Literarilly speaking...

Hey Kids,

It was a busy weekend of painting trim and trying to get our home in order. The bathroom (still no picture) and bedroom are pretty set, and by this Thursday the repair people will be at work on our kitchen. God willing by next week things will be pretty solid. Tonight, of course, is Halloween and we're not going out to party it up. First off, too tired. Second, we want all the local kids to love us and the best way to make that happen is through some good honest bribery. So I'm heading to Ghetto Vons shortly to buy some chocolate. I'll let you all know if I see Dimples.

This is a big book week for friends of mine. As I mentioned, my friend Alonso Duralde has a brilliant book called 101 Must-See Movies for Gay Men (Advocate Books, November 2005). His launch begins this week through Outfest, the gay and lesbian film festival in LA, where there will be a screening of The Gang's All Here followed by Alonso speaking and signing. Plus, it's all happening at the historic Egyptian Theater. Super excited about this one and if you're free this Wednesday, November 2, you should come. Good times.

Check it out:


Speaking of history in LA, which we were only kind of discussing but go with me on this one, our friend Eric Lynxwiler has a new book on the history of Wilshire Boulevard.

Eric is an amazing guy and a docent through the LA Conservancy, which works toward preserving historic archetecture in Los Angeles. He has researched this amazing book that follows the creation and history of Wilshire Boulevard, with tons of archival photos and really cool stuff. We flipped through a copy at Wacko this weekend and it's absolutely beautiful.

You can read more about his book Wilshire Boulevard: Grand Concourse of Los Angeles here.

Eric is giving a lecture called "City Views: From Wilshire Boulevard to Shotgun Freeway" this Thursday, October 27, from 7:30 to 10 p.m., at the Leo S. Bing Theater, in LACMA (5905 Wilshire Boulevard, Los Angeles, CA 90036). Unfortunately, we can't make it but having heard Eric on his Conservancy tours and during his summer Neon Cruise through Los Angeles I can bet it's going to be awesome. Steve and I will be attending his signing this Saturday, November 5, at Dawson's Books (which is a really cool place in itself). The signing is at 2:30 PM and located at 535 North Larchmont Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90004.

Curious for more Eric? Lecture, Thursday, November 17, 7:30 - 9 PM, Petersen Museum (6060 Wilshire Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90036) and another signing on Saturday, November 19, 5 PM, Skylight Books (1818 North Vermont Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90027)

That's that for now. More stuff about Echo Park, word of the week, and how Halloween turned out later this week.

MR. SULU IS GAY!!!!

Well, that was the worst-kept secret in Hollywood. My God, you straight people are dense.

Updates on everything

Hola mis amigos!

It's the weekend, and I thought it was time to offer a couple updates on things going on with me, the house, and friends...

HOOKER GOTTA EAT!
Now that I have a house I'm doing everything I can to make an extra buck. (Okay, who am I kidding? I'm enough like my mom to try and score some almighty green whenever I can.) As such, you'll notice ad links at the top of the blog. Click one or two every now and then, would you? I make a penny or something silly like that, but if you all did it, I might be able to buy Steve a Christmas gift. Your 10 second gesture can help promote a loving relationship (How noble!)
My buddy, Alonso Duralde, has a new book! Alonso is one of the smartest men I know with a concise eye on the world of pop culture, and his new book looks amazing. Steve and I will be going to his launch event next week but check out his book on Amazon and find out more!

The house is coming along, and we have replaced our mermaid bathroom with a lovely chocolate brown and blue. Thank God Steve has an eye for art (and visits Crate and Barrel every now and then for inspiration) because I wouldn't have thought to use that color combination. It really looks great, but the picture we took isn't uploading onto the blog for some strange reason. I'll try and figure out the problem later but I need to get to work.

Oh, and our kitchen is JACKED UP! It's going to be another week, replacing some of the floor that got hurt in the process, and more fun things. We're still basically living out of boxes right now until we can work that all out, but by next weekend it should be good. In the meantime, I'm going to try and review A LOT of restaurants this week because I'm tired of microwaving in the living room, making coffee on the edge of the kitchen counter, and washing dishes in a bathroom that is sorely lacking a garbage disposal.

Our friend Aliki is just wrapping up her Nickelodeon short, Yaki and Yumi! Here is a photo with Andre (voice actor), Jun (director), Aliki and Candi (other voice actor).

If you love animation and want to see the creative process in action you really need to check out her work ASAP! As she said to me in an e-mail...

Come by to see what the props are lookin' like in Yaki and Yumi's world. Check out what the characters look like as a pastel drawing! Find out what an "expressions sheet" is. Watch part of the animatic! You will get to hear the official voices
of Yaki and Yumi and hear ME as the "THE AMAZING FORTUNE FISH!"

