacey, it’s Marcus that likes Tintin. Not me.
I’ll write more later.


From: Dom Borax 
To: Stacey Marchenkova

Sent: Sunday October 4th, 1999 18:11PM
Subject:  RE RE change of topic
Hi Stacey, I don’t think I’m dealing with this town at all. Probably best if I tell you about last night as an example of my state of mind.
I was recommended to go to a little bar somewhere in Hollywood. It’s called the Coronet. It’s kinda cute; next to a small theatre with the same name.
Indeed it’s all quite bunched up like a mews –
You know, small bar plasticine-squished into the theatre with the smallest portcullis separating them because booze and the art never mix, right Dionysus.
There is also a hint of Anglophile about this small block of drunken arts. A Chester-like Elizabethan black and white crossed thatch design is an obvious influence as is a fake chimney and the plethora or English beers (by plethora I mean two) on tap.
Oh and you can smoke in there too.
Now this in itself is kinda odd, you can't smoke anywhere in LA and even in the Coronet there are a multitude of signs all over the bar proclaiming the circle of hell reserved for you if you light up.
But these signs are just that. Not a Bobby with a truncheon or a Cop with a gun; just a sign.
Now as you know, I can light up after a few. It’s a habit I loathe and love. So with the hint of rebellion I asked the Barman if this bar is is truly English it would allow me to smoke in it too. He looked at me and shook his head.

BARMAN: It’s illegal to smoke in public establishments, Sir.

I nodded. I was pushing my luck.
But shortly after, I became truly confused; he lit a cigarette.

BARMAN: And everyone obeys the rules here.

He said as he blew out smoke and gestured to the room.
I followed his gesture and to my confusion, I saw half the room had lit up.
And then I realised.
My God, I’d stumbled into a smoking speakeasy.
Soon I joined them and for the first time since I’d touched down in this city, I felt that I had a place; that perhaps sitting on this bar, drinking Harps and smoking was as comfortable as it got.
But of course for a true betrayal to work this is exactly what needs to happen.  I need to be made to feel accepted for the betrayal to truly have its sting.
And this is most embodied with the two people that entered in the bar shortly after.
She was blonde. Her name was Mandy. She wore a lot of make up. She limped like liquid. Her eyes were small.
He was blonde too. His name was Tony. He was buffed. His eyes were well rehearsed in sympathy. He nails were clipped. His pants were tight.
It was hard not to notice them.
They illuminated the room with the pearly white capped brightenings and their bleached hair.
They shuffled over to the bar and sat. They knew the barman and talked freely about the night and the locals. This included Matt a fellow drunken Australian who boasted about having sex in the Great Barrier Reef while insisting the bar played his mix tape of Aussie classics.
I all this time was keeping quietly to myself.
I admit to finding it hard to fit in. My experience with LA men has always resulted in supreme disappointment.
In the beginning they’re very welcoming and polite. But after a drink and in single sex company their laboring observations of the opposite sex are shrouded in violent allusions. It’s not about fun or irony it’s about taking. It’s about competition – it’s about winning.

THEM (and by them I mean MEN): That’s America dude. Gotta win. Even in the bedroom or the back of the car or on this bar. You gotta win.

For me, I can’t rationalize this, Stace. I really can’t. I can’t be in this company.
And the LA Women are kinda of the same. Like the men they have this public persona but once this too is stripped a true beast is revealed, a Fame Monster who isn't interested in you at all.
And they want to win too - they’ll do anything to get it.
And once they get together; this LA man and LA woman, the battle is on. Both want to win. And here’s the thing, they both do. Because they’re playing different games.
So when Mandy and Tony entered the bar I immediately went on the defensive. They were so familiar. They were the epitome of the Los Angeles social experience.
But soon I was proved wrong. They both sat at the bar on either side of me. She spoke first.

MANDY: I hate Hollywood, don’t you?
TONY: Yeah, the women are cute and I’d do it but it would be a never ending sense of agony.

Man was this real? Could I believe what I was hearing?
Surely not.
But it did seem that here were two locals who not only understood their neighbours (neighbors) actions but also disagreed with them0

ME: That’s really refreshing to hear. Can I buy you a beer?

