Wednesday, June 29, 2011

SixSixSix

Friends, family, strangers - six months. We have six months remaining in 2011. We have six months to continue pursuing the year's goals. We have six months to turn our lives around and dream big. Six months. It's actually a nice chunk of time. Summer is alive and lightening spirits across much of the globe. Following the warmer months, which will indeed pass too quickly, comes fall, introducing a touch of chill to the air and some of the best fashion trends. Then there's winter. Dreaded winter. Seems far off, right? It is. Take this time to reconnect with your resolutions and strive to be that better woman or man. It's never too late. You're never too old, or fat, or skinny, or ugly, or pretty, or weak, or single, or married, or broke, or child-rearing, or depressed or happy to lift that chin higher and open a few windows.

2011 has been a year of windows for me. It began with a blessing and a curse - a broken foot. While healing, I practiced some serious soul-searching. What I found motivated me to elevate myself on all levels. I've never been happier or healthier in my twenties, and I'm turning 28 in a month. My love for Hudson, my manfriend of 4.5 years, has grown immensely after experiencing his selflessness and willing to be my slave while bedridden. I've lost 30 pounds since January 1st, and I intend to lose 30 more. I abandoned practicality once again and left my secure job at JibJab to follow my dreams of becoming a writer. Freelancing has proved challenging but creatively fulfilling, and I was just offered a full-time position as an editor for LAist, an L.A.-centric blog which I've been volunteering with since January. Perseverance paid off, and I am so pumped to join the team. Did I mention I get to work from home? Tres cool. Loads of other positive happenings have occurred this year, and I can't wait to see what's next.

Speaking of next, I'm gearing up for a red-eye flight to St. Thomas (with a stop in Miami) for Hudson's Dirty Thirty Birthday Adventure. Along with his jet-setter parents and aunt, we're chartering a private 42-foot catamaran and sailing the seas of the Virgin Islands - U.S. and British. I can hardly believe the trip is here, tonight, departing in 20 minutes for LAX.

Take care, dear readers, and I wish you the best of times.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

Los Angeles, Je T'Aime

We love to complain about Los Angeles -- traffic, smog, industry, deluded mindsets, pretentious psyches. But I think underneath it all, most of us really love the sprawl. The action is here. And if you're tired of it, you can easily slip away to a quaint beach town or secluded mountain top for a weekend.

Enjoying my recent trip back east, I had zero time to grow L.A.sick, racing around to visit as many family members and friends as possible. After a hellish United flight home, I sunk into my couch, fondling the fibers, missing its touch. (I spend a lot of time on my couch as a freelancer.) I smiled at my bamboo plant sitting on my living room table, my desert succulents sunbathing on my kitchen sink windowsill, my everlasting yellow daisies swimming in their blue vase on my kitchen table, the roaring Venice Boulevard. The realization of how at home I feel in Venice shocked me slightly, though a tinge of SoYoCosickness stabbed my stomach.

The events of my first day home delighted me. Without planning, I found myself at places I had missed after just one week. Revolution Fitness in Venice, Wednesday's Santa Monica Farmer's Market, Trader Joe's, Firefly on Abbot Kinney to buy my fancy French soap and Intelligentsia for a heavenly cappuccino topped with a frothy heart. Each of these stops made me incredibly happy, hugging my heart, thanking me for returning to a land which I once loved, then loathed and now love once again.

Though I may not reside in L.A. forever, California has stolen my heart and soul, just as I knew it would years before I uprooted and moved my life to an unknown, coveted coast.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Ladies & Gentlemen, This Is Your Captain Speaking

Traveling enlightens the mind and soul. I love traveling. It's my spending priority aside from food, green products and rent. I've developed a routine before traveling which varies depending on my destination/s. Tonight I'm braving a red-eye flight from LAX to BWI with a final destination of York, PA. Sounds exciting, doesn't it? It's not. But the people I meet (new nephew!) and visit (friends and family!) are. In my usual fashion of needing to escape my hometown after one day, I'll be strapping myself into my step-dad's mother's hefty Chevy Lumina and driving about 100 miles to Philadelphia, my beloved stomping ground from 2001-2006.

So what's this routine of mine?

A standard stream of musings flood my mind a couple weeks before a hometown trip. Here's a taste of the scatter.

  • What kinds of treats should I request be fully stocked in my mom's kitchen upon my arrival?
  • Did I buy treats for the niece and nephew?
  • Who do I want to see?
  • Who do I need to see?
  • Who can I avoid?
  • Who will undoubtedly message me to hang out that I must avoid at all costs?
  • How can I avoid attending any bars?
  • How can I avoid the mall?
  • How can I avoid the grocery store?
  • Which one of my friends will host Lloydpalooza this time?
  • How will I continue my diet and exercise regimen while away from home? (That answer is easy: I won't. I will return a few pounds heavier and need to spin every day, twice, to undo the horrors I've done to my body in one week.)
  • Will Grandpa Denzil remember me?
  • If Grandpa Denzil doesn't remember me, who should I pretend to be?
  • How will I handle humidity? 

Tasty. After those important queries, I ponder packing. Then I start making lists.