For those not in the know, an animatic where they take a temp dialogue track and run it with still pictures from the animation-- kind of like those film strips you used to watch in school. I think they're kind of neat. So check out Yaki and Yumi.

Finally, I'm going to introduce a couple new weekly events into the blog. One I'm keeping secret for the moment, but the others include the Phrase of the Day! and Word of the Week! By the way, both will only happen weekly but they each sound better when stated this way. Besides, I don't know if I have enough of anything to give it to you every day.

Today's (PHRASE OF THE DAY! (day, day, day, day...) (that's an echo effect, ya see) is:
Town and Country
Usage: An adjective, mainly used to describe someone's eyes.
In a sentence: Laura Bush has such beautiful Town and Country eyes.
Inner definition: One eye looks at the Town, one eye looks at the Country.

Thank you, and have a great weekend!

Childhood Obesity is PHAT!

Evidentially, being a fat kid is HUGE in my neighborhood. I haven't seen them yet-- I mostly see fat adults-- but as I discovered with the Vietnamese population, I'm sure they're out there I just need to be in the right place at the right time for a sighting. How do I know they're lurking behind closed doors, playing video games, watching TV, and eating their emotions at all hours of the day rather than being outside and playing like all the chicos y chicas on my street? This sign.
Okay, is it me, or is this one of the most twisted signs you've ever seen? I mean, seriously, it's just wrong on so many levels, it's on almost every street corner, and it's worse than an ad for Jenny Craig, Lindora, South Beach, Atkins, diuretics by L. Ron Hubbard or any of the many fads that come and go like Twinkies in the night. It's downright dark, so I naturally love it, but I certainly don't think it's going to convince any moms, mothers, yo mammas, madres o mamacitas over here to make any sort of menu change even if they do qualify for food stamps as the sign suggests.

And yet every time I pass this banner of blubber I have to give the earnest looking woman a voice and say the phrase aloud with different inflections. So maybe it is effective, but do I take it as seriously as I should? What if I don't? What could happen to poor Echo Park and the nearby neighborhoods? Could downtown's renovation get gridlock? I just don't know...

But what I DO know is that a LOT of creative people read this blog, and if you have a great slogan or image or some sort of campaign of your own to help the large and in charge population, then send it in and I'll post it. I'm not just talking weight loss, I'm talking chub pride, my friends. So send your suggestions on in. Remember, change can only begin with you.

My on-air F-Bomb!

Last week I was back at Q Television’s On Q Live to give a commentary. Here I am with the lovely makeup person who made me look young, and then getting wired for sound. Exciting, I know, and all the folks there are so fun that I always love being involved.

As the show’s title suggests there is no time-delay, it’s all live all the time and I’m there to do my little rant about something in the queer community that annoys me. I picked the gay rainbow flag, coordinated everything with my producer, Anne, got my copy in, approved the photos, and then as we went to shoot… the teleprompter stayed on my ending and then shrunk and then just showed my website info. NONE of my commentary was on the screen.

Thankfully, I had notes on the table, but in the middle of my song—yes, I sang—I completely blanked. As in Cindy-Brady-with-the-red-light blanked. And then on live TV I yelled… Well, check it out and enjoy the magic for yourself.

(NOTE: this is from my original text so it’s not an exact transcription.)

These are the freedom rings I bought when I was 18 and just coming out, and the gay rainbow symbol was so cool back then because it was a code, and you’d see somebody wearing one and quietly think, “Oh, a homosexual…”

But seriously, now I walk into a room and people just think, “FAG!” You see, we don’t need rainbows anymore, kids. I mean, sure, if you’re living in middle America and fighting the revolution then great. (I pick up a rainbow flag and hum the tune to Les Miserables God bless ya. But for the rest of us, it time to move on.

I mean, they don’t match anything in anybody’s wardrobe and no matter how much we’d like to think otherwise, the gay community is not a rainbow of united colors. Hell, we can’t even agree if we should have the drag queens a leather daddies in the parade so don’t come here telling me you’re all “orange” or something.

But here’s a little history lesson for yah. Because we loves to entertain, but we also loves to educate…

Artist Gilbert Baker created the rainbow symbol in 1978 for the San Francisco Gay Freedom Day Parade and the rainbow flag became more widely adopted as a gay pride symbol in 1979 following the assassination of Harvey Milk, who was the first openly gay member of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors and a huge political activist.

Unfortunately the political power behind the rainbow has been totally lost and instead adapted to fit every possible queer need, so all you see are slews of people hawking rainbow colored tchotchkes at Pride Parades in order to make a quick buck.