They nodded and soon we were chatting.
They seemed genuinely interested in me. They asked questions about Australia.
And I talked about you.
They liked the sound of you. I talked more about you.
They got moved.
And I thought; had I finally and deeply made contact? Did I have friends?
After another drink the conversation finally turned to dreams and ambitions. Not surprisingly both wanted to work in the industry. Why else be in Hollywood, they supposed.
I agreed. I wanted to work more solidly in the industry too.

TONY: More solidly. What do you mean more solidly?

He asked.

ME: I’m just a PA at Fox. But I want to be a writer.

And that’s when it fell to shit.
Upon hearing that I was just a PA, Tony turned to the Barman.

TONY: I thought you said he was a big time Director.

The Barman scrutinized me.

BARMAN: Not him. The other Australian - the one singing along to the mix tape of Australian rock - the drunken one. He’s the director. This guy’s a nobody.

And with that Tony and Amanda moved from their seat and shuffled down the bar toward the ‘other australian’ without saying goodbye to me.
So there I was left alone. Shell-shocked at their behaviour. I caught the barman’s attention.

ME: What the fuck?

I said.

BARMAN: What the fuck, what? 
ME: Them. What’s going on? 
BARMAN: They’re just making friends. 
ME: No they’re hustling. 
BARMAN: Never. 
ME: Come on. They only talked to me because they thought I was someone important. 
BARMAN: Surely not. 
ME: I mean is this what this town comes down to? People will only talk to you if they think they can get something from you?
BARMAN: I’m talking to you aren't I?
ME: Yeah but this is a bar. You're a barman. I buy drinks from you. It suits your purpose.
BARMAN: No-no-no – not at all. To prove it – this one’s on me.

He said as he pulled another drink.

ME: Thanks. 
BARMAN: My pleasure. 
ME: I’m just a little overwhelmed. I’m not about this, you know. For me it’s about socialising, right - It’s about talking, it’s about connecting, it’s about people, it’s about community, the back yard bonfire, you and me and them – us. It’s about us. You know?

The Barman thought about what I said for a beat. It sunk in, I could tell.

BARMAN: And that’s Hollywood, dude. That’s Hollywood. Truthfully.

He said as he finally turned away from me and moved to stand under the no smoking sign and lit another cigarette.

Love Dom

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

246th and 247th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova  
To: dom borax
< >
Sent: Saturday October 3rd , 1999 13:11PM
Subject:  Change of topic
Can I change the topic please…I feel I keep laying little bombs by your feet…not right…even little ones…so trust me now when I say,,,step left, then right…then back… then run to the end of the mine field…I am waiting...and it is safe…

Miss you so much

From: Stacey Marchenkova  
To: dom borax
< >
Sent: Saturday October 3rd , 1999 13:31PM
Subject:  Change of topic
Hey I saw Elsa today…it was really weird…as you know I’ve been getting up early more often…and not just to walk your dog…though this morning Oftenbark was with me…cute as ever...heeling and tail wagging…
Anyway…there we where walking through the Valley again…
Not sure why but I like walking Oftenbark through the valley…I think it’s cause I love the junkies stroking him…
junkies love dogs…
and he also protects me against the hippy craft folk in their cheap oil cubicles at the morning fair…but I confess as much as I hate them…I still look…I still pick up the odd crystal…I still try on the stupid felt hat…I still smell the leather and contemplate buying that TinTin T-Shirt for you…
But I don’t buy anything… trust me…the money stays in my pocket…which is needed…for without it I’d never be able to buy that coffee or cooked (wrote cocked for a second – watch it, mister) breakfast at the Cosmo Cafe…
And Dominique loves the Cosmo…
Do you remember her? She was at my birthday…the pretty gay one…you liked her…you said she was sexy in a gay way…and it wasn’t because you couldn’t have her…or that she had your name…you genuinely thought she was cute and lamented her choice…again, you stressed…not that you’d go there…and if anything you thought…she was going to make some chick very happy one day…
Anyway…there we were, Dominique, me and the dog…we were sharing a big breakfast because we’re girly girls…though Dominique always takes more than her fair share of bacon…lezzo thief…
And as we were eating, I saw Elsa out the corner of my eye…she was at the markets buying some honey, some tatty home made musical instrument and second hand CDs…I swear I saw she had a Genesis CD…
I nudged Dominique…
“See her…that’s Elsa…Dom’s ex.”
Dominique’s eyes narrowed as she took her second sausage…
“I know her.” She said.
“Yes, she dances…maybe you saw her on stage…”
“No, I know-know her.” She said.
It was my turn to narrow my eyes…I took the sausage off her and had a bite…
“You mean know-know?” I asked.
Dominique nodded…and admitted they’d had an affair a year ago when she was doing her design course at Queensland University of Technology.
“She posed for me and later we had dinner…it was nice…she’s a good kisser…”
“But didn’t you recognize her at my birthday dinner?”
“Of course.”Dominique replied, “But I wasn’t going to say anything then. She was with Dom. It was your birthday. It didn’t feel apt.”
“But later, come on! You could have told me later.”
“For what reason?”
“Good gossip.” I replied being a tad selfish.
“Look, Stace’ to be honest…I forgot…I was in love…remember…(not that that worked out)…and it slipped my mind…it’s only now that I remember…just one of those things, I guess…”
I nodded and turned to see Elsa one more time…she was alone and had made it to the plants…she was looking at a cactus…
Dominique at this point turned her look away and stole a piece of bacon from my plate…Oftenbark remained dozing at my feet…either too bored too look or too mean to say Hi…
I think it was the latter…
Miss you, honey…

