akira96

Hello All.  Apologies, it's been quite a long time since I last checked in on here.  More of an FB Geek I guess.

Anyhoo... Life in L.A. hasn't really changed much. Family is still as dysfunctional as ever. And I'm working part-time right now, but alas it barely pays the bills. Thank God for friends though. Oh how they keep me sane w/out the use of chemical agents... lol

Anyhoo... realizing life here in L.A. is getting me no where. Love the city, the sights and the sounds--- but it's too fucking expensive to live here. And there are no real jobs that could realistically sustain me here.

So... two possibilities have popped up for the New Year. One would have me travelling to a foreign country for about a year. Another opportunity's been extended by a good friend-- he's moving to another city out of state and he's asked me to join him. Both have some fiercely mad potential.  Still mulling and researching however.

And it's my 35th in a few weeks. Feel so old... lol

Cute commerical!!

Oscar wonders if Farrah and MJ carpooled to the pearly gates, and also if Ed Twittered them beforehand to warn them, "Johnny and I booked you on our next show...it's in heaven." RIP legends.

-- mi_danielito   , from his FB status shortly after MJ's news broke.

So... within the span of 24 hours, I've had two of my closest friends compare to me to a pair of long-suffering, female literary figures.

WTF?!?

The first allusion was made by my Korea-based BFF mi_danielito, who after learning of my current familial plight,  made the endearing (but bone-headed) comparison of my life to that of Tita', the enslaved but passionate protagonist of Laura Esquivel's opus, Like Water for Chocolate.

Back Story:

Ever since my mother's bout w/ cancer almost twenty years ago, I've somehow emerged as the default caregiver in my family. Not for the lack of any desire to, I've always found myself in that odd and precarious position. Through it all, I've managed to learn a great deal about myself doing so. (Perhaps that's why a great number of people would rather eat broken glass than assume the day-to-day responsibility of caring for loved ones, especially older or elderly parents.)

Anyhoo... the latest medical melodrama for my folks is a dual conundrum: My father is going to have both his knee joints replaced after a bout w/ Guillain-Barre' Syndrome nearly ruined the originals some seven years ago.  (As it is, the man can barely walk at all.)  This means he'll be in physical rehab for the next three months; three months of which I'll have to pick up the slack, helping them out w/ their daily routine as it were. Which is fine since I'm technically still unemployed, and am freely able to do so.  The greater challenge is caring for my Mother. To many of you out there, I haven't really felt comfortable discussing the details about my Mom at length.  However, for the last two-- perhaps three-- years, my Mom has displayed increasingly aggravated symptoms of either possibly a serious bipolar disorder, or the onset of early Alzheimer's. Extreme mood swings, paranoia, forgetfulness, obsessive-compulsiveness, emotional/verbal attacks-- you name it. Unfortunately, there's very little any of us can since she refuses to be seen by any psychiatric professional.  So all we can do is to monitor her daily emotions and deal. Some days, she's sweetest and nicest woman; other days, she can be a maniacally insane monster.

Now I gladly do all of this for my Dad; the man has consistently been there for me over the years, and for the most part we've had a great relationship-- so let there be no lingering assumptions that I'm being forcibly conscripted against my will like poor Tita. However, there will come a time and place where I just won't have the energy, patience or desire. A time and place when words "assisted living" may actually put my own mind at ease.

The second allusion took place as I drove the other BFF known as  beastishere  to work this afternoon. W/ Laura Esquivel's Tita lingering in the back of my mind, Dhino and I bantered back and forth about the kind of books and writers that most represented us.  And rather than the tender but feisty heroine of Esquivel's novel, apparently my own best friend feels that I fall more along the lines of Caitlin Thomas, indulgent and melancholic wife of melancholic poet, Dylan Thomas. According to him, her memoirs-- Leftover Life to Kill-- best epitomizes my current state. (Which is odd, since I'm not all spinning into a self-indulgent black hole of drink, drugs and dicking (That was last year.)  If anything, the last few months have found me withdrawing and withtracting; a clear symptom of the umemployment blues and a slowly dwindling bank account. The closest analogy to Thomas and her book that I can readily muster? The gut-wrenching aimlessness and lack of direction that we possibly share. The lack of direction and purpose with which haunted Caitlin following Dylan's death, and the my own frustrating inability the figure the next chapter in my life. The overwhelming need to find a find a job-- any job-- in this hell hole of an economy versus actually finding a real career, perhaps going back to school (and trying to figure out how to pay for all of it.)  Trying to figure out what exactly I want from life, from love, and most importantly, from myself.

Hmm... maybe what I really need is just a soul-satisfying meal from Tita, and a strong shot of fiery whisky w/ Caitlin, no... ?

(Apologies to all/any... was sidetracked by a nasty bug a few weeks ago. Just getting to this now.)



Originally, I was going to post a very lengthy, very angry and very passionate treatise against the boneheaded (but inevitable) decision by the CA. Supreme Court to not only upholding the legality Proposition 8, but also creating a special minority of already-married gays and lesbians. But, amid the media firestorm surrounding Prop. 8, came one of the best quotes that-- for me-- typifies the entire issue of Gay Marriage for us, here & throughout the country...


"(I)  still maintain that Prop 8 passing actually has a big silver lining - IT WOKE US ALL UP FROM OUR APATHETIC SLUMBER! If it failed, it would've been met with a collective 'Yeah, so? CA is a liberal state. I can still hate queers where *I* live'. Right, Iowa? We - and America - needed to have the fire lit under our collective asses! And it made marriage equality a NATIONAL discussion."