And let’s be honest, the homos that do use the gay symbol, they tend to over use them and that’s what fires me up.

(start getting REALLY loud now) They’ve got their bumper stickers along with an HRC sticker, or those LOOONNGGG rainbow strips down the back. Oh, and those queens have annoying bumper stickers that say things like, “It’s not pretty being easy!” Ew! No, you little nellie queen! You don’t do that! That’s like guys with license plates that say BTM BOI… Bottom Boy? (put on a fey voice) “Charmed, I’m sure.” No! You do not need to advertise! And if I see another lesbian driving around with a faded political bumper sticker like “Geraldine Ferraro for Vice President” I’m going to… to…fart!

NO, I’m not, but I’m going to lay down the law like Jesse Jackson, right here right now. You are allowed ONE sticker. That’s it. No rainbow disco balls hanging from the rear view mirror, no shirts—maybe at a parade, I’m still shaky on that one— no license plate frames, no housewares, beach towels, and definitely no sheets!

You know, contrary to popular opinion I am not a singer, but if I was I would think…
(SONG BREAK, to the tune of Rainbow Connection)

Why are there so many
Queers wearing rainbows?
That symbol makes me want to cry.

Rainbows are garish
I wish they would perish…
They’re… F**K! I FORGOT THE WORDS! (look at notes).
Oh yeah, they’re like going back to tie die.

I’ve seen them too many times to ignore them.
They hang around like bad STDs

But someday we’ll lose them.
These rainbow obsessions.
For faggots, for trannies, and dykes.
All of us under its spell.
But wear them and you’ll just look tragic!
(DING! I rang a bell for the big finish…)

Have you seen little twinks?
With rainbow beads danglin’
They’re getting no love from behind.

Or what about young lessies
All dressed up like tomboys
Their rainbows make other girls dry.

It’s well past time that we stopped needing rainbows
Our pride should just come from inside.

So trash those freedom rings
The t-shirts and stickers
You faggots, you trannies, you dykes!

(NOTE: I have not heard back from Q TV. Perhaps I went too far…)

Cholo Transformation

Hey Vatos, que hases?

Last Friday I applied for a copywriter job at Disney online-- which is a long story unto itself but let's just say being burned out on the freelance world has motivated me to make a change and we're going to see if something comes of this-- but with the move I haven't had my hair cut in a while so I needed one. When I have big hair my face looks fat, I feel fat, and since I haven't worked out in two weeks I couldn't go in with that sort of self esteem so I went to get a haircut.

As a Halfrican-American, I wanted to give back to my neighborhood-run ethnic businesses. I also have a problem with paying $25 for a buzz cut in Boy's Town and knew it would be cheaper here, but it's more about helping out my peeps than anything else. For real.

Anyway, I could have gone into the salons with old Nagel prints in the windows and a gaggle of Latinas sitting around waiting for the next person, but I wanted to experience the real feeling of going to an old-school barber; besides, if I didn't like it I could scuttle on over to the ladies, but I thought I'd give it a shot.

I choose this particular barber shop on Sunset Blvd because it's run by an old guy with thinning white hair, a mustache, and he always wears a guayabera-- those short-sleeve button down shirts that have a brocaded pattern running down the front that you usually see on mariachis at Acapulco Restaurants. Or at Mexican weddings. Or both. Anyway, he was teamed with a round faced friendly looking mustached guy with a salt and pepper cut that looked kind of like my blow-dried hair from the 1980; I think they could have both been my grandfather from different sides of the family. The shop itself is just like the one my dad used to take me to-- only this one has Mexicans in it-- with black and white industrial tiles, plain white walls except for numbered photos of the available styles such as the pompadour or gang-banger, bottles of old tonic and talc, two chairs, a long mirror that you face while being trimmed, a coat rack, and Spanish language magazines tossed in a corner next to the current copy of La Opinion. I walked in, the two barbers looked up and nodded, and I sat down while a young guy and a man who looked like Saddam Hussein got their hair cut. Two more men waited ahead of me, so I grabbed a copy of the La Frontura Violenta comic with a big busted gal on the front and tried to learn some Spanish as I waited.