Sunday, September 18, 2011

245th email

From: Dom Borax 
To: Stacey Marchenkova

Sent: Friday October 2nd, 1999 21:01PM
Subject:  RE RE RE I am so Sorry
Sorry again for lack of reply. I have to confess it was not so much busy workload this time. It was your question.
“You didn’t say what Pamela looked like… is she attractive? I bet she is.”
I was a little miffed at it, I have to say. There was no reason to comment on Pamela’s look. I didn’t mention it because I don't really see it.
But if it helps, she looks tired most of the time. She has transparent veins under her eyes and dark rings. Her hair is always perfect but it dries easily. She is toned but has no shape. You could say she was sorta pretty but there is nothing sexy about her. She wears nice clothes but her knees will always be lumpy.
She is simply not my type.
You are.


Wednesday, September 14, 2011

244th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova  
To: dom borax
< >
Sent: Tuesday September 29th, 1999 21:11PM
Subject:  RE RE I am so Sorry
You didn’t say what Pamela looked like… is she attractive? I bet she is.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

243rd email

From: Dom Borax
To: Stacey Marchenkova
Sent: Monday September 28st, 1999 9:36AM
Subject: RE I am so Sorry

Hey Stacey, I think it’s me that needs to apologise. I was off the radar for a week and didn’t let you know. I am so sorry for that. It was selfish of me. Of course it would send you into a tizzy (sp?). It would send me into a tizzy (sp?).

For what it’s worth let me explain:

See this city is intense. This job is intense. My boss is intense.

Indeed she’s crazy and not in an interesting way. She flips out one day, crying and yelling and is nice as pie the next.

I’ve even been collecting some of the things she says and writing them down in a little book.

You never know, I might use them one day in that great novel I will never write.

So as a sneak preview, here are a couple of overheard gems from my cubicle next to the toilets, under the air con, at the back of the Fox Television demountable offices.

“I am smarter than you and don’t forget it.”

“I don’t do that emotion.”

“I think I know most of the words in the English Language.”

“Hold me. I need some comfort”

And these are just a few.

Her name is Pamela by the way and she’s addicted to exercise and personal growth.

ME (Wryly to Himself): Two very generous and caring and empathetic ideas. Hey?

But her addiction is only strong if others are addicted too. So she pushes them down our throats; urging – NAY – insisting that we all exercise and read Louise Hay.

Indeed the Louise Hay kick is so strong that we can’t leave the office until we offer up our daily affirmation.

“When I wake up tomorrow, I will be better person than I was today. I will have more money on my pocket, less fat in my blood and I will stop using the word nay.”
She makes us work stupid hours 7:00am to 8:00pm and expects us also to be on call for Breakfast meetings prior to 7:00 if needed.

She is a passionate teetotaler, who thinks those that imbibe at lunch have a problem. And all Australians are alcoholics.

She also monitors all emails – fearing we might be talking about her behind her back.

Which we do.

When we get drunk at Lunchtimes.

So with all this it has been tricky. Not to mention the Mormon Kids show is in a ditch at the moment and Pauly Shore complained to Pamela about me.

Not sure where this is all going. I’ve got to be out of the hotel by the end of the week and there’s no apartment on the horizon.