Obviously, I'm only carrying-on luggage. I refuse to: 1) Pay to check my luggage. 2) Wait in line to check my bags. 3) Wait in line to retrieve my bags.

  • How many pairs of underwear should I pack? Will I need extras? It is going to be humid...
  • How many pairs of leggins should I bring?
  • Sleepwear? Jeans? Dresses? Shirts? Shoes? Sandals? Socks? Jewelry?
  • Workout wear? (I typically bring two outfits which I may use during the first day or two of my trip. I don't see them again until I'm packing to leave.)
  • Should I bring my own all-natural, toxin-free toiletries or brave those supplied to me?

My list becomes very detailed, identifying the exact number of everything I should bring, right down to the undergarments. It's helpful, organized and responsible. And maybe a little overkill.

On the day of my flight, like today, I begin dreading the possible monstrosities I may encounter on the plane. The Farter. The Crier. The Back of Seat Kicker. The Vomiter. The Constant Pee'er. The Talker. The Fatty. The Shower Hater. The Active Sleeper. Which one will I enjoy tonight and into tomorrow morning?

Fingers, toes and eyes crossed that tonight, as my window seat beckons my heavy head, the seat to my left is empty, the air a comfortable temperature and free of human stink, sleep consumes me and I awaken just as we touch ground to be greeted by my brother and niece.

Friday, June 10, 2011

Judy Garland Makes We Wonder...

I would've never known had Tribeca Film Festival not posted about it on Facebook, asking their followers, "How many times have you seen the Wizard of Oz?" This prompted me to wonder why we continue to celebrate the birthdays of those who have passed.

My father passed away 19 years ago, yet I still pay homage to him every November 27, just 22 days after the anniversary of his death, which I not so much celebrate but mourn. As a member of the DDC - Dead Dads Club - I've healed and feel comfortable making awkward jokes about my loss. I'm fairly certain my Nana and aunt (his mother and sister) continue to gift his grave with fresh flowers every November 27, too.

Is it odd to celebrate birthdays of the dead? Feed me more examples, please.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

I'm Judging You

Remember when the human race fell victim to a harsh deity judgment and some of us went along with Sir Divine and others with Sergeant Hell? Oh right, that never happened. These hyped up rapture events always seem silly to me, but when OnlineRock asked me to cover Saint Motel's Judgment Day event at The Roxy on May 21, I couldn't resist. Reverend Childs, the "boss" behind Project Caravan, preached the momentous occasion until bewilderment set-in as the clock struck midnight. I wish his reaction would have been more dramatic, but it was amusing watching him sweat. 

While the event failed to impress me due to press overhype, the music absolutely did. I missed Queen Caveat due to sluggish service at Hugo's, but The Hundred Days, Vanaprasta and the headliner - Saint Motel - killed it. My companion, Nita, and I snapped as many photos as possible. The show offered exceptional practice shooting action in low light. Check out some of my photos here. And give my OnlineRock article a read here if you're interested in finding out what went down on that not-so-fateful night in May.

So when is the next Judgment Day? I've seen October 21, 2011, and of course the well-known December 21, 2012. We either have 5 months or 19 months. Hopefully more events like this will ring-in the rapture. 

Monday, June 6, 2011

Lessons in Humanity

Be nice. Be polite. Be fair. Put yourself in his/her shoes. I believe if you follow these morals and those similar, you will live a happy life and also make others happy. This year I'm focusing on being more selfless and just being nice in general. I'm a nice person. However, we all have our moments. I am trying not to have these moments. (Though the gypsy Tarot card/palm reader on Venice Beach did call me out on bossing around Hudson...) I'm trying. And my efforts paid off. Literally.

I broke my foot on the first day of this new year. It was a blessing and a curse. A blessing as it forced upon me healthy eating habits and productivity. The curse portion is obvious. I won't go into detail. I left my full-time job mid-January to pursue a career more focused on editorial opportunities. And with that freedom went my health insurance. COBRA proved ludicrously expensive. Blue Cross denied me due to my pre-existing condition. I, of course, blogged about that experience here. Luckily my orthopedist would continue to see me, and luckily I met Josie. Josie works in the accounting department and is an angel. With my tail between my legs, I smiled and explained my situation. She understood. And with each check-up she shaved a few more dollars off my bill. While her scornful job-related comments convinced me that she enjoys nothing about her job, she always remained polite and pleasant. And apparently I did, too.

My last appointment was Wednesday, May 25. Confident that my foot was healed, I hopped onto the x-ray table, laughing at the technician's usual joke before he snapped a shot: "Smile!" The doctor entered my room with a smile, and I, resisting the urge to put down my People magazine, returned his expression. My foot was healed. I could hop. I could jump. I could run. I just had to ease into it. I skipped towards the exit, turning right into Josie's open-wall "office" and told her the good news. I thanked her again for all of her help over the last few months. I wished her a great rest of her week. She told me she'd mail me the check, as usual.

When I called Josie to pay my final installment of "The Metatarsal Trust," I thanked her again. And she said something like this. "You are always so polite and pleasant. I don't help everyone, but when someone is as nice as you, I am happy to reciprocate." That felt good. That felt great. That felt phenomenal. She made my day, my week and possibly my year.

So there you have it. Be nice.