If you're on a learning path like myself, you should know that Fridays are not good days to go if you're in a rush. Los muchachos are looking to freshen up for their ladies and so there's always a line. Also, there is a much-understood concept called CPT-- Colored People Time. This is identical to GST-- Gay Standard Time-- in that it's usually 1/2 hour behind gringo time, but in the case of MST-- Mexican Standard Time-- it's more of an attitude than something you can set your clock by. These guys aren't rushing you out in 30 minutes like they would at a Boy's Town salon where it's all about making money, this is about the art of a haircut and an hour later was able to get in for my buzz cut. Here's how the conversation went:

ME: (insert my Latino accent that I adopt whenever speaking with another culture.) "Hola!"
BIG HAIR ABUELO:"Hi..."
ME: "¿Como estas?"
BIG HAIR ABUELO: (nodding) "How you want cut?"
ME: "Military buzz cut."
BIG HAIR ABUELO: "Short? Cholo?"

I wanted to say, "fauxolo"-- as in "Faux cholo haircut"-- but since we were communicating so well I didn't want to confuse the situation. Instead, I pointed to the side of me head and said with my ever-present ethnic accent, "Uno," then at the top and said, "Dos!" For those of you unfamiliar with hair terminology (I try to have a breadth of knowledge on multiple topics because it makes one more versatile at parties), that meant I wanted a very short "1" guard to clip the side of my head and a slightly longer "2" guard for the top.

BIG HAIR ABUELO: "One and two? Okay..."

First a buzz, buzz, and all my hair was off, a distinct line between the two layers. Then he said, "I blend..."Andd 45 minutes later he had made the most perfectly sculpted head of hear I'd ever experienced. I marveled at my head as a whirring noise filed the background, and suddenly warm cream was applied to my neck, and with a flick, flick, flick he took a straight razor and shaved my neck, around my ears and sideburns. Some alcohol-based after shave that I'm sure will never be listed in one of my article for CARGO Magazine was applied to the area and I was finished. "$8," Big Hair Abuelo said, and I gave him a $10, gesturing for him to keep the change.

Yes, it was cheaper than any cut I've ever experienced, and it was probably one of the mostcarefullyy executed fades, and yes, I do look more like a cholo but I figure it's just another side of exploring my Latino heritage. But probably the greatest moment, even though no one spoke to me the entire time, was feeling like I was one of the guys. This was totally where my dad would have felt at home, and though he's been gone for over 15 years now I felt just a little closer to him because I got a cut and shave just like I used to watch him get so many years ago. It's hard to tag down the exact emotions surrounding this moment, but I guess I felt like with this haircut I'd kind of stepped one closer toward fitting into my new home.

Ghetto Vons

The Anglos I know in my 'hood-- most of them lesbians or publicists I deal with when writing about fancy LA restaurants-- all call the local Vons grocery store "Ghetto Vons". It's totally a Vons of a particular era, with the wide windowed arch that goes from one end of the entrance to the other, trés 1960s, the aisles are small, there's no fresh bakery (not that I eat fresh baked goods from grocery stores anyway when there are plenty of madre y padre places down the road), but they do sell low-carb tortillas which I find muy hermoso in my ethinic neighborhood of beans cooked in lard. The parking lot is huge, you could fit a Costco in there with some redesign, and it's up set on a hill, which is only odd in that if the store had been built within the last decade they would have put the parking underneath and created more stores, perhaps a Starbucks, on that above ground space. But this isn't The Valley; this is Echo Park.

Anyway, yesterday I met my new friend there. She doesn't know we're friends yet, but we are. Her name is "Dimples".

I'm not making a joke, that's the name on her tag. Dimples resembles the comedienne Monique-- big, black and beautiful. Her hair is perfectly curled in Shirley Temple ringlets that fall slightly in front of her round face that has a lovely light layer of base and dark mascara lines under her eyes. Her lips are perfectly painted but not obnoxiously, only so much as to enhance her natural beauty. And she's large but not fat, wearing clothes that actually fit. Dimples is the sort of gal that a brutha could like, and being part brutha, I see the sexy in her fine frame and love her, myself.

Ghetto Vons only has two checkout lines open at a time because there's never really anyone shopping, even on weekends. I could have gone to the questionably-gay-Latino checker, but I was drawn to Dimples; she had a shorter line. And as she's ringing up the girl in front of me she says in the most monotone voice you have ever heard, "Would you like to donate $1 toward breast cancer?"

This is one of those things the stores are doing now, upselling an item for a non-profit, and while I wanted to point out that she wasn't actually raising money for cancer but probably for cancer research, I couldn't help but be amazed by Dimples. With a name like that there is such an expectation placed on the individual. Did she create the ultimate sad-girl voice in rebellion against her mamma naming her Dimples? Was she just having a bad day? Or had she really been named Dimples or nick-named Dimples at some point because she used to be a cheery woman and then Ghetto Vons dragged down her spirit so it would match the store itself: visually lovely but not holding the sort of substance one expects from a grocery store (or name) such as this one?