I’ve talked to Dad about flushing me another week’s tariff for the hotel. But I haven’t heard back. So if you speak to him could you give a nudge?

So again, my darling – I am so sorry for silence. But I am determined to break the rules and send you emails whenever I can. Actually it makes it quite exciting.

Screw Pamela. No controlling moron is going to get in the way of my love letters.

Love ya


Wednesday, September 7, 2011

241st and 242nd email

From: Stacey Marchenkova   
To: dom borax 
< >
Sent: Saturday September 26th, 1999 22:21PM
Subject:  Busy Man
Hey are you out screwing some LA chick…? Huh? It’s been days…and you’re dancing with some wannabe actress...I reckon…email me back…I feel you’re not interested…I feel you’ve got your Hand down her top and speaking all Australian…being exotic…stop being all landscape gardenery…in a musky singlet and a rake and concrete and brick dust hair and practical manliness…breathing your randy breath all over her face…stop it…stop it now…email me…ring me…don’t be with her…be with me…just me…don’t even flirt…don’t even talk to them…they're all after fame and will do anything for it…they’re all slags…bleach blonde…eye makeup…big toothed and smashed lipped slags…but they won’t love you…they can’t love you…they’re not capable of seeing beyond themselves…because that’s love…being able to selflessly see the other person…to be able to forget about yourself…stop existing…be all for the other…
And I fucking love you…

Stacey Anna Marchenkova

From: Stacey Marchenkova   
To: dom borax 
< >
Sent: Sunday September 27th, 1999 10:21AM
Subject:  I am so Sorry
Oh my fucking god…I just saw the last email…I am so ashamed…I don’t know what to say…I’m only glad you haven’t responded before I could send this crawling forgive me post script…I am sure it’s a little too late…but it’s all I can do now…so, so sorry…I don’t mean it…really I don't..well not it’s tone…anyway…I mean, I am a little jealous…and I do want you to email me…and I do want to be yours and you to be mine…only mine…only yours…if you know what I mean…I think I’m just feeling insecure at the moment and after a few drinks again…it all got to much and I let it spill out…and it’s not me…I know I can be emotional but I’m not cruel…I don’t think I’m cruel…I’m not cruel am I?
Hope you’ve found a good place to eat that makes you happy…?


Sunday, September 4, 2011

240th email

From: Stacey Marchenkova
To: dom borax < >
Sent: Friday September 25th, 1999 10:24AM
Subject: Sorry

Dom…you can’t leave…not yet…you know that…I feel so rotten too… as I think I’m the one that pushed you shouldn’t listen to me…I speak so much shit…and I shouldn't send you suffering emails…especially after a few drinks…

(getting up early makes me drink…GuLp)

‘Cause you know…it’s all going to be good, mister man…it really is…you’re going to be a legend…you’ll have a hollywood walk of fame star in no time…you’ll have a distant star named after you shortly after…you’re going to be happy…you’re doing what you want…this can never be discounted…

And yes we miss you…this is to be expected right…but it's a proud longing…a feeling of warmth in the sadness…a sense that you’re doing the right thing…

And hey…there’s also a bit of envy in there too, buster…I’d love to be on the other side of the world…discovering my creative side…doing what I want…preparing to be famous…looking forward to folk finally understanding that I’m an artist and have something to say…which by and by… as time moves forward… I suspect is not the case…I think I’ll have to find my happiness elsewhere…but that in itself is kinda thrilling…

Whatever…raving now…just wanted to say I love you and ironically insist you stay away from me…


PS As a closing image that might make you laugh…On the walk with Oftnebark yesterday…we passed a single sky blue balloon floating in the air…I suspect that Ofentbark had never seen a balloon before…he was a little cautious about it bobbing in front of him…but soon he ventured out from behind me and gently nuzzled it…the balloon responded…it gently bounced away and floated off into the sky…

Satisfied, we continue on our walk but as we passed a renovated terrace ahead….Oftenbark stopped dead in his tracks…

…Outside the renovated terrace was a closed gate with a large happy birthday sign…and wrapped around the sign was not one sky blue balloon but about thirty sky blue balloons…

I think I heard Oftenbark audibly swallow with fear…one balloon was frightening enough but now they’re breeding…now they’re taking over the world…it’s all too much…

So we quickly scooted away from…occasionally looking back at the army of balloons waiting…just waiting…
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