-- DJ Paul V. Spins, longtime L.A. music impressario (and ardent marriage-equality supporter)

Additionally, a friend of mine up in Sacramento challenged all of us to do our part in helping to change the hearts and minds of Middle America by convincing at least one person to change his or her stance against Gay Marriage. For me this hits particularly close to home since my own father-- a man I happen to both dearly love and respect-- voted in favor of Prop. 8. And although we still happen to be fairly close to one another, it's unfortunately saddening (and a bit painful) for me talk to him about this matter.

But, I'm determined more than ever to help to change his feelings about Gay Marriage. He's my own father, dammit. I wholeheartedly vow to show him that Marriage is a Universal gift for all-- not simply a silly religious rite squandered so frivolously by straight couples, or trivialized so horribly by the media in the so-called reality drivel of "Bridezillas" or "The Bachelor/Bachelorette." 

And I'm not about to dis-invite my own father from my Wedding some day...

 

(W/ thanks to DJ Paul V... )

I assume that everyone at one point, or another, has eaten themselves to the point of indigestion. Perhaps, it was at a really great Italian bistro serving nothing but the richest pastas. Or, maybe it was a Sunday dinner w/ your folks-- w/ all of your favorite childhood comfort foods for you to drown in. My own particular gastrointestinal reckoning came last night @ the College Graduation Party for BFF beastishere 's middle sister. Being a good, traditional (and fairly well-off) Filipino family, they threw Dianne a gorgeous dinner spread-- w/ delicious staples like Lumpia (egg rolls), Palabok (a beef-&-veggie stew), Chicken Adobo and Filipino Chicharron (fried pork skins-- drenched here in a tangy, spicy, lime-infused broth!) Add to that the fresh tuna steaks being grilled on-the-spot as well as fresh coconut tarts, apple dumplings, and strawberry shortcake w/ fresh cream, and it became an intoxicatingly memorable dinner for the senses.

Anyhoo, coming home at least 5-10 lbs heaver than when I left it, I decided to stay up a bit and allow the furry tummy to settle. Unfortunately, that was not to be. After guzzling some Pepto right out of the bottle (Don't judge me!), I settled into a far too comfortable position on the Jaime Bed, and proceeded to nod off. Or, so I thought.

Because, during that first interval of supposed "sleep," I experienced an... Indigestion Dream. You've heard of them-- strange, surrealist mindscapes caused by the bloated feeling of untimely overeating. Now I'm absolutely guilty of nighttime overeating (as my ever-expanding waistline can attest to), but never have I encountered an indigestion dream so intensely vivid, or inexplicably strange. More importantly, there was more than one dream at that!

-- Indigestion Dream #1:   I standing what looked like a cross-between a train station, and the lobby of Hospital ER; a stoney, cavernous hall full of bodies scattered throughout it, hooked-up to IV's or life-sustaining machines. As I wondered through this massive area-- w/ nurses, doctors, paramedics and police officers scurrying about-- I came upon two fat, dissheveled women; one gigantically taller than the other, and both wearing matching dull-gray sweatsuits. As the taller of the two women began swearing non-sensically at no one in particular, I tried to ignore the homeless insanity by scurrying past them (much like I do w/ the homeless insanity here in L.A.) But, just as I passed them, the taller fat woman slings an insult at me that catches my attention (something along the lines of "Yo' Mama's a Whore!"-kind-of-thing.) Turning my head to look at her, I suddenly feel the top of my head considerably wet. Touching it, I can feel my hair wet and sticky, and I realize... the towering cow has spat me!! Angered, I spin around to find a police officer (a big, burly one that could knock her about ears and legs w/ his fat ngihtstick.) And, as I look up, the very last thing I see are streams of golden liquid cascading toward me...

After waking up in a sweaty fright, I found myself unable to back to sleep comfortably. Perhaps, the accompanying (and unrelenting) gas I was now experiencing had something to w/ that. Whatever the case, it took a few hours for me to finally grow sleepy; during which the second, more somber dream took place.

-- Indigestion Dream #2:  More of a collection of mental snapshots than a cohesive narrative. the second dream took place on the streets of Hollywood, the old Hollywood landmarks like Pantages Theater and Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel towering in too-bright California sun. I remember hanging out along Hollywood Blvd a few good friends. One of them-- a recovering meth addict in real life-- seems to be transfixed by the seeming "beauty" of another meth-head that he's just met. Worried and growing increasingly impatient w/ his endless fawning of the gaunt "boy," I try pull my friend aside and slap some sense into him. Unfortunately, he offers some half-hearted lip-service, and as the crowds start to envelop our group, I shout helplessly at him as he wonders off w/ "boy";  looking for their next fix and fuck down the RedLine Station @ Hollywood and Vine.

By this time, I'd found myself aroused to an uneasy awakening-- like waking up in a wrong bodily position that causes your back to ache. Or, waking up to warm sunlight searing your face. Just plain uncomfortable, if you ask me. And I don't feel rested whatsoever. Anyhoo...I forced myself to push through the weariness, opening the windows and airing out noxious fumes from my bedroom. Perhaps there'll be a good meal (and an even better dream for me today... )

_mpd_asks:

Why did I not know about this... ?

Almost forgot to get into this Q-&-A session...