I wasn't sure, and I couldn't engage her too much because a Cha-Cha Chikita got in line behind me with some Suave Balsam and Protein shampoo and conditioner, but I was determined to make Dimples' day. So when it came to me, I smiled big and said, "Hi!" Dimples was caught off guard and asked how I was-- something she didn't do for the girl ahead of me-- and when she asked if I had my Vons card I said, "I'll punch in the number myself, thanks!" just to let her know I was helpful and understood how hard this day must be for her. Then she asked about helping breast cancer, and I thought I better not since there are many women in my family, and then when she asked in that same monotone if I needed help out with my three bags (which they're required to do as employees) I smiled and said, "Oh, no, but God bless ya for asking."

God is popular with the African American community, so I figured that would help.

Dimples gave me a double take, I took my bags and wished her a good day. She offered the same back and while Dimples didn't smile I did take her out of her routine. I swear I heard the monotone crack. I think my latter theory is correct, that she has just had the weight of the world placed upon her by the spirit of this store-- no one goes to that much trouble to make themselves look that beautiful if they don't really care about their life. Something must have made her this way.

It is now my personal challenge to see Dimples come back to the life she deserves. My quest for Dimples begins...

Discovering my ethnicity

Moving to Echo Park has been a very illuminating experience. For a long time I have thought myself to be multiracial, at least spiritually. I always bond better with the working folk and invariably take on their accents the second I meet them. It's not flattery or immitation, it's simply me becoming one with my kindred mates; indeed, I think this makes me a Halfrican-American.

So now I've decided that upon entering this new chapter of my life I should really embrace my Latino heritage. Now for those of you racists in the audience-- and I know there are a couple because I know many of you personally-- I will not be making any El Pollo Loco or Taco Bell jokes. Please! That stuff, while tastey, is gringo food.

Nah, esse, I'm talking about the real comida, the life blood pumping through this community and this culture that I have now become a member. I realized my new position last week while waiting for the gas company, Dish Network, phone company, and DSL employees to arrive and hook up all my essential domestic services. Since my floor man, Otto, and his workers were here I couldn't watch movies for Paramount and do any copy work, so I decided to paint some of the trim that needs fixing.

There we were-- Otto, Manuel, Jose-- working quietly as Super Estrella 107.1 played in the background, and I suddenly began understanding the songs. Recognizing them! No, these weren't remakes of American songs, nor was all Latin music cleverly disguised circus tunes with women hopping around in short shorts and cowboy hats. ¡Ay, Dios Mio, no! We're talking fun little numbers you could shake a tail feather at!

Super Estrella is just like any other Clear Channel-style congomerate: they play the same songs over and over. Between that repetition and my rudimentary Spanish classes from mi escuela secondaria, plus a few years working in restaurants where I learned how to order "dos mas" of any item, I began to recognize the "Pretty Girl I Love" ballad, the festive "Come on and Dance" ditty that sounded quite a bit like a 1980s Erasue hit, or the one about the migrant farmworker in Modesto-- at least I think that was the meaning because it said something that sounded like "uvas", which are grapes, and the "Silencio de Modesto."

I have no doubt that if I continue listening to Super Estrella I'm going to be on the road to understanding many a pop ballad, and thus the culture itself. If you think about American pop songs, excluding the ones that use slang like "bling" or the suffix "izzy" in them, it's quite easy to grasp basic English. The same fact applies to musica en Español. And besides, if I could immediately learn that the hottest spot on Thursdays was Margarita Joe's in West Covina (a proven fact because they play Kylie Minogue on the commercial) then I can learn anything!

La Raza baby! More to come!

The move in

We made it. We've spent two nights in the new home and while we don't have DSL yet, everything else is pretty keen. Once I get up to speed I'll let you know what all happened.

...because it is something VERY exciting. At least to me.

Now that I've moved to Echo Park, I've decided to embrace my Latino heritage. ¡Ole!

The dangers (and blessings) of cleaning

Last night I pulled out my old journals in preparation for the move. I'm not foolish enough to start reading those-- the last time I did that I lost hours of my life reading stories of old loves, dreams, fantasies, shames and follies. Reading them also puts me into a lovely little depression because I would 1.) lie about dramatic romances with women that didn't exist because I didn't want to admit to being gay; 2.) read about all the brilliant plays, books, and movies I would write and suddenly get knocked in the head that none of that came to pass; and 3.) realize that I'd just wasted valuable time that could have been spent packing, writing, calling the 800 number on the back of my toothpaste tube or any one of a hundred other useful endeavors.

That said, I did go through some of my old plays and found a particularly funny line from the first full-length play I'd ever written. This lesbian character (who's married to a gay man-- theatre is just so CONTROVERSIAL!) is talking about how she hates going to doctors. When asked why, she says, "I had a gynecologist that must have been a vet on a farm at one time, and I've never been the same since."

THAT made me laugh. So I guess there is some good stuff in there and I decided to not toss all my old scripts. I might even try going through those files of story ideas and see if there's anything worth developing.

Within those boxes I also culled through PeeChee folder after PeeChee folder of old class notes. I was going to toss it all, and I did ditch my Readers Theater and Abnormal Psych material, but then I found a lot of my religious studies notes and started reading. I also looked at my essays from various English classes, my time studying in England, etc., and something became startlingly clear: I was smart at one time.

Yes, it's true. It wasn't all of these witty one-liners and snappy but silly remarks. I was smart. I would make connections between Milton's Paradise Lost and how that influenced Christian myth into becoming what we consider biblical fact today. I would spend hours just thinking, examining books for their literary influences. Even in my Sci Fi literature class I not only took the exams but then decided to write my own fantasy short story just because I could. (Okay, just to clarify, that class was at the junior college in San Diego, not at UCLA; up here we studied The Beat Generation-- snap, snap.) The story was also a really interesting idea, that Lazarus from the Bible was actually a vampire which is why he was resurrected-- Jesus was the grand daddy of all vampires and they were more like angels or something like that-- but now Laz has grown weary and wants to finally end his existence the same way JC did. Look at that! Mixing my religious background with my lit background. How innovative!

But this wasn't the only instance when I would just do things like this. Hell, for my Milton class at UCLA I made a guide to Christian symbolism in Paradise Lost that the professor gave to students after I'd graduated. Don't know if she still does, but the point is that I didn't need to create that I just did it because I was so into the experience, the learning, the writing.

And I don't do anything like that anymore.

I know on one level it's because I had fewer bills then, and one could argue fewer stresses, but I did have 18 units and graduated with honors while holding down two jobs and an internship (Welcome to my ego but I think I've earned that moment, thankyouverymuch.). It's not like I was just playing with myself between a couple classes. It's definitely easier to think, contemplate, and journal (hell, this blog is the closest thing to journaling I do now) when you have fewer bills and are living as a starving student, but I think priorities are also different. We (and if by "we" I mean "I") don't give ourselves time to read. Honestly, I love my comic books and they feed that creative aspect, but I've only had time to jot down ideas for what I'd do in a comics series, not actually pen a script. And between writing all day for magazines so that I can pay the mortgage, I just don't take the time to write for me.

Society is not made to foster thinkers any longer. We don't encourage journaling, reading books-- in fact, we have to start clubs so that we force it onto ourselves-- and continuing our education is a joke. I'd take a continuing education class but the last time I did it was for a performance class at UCLA Extension and I ended up co-teaching it because I had more experience giving development notes than the professor.

Perhaps the modern-day artists who do produce amazing works have more time to simply "be", but I'm not sure if that's because they make the time or they can live off their creations and that affords them the luxury of not dealing with the crap all of us have to face. Sure, it's easy to say "make time" but when you're never quite sure where the next paycheck is coming from, it's difficult. Or even someone like Steve who works all day long, the last thing he wants to do is come home and paint in the evening so that he can create more art. He wants to rest, chill out, have a life.

My former boss and a really great spiritual guy, director Michael Rymer, once said to me, "It's easy to be a spiritual guru when you don't have a job to worry about." True enough. Balancing the mundane/work worlds with our creative sides is tough, and I guess we all make our own choices on how art will flourish in our lives. But I really want to try and make this moment continue on, to devote a certain amount of time to my own creations from now on. Even this long-ass blog entry has made me feel somewhat more connected than I've felt in a long time.

And that's a feeling that I'd really like to keep.

Gentrifigaytion

This weekend we recruited friends for a painting party at the house. First off, I love how you can throw the word "party" in there so that it seems like a fun event when in reality you're breaking your back for pizza and beer. But as a writer, I know the importance of a good spin and so we kept it light, fluffy, and tipsy with Rolling Rock which was on sale at the House of Spirits located down the block.

You may have seen some photos along the way, but the picture above is of the guest room floor-- we think it's the original flooring from 1914, and it was uneven on two different levels so the floor guy had to rip them out and then relay wood. Needless to say, this is the "before" pic.

By Saturday the new floor, minus the floorboards, had been put down. We covered everything on Saturday morning and started priming the walls because the current colors and sponge painting were too bold for a simple coat of Martha Stewart. Then our friends Brian and Rodney (slightly hung over but troopers and good friends nevertheless), Matt & Rick, Steve's brother and father, Jerry, Meghan (or as we likes to call her "Megsbian"), and Sarah all came over during the two days and helped paint. Here is a pic of Steve priming away the mermaid trinity from the bathroom. This room will eventually be light blue and chocolate brown.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, Martha Stewart also helped us with two small messy tasks. First, we added a few drops of vanilla to the paint and it cut the smell. Seriously. And second, Matt learned that if you put a small nail hold in the top rim (heh, I said "rim") the paint will drain back into the can without leaving that messy drip on the lid. You really can learn things from her, ya see!

Here is a pic of Megsbian and Jerry painting the dining room/living room. They're both single, by the way. (I'm here to help my friends...)



Here is a pic of the living room with the floors and with the final coat of paint on Sunday. We still have to do small detail work on the trims and such, but for the most part the main living areas are set... and no longer orange and yellow sponge-painted-by-square-pants.

And finally, here is the pic of Steve in the same position as that "before" picture. It looks so much nicer... and less violet. The move is next Friday/Saturday. Pray for us.

Has Mom been reading my blog?

Um... no, she hasn't; I don't even think she knows what a blog is. But here is the e-mail she sent me today, which is only funny if you look at the blog I posted earlier today.

Hi - I went through one of those bags you brought down - what a treasure trove!! You must have enough gifts just in that one to last a couple of years. Great work Steve!!!!

Have been trying - slowly - to go through some of the junk in this house. I have a bunch of tapes that you left here - Blake 7, Scarecrow & Mrs King, Star Cops, Henry V & Hamlet, and probably some more I've forgotten. If you still want them, that's OK, but if not I will probably donate them to the thrift store. I really don't mind keeping them - that's not the point. I just don't want to keep them if you have no use for them. Anyway, you can let me know whenever.
Love - Mom

So what is the real tragedy here?... That I actually have the entire Scarecrow and Mrs. King series taped off The Family Channel (when it existed) or that she saved all those videos all those years? Or is it that she thinks a thrift store will take 10+ year old VHS tapes with TV episodes on them? I must ponder...

Mom and the greatest sanctuary on Earth.

This is my mother's refrigerator. I've written many stories about my crazy family and my mother in particular. For those of you out of the loop, Mom saves everything and still shops as though all five kids, my father and grandmother were living at home. She lives alone now and lots of readers laugh when I recount her crazy escapades-- how she bought 30 Oster blenders at Pic N Save (now called "Big Lots" for you young folk) and then returned them all to 10 different Macy's for in store credit so that she could buy us a ton of Macy's gifts at Christmas. People think she's just wacky when she makes us save our wrapping paper at birthdays and Christmas so that it can be reused, and everyone loves that she still yells, "Dammit! We can't have anything nice!" when something breaks or spills in the house.

But this is reality. Oh yes, this is her refrigerator. Please note on the bottom right-hand drawer the packages of Nestle Cookies just waiting to be popped into a hot oven. Or in the drawer on the left I can spot three packages of Kraft Singles, which would be really exciting if we had a grilled cheese day! This could be like a new version of "Where's Waldo!" Spot the three dozen eggs housed on the first two shelves! It's breakfast bonanza time! Name all the different butter brands (I can spot 3, how about you?) And she even has a gallon of milk for... herself? Who else is she serving milk and cookies to? Why wasn't I invited? And why are there packages of dry pasta in the cold cuts drawer on the left?

I stopped by San Diego on Wednesday and as I hit Camp Pendleton I realized there are always a few things I can count on picking up at Mom's: toothpaste, bottles of Advil, and snacking on some Oreo or Mother's cookies. I try not to buy too many fattening snacks because, well, I'll eat them. I work from home and inevitably set some silly goals in an attempt to control myself. Such as, If I complete a paragraph THEN I can eat a cookie!. Of course, it will be a 1500 word feature, so by the time I finish my rewrite the packages are all empty. So part of my payment for visiting Mom is that I can treat myself in her pantry...

But she was out. Oh yeah, there were NO cookies, cakes, muffins, or brownies to be found in Ché Andreoli. Three containers with leftover dinners, but no snacks, and I didn't have time to heat up the oven and discover that Nestle really does make the very best. No, I needed to munch and run since I had to work on an article in San Diego. The only thing I could find were some Special K cereal bars and that wasn't exciting!

Then this happened...
For those of you who are unaware, these are comic book boxes. This stack is my collection from when I moved to LA in 1993 until now. But I'm moving from a 1200 square foot apartment into an 800 one. We have no space but I couldn't get rid of the comics. I just couldn't!

Comics were my life growing up and on a certain level they still are. They brought me into working at Comic-Con International in San Diego, they filled my imagination with amazingly fun times. They made me happy when life was crappy, offered distraction from the mundane, and were one of the things that inspired me to become a writer. I'm still developing some comic book ideas and pitches because one of my current goals is to be writing those in tandem with my novels, and when one is as obsessed about the topic as I am, you can't just give away years of your history.

But then there's Mom. Only she understands this sort of need to hold onto things, and in fact this photo is of the comic books I'd collected and left in her house before moving to LA. So it wasn't like I was invading her space, I was just bringing collections together. And Mom didn't care. When I suggested bringing these boxes down she said, "Of course!" without even pausing.

I did get a call from her later that day-- I thought to make a joke about the number of boxes I'd left-- but it was only to say, "Oh, I saw all those stuffed animals Steve got from Disney and they're so cute!" Steve was part of a big discount sale, blindly grabbed a bunch of toys and now we're set for the next 10 Christmases, but I'm storing them at Mom's house since that's where holidays reside (and we have no room in our new home). "You weren't kidding that he grabbed a ton," she continues, excited like a little girl. "And for only $6! That's just amazing! I wish he'd been around when all the kids were that young because we wouldn't have needed to buy any gifts ever again! I mean, $6, you can't beat that with a stick!..."

On and on. She didn't care about the comics, she only cared that Steve had scored a magnificent deal.

So really, I'm in no position to complain about the lack of cookies. After all, if it wasn't for Mom, I don't know what I would have done.

¿Rosas?

Okay, I don't know the guy who created this but it's quite possibly one of the most genius links EVER... well, okay, you kind of have to know who the Rosas Lady is from West Hollywood. She's always trying to sell her roses to you with the biggest smile you've ever seen, even after getting rejected a hundred times, and this link is a pretty frickin' great tribute to her. Check it out.

Xanadu 25th Anniversary

Such a brilliant Friday night! I had the crappiest week with work and then Steve and I attended the Xanadu 25th Anniversary celebration. It was so fun, and Kira truly delivered an evening that was like a dream...




Held at the beautiful Alex Theater in Glendale.





The audience was packed with friends of author Dennis Hensley (on right). Thank God, because they're all fun folk who know this movie as well as we do, so when the muse Top Knot comes on screen they scream, when the lezzie muses appear they hoot, and when Olivia peeks through her eyes it was like the world ended and had been reborn. Good times.



Here I am with my friend, Alonso. He has a new pop culture/film book coming out soon that I will be madly plugging in my blog. (Don't be dirty!)




Here is David Morton (director of Testosterone) and Bion Kirk, former owner of The Athletic Club in West Hollywood and now a wild cat trainer (or something like that).




Here is the line of our friends, watching from the balcony.



So picture the evening. They started with a costume contest, then a talk by one of the dancers who dished some great inside dirt. For example, in the "All Over The World" number, the person who opens the car door for Gene Kelly was a tranny. Fun! Does that mean Gene got into a Gender Bender?

Then the movie started and it was just magical, and like one of those crooks they warn you about before movies who say buying an illegal DVD is wrong, I snapped a couple photos of the screening. But if you're enjoying this blog, then I think you're just as guilty as me. Hah!

Now on the advertisements they mentioned dancers, but nothing materialized at the beginning of the film. As we all sat there thinking, "Dreams die!" the movie gets to the big "Dancin'" number with the '80s and '40s singers/dancers. Out comes about 20 different people onto the stage performing, and they were totally synched up with the movie.



It was like watching Rocky Horror but with actual talent (and I say that as someone who lost years of his life performing the role of Brad Majors). These people were ON and I just wish I had been able to get better photos. Steve's friend Jamie took some pics so maybe I'll have some more later, but for now here are pics of those guys. (In this pic, you can see the two groups coming together for a brilliant moment of ELO cinematic history.)




And the big finale. If anyone out there got the dancers in focus send me pics because I want to give these kids their props. ("Props", ya see, if hip youth lingo.)




Finally, here's Olivia singing "Suspended in Time". Tony, Dennis' roommate, dubbed Olivia "One-Take Newton-John" because this entire segment was completed in one take. No cuts. Honest. Would you doubt a big freak like me?

Anyway, it was one of the best times I've had in ages and I only wish we weren't so exhausted from the move and a hellish work week that we could have gone for drinks after. But no, and anyway, we spent the rest of the weekend prepping the house for our upcoming move and buying Ikea furniture. We couldn't paint yet, so that will come next weekend. But now we're really getting excited. I can't wait to make the house our own.

We have some pics of those adventures and will fill them in as this progresses. I need to get to work. --R