I took these photos a couple of years ago at Arlington.
Both are from Section 60 were the recently fallen heroes are buried.
This family came to celebrate a husband/father/brother's birthday.
They brought flowers, balloons and a cake. And a box of tissue.
This couple told me that they come and sit with their son once a month.
They spend the afternoon reminiscing while having a picnicking.
***
Both scenes moved me unbelievably. And to tears.
I was 8 when Harvey Milk was gunned down by an assholes bullet.
I was a little too young to know anything about Milk - or politics in general.
I just coming to understand and accept my confusing sexual orientation.
Compared to some friends I came to acceptance younger than most.
For a brief spell I thought I was the only one like me in the world.
Until Anita Bryant came along with her anti-gay crusade.
I suppose I should thank her for...
Letting me know that there were more just like me out there in the world.
I knew in time that I would find them. And I did. Lots and lots of them.
But that was a long way off. So a closet became my safe place.
I knew Anita was talking about me. And I didn't like it.
I was a good kid. Eff her. I'd like to throw a pie in her face.
Sadly, we lost the Queen of Disco this morning to cancer.
Donna enjoyed a string of hits in the late 70's-early 80's.
Including 4 #1's: MacArthur Park, Hot Stuff, Bad Girls & No More Tears.
Donna was a pivotal artist on the soundtrack of my youth...
And (without getting into it) a HUGE figure in my pubescent awakening.
As disco faded away in the early 80's Donna's career waned.
In the late 80's after many years of shame 70's disco made a comeback.
Many clubs around LA began serving-up retro 70's nights.
Along with many others I embraced this trend with unabashed enthusiasm.
On one such night the beginning of Bad Girls played...
After Donna's first "toot toot" and before she got to her first "beep beep"...
My friend Lynn grabbed my hand and led me to the dance floor yelling aptly,
"When Donna Summer comes on - we boogie."
Always.
Once upon a very long time ago...
Back in the olden days when I went to the gym everyday.
There was this guy that seemed to be into me.
Or was he. It was really hard to tell.
For about a month he'd smile at me - but only every other time I'd see him.
The other times he'd walk right by me rather aloof. It was really confusing.
Finally one day he introduced himself to me.
During our initial conversation I asked him why sometimes he ignored me.
He replied, "Oh, that's my twin bother. We use the same membership."
Of course! Why didn't I think of that? Derrrrr.
He was quite the flatterer. I don't remember why we never yet there.
But I often tell this story and it makes me wonder what happened to him.
I wish I'd have kept in touch.
***
That's actually him on the left. Or the right. But I think he's on the left.
I didn't know it at the time but they were "adult" actors from Madrid.
They were controversial as the first set twins to appear 'together' in porn.
I guess his porn shelf-life expired and he must have returned to Spain.
This photo of my mother was taken sometime around 1960.
She's standing on a beach in the south of Italy.
My mother was quite the stunner.
I love you mom.
Happy Mother's Day.
This is my senior picture. It was taken in 1982. I graduated in 1983.
The evening of my commencement ceremony I went to Studio 9.
Studio 9 was a small under-21 gay dance club in San Diego.
It was here that I found friends, acceptance, courage and a dance floor.
For the next couple of years I spent at least 5 nights a week there.
We'd successfully 'fish' for wine coolers at the AM/PM down the street.
"And dance our lives away. 2000, zero, zero party's over - oops outta time..."
Funny how those long-ago hangovers seem like total cake compared to now.
We'd dress only in clothing purchased at thrift stores - blame Angela Blaine.
Ang would call, "Let's go a-thriftin'." I'd reply, "Pick you up in 20."
We'd be so upset if we scoured and still had an "unpurchaseful day" - ugh.
When we did have "many fine purchases" we couldn't wait to present them.
My hair went thru a lot of changes too - lengthwise and color.
I even went thru a crazy wig stage - blame Robert Smith and Siouxsie Sioux.
See, that's me... in a very cool ratted out wig waving my fist in the air:
I really wish I could blame the drugs. But I can't - I wasn't doing any.
It was all done on vodka. And grilled cheese sandwiches.
And the occasional hit of poppers. And vodka - there was a lot of vodka.
So bottom-lining it for you fine folks...
For the man I am today you can like so totally - blame the 80's.
In 5th grade I was part of my grade school's Mexican dance troupe.
Yes, that's me.
With Linda Guerrero at the Mission Valley Mall on Cinco de Mayo 1976.
Flash forward...
Cinco de Mayo 2012 - 36 years later that little kid became this hot mess:
Hey, I'm still celebrating.
This photo from 10th grade ('80/'81) reminds me of some of things I wanted.
I wanted to talk like Yoda - blame The Empire Strikes Back.
I wanted to be a really fast speed skater - blame Eric Heiden.
I wanted to be the star of a big Broadway musical - blame Evita.
I wanted 12 albums for a dollar - blame the Columbia House Record Club.
I wanted my own Top 40 Radio Countdown show - blame Casey Kasem.
I wanted a Sledge-O-Matic - blame Gallagher.
I wanted Dolly, Jane and Lily to make a sequel - blame '9 to 5'.
I wanted Valerie Bertinelli to be my best friend - blame One Day at a Time.
I wanted to play a serve and volley tennis game - blame John McEnroe.
I wanted canvas sneakers with a blue swoosh - blame Nike.
I wanted to be a Bradford really bad - blame Eight is Enough.
I wanted Willie Aames to be my boyfriend - blame Eight is Enough.
I wanted to live in Funkytown - blame Lipps Inc.
I wanted to attend the Wedding of the Century - blame Charles & Diana.
I wanted my MTV - blame MTV.
I wanted to know who shot J.R. - blame Dallas.
I wanted to spend hours at the arcade - blame Pac-Man.
I wanted to be a funnyman - blame 'Wild and Crazy Guy' Steve Martin.
***
I'm still waiting for that '9 to 5' sequel, humph.
This photo of me from 8th grade ('79) reminds me of a few things I wanted.
I wanted to be Rizzo - blame Grease.
I wanted every Star Wars item on the market - blame George Lucas.
I wanted Kristy McNichol to be my best friend - blame Family.
I wanted Lance Kerwin to be my first boyfriend - blame James at 16.
I wanted to be a private investigator - blame the Hardy Boys.
I wanted to be a private investigator - blame Nancy Drew.
I wanted to be a private investigator - blame Charlie's Angels.
I wanted to be a great beam artist - blame Nadia Comaneci.
I wanted to go to Studio 54 and disco dance - blame Saturday Night Fever.
I wanted disco to never die - blame Donna Summer & the Bee Gees.
I wanted really big hair - blame Lief Garrett.
I wanted to be roller skate professionally - blame Roller Boogie.
I wanted famous people to stop by and chat - blame Dinah, Merv & Mike.
I wanted a theme song to play when I entered every room - blame Liza.
And I wanted to write and make people chuck'le - blame Erma Bombeck.
Today my father would have celebrated his 73rd birthday.
I'd like to share with you a trait I definitely inherited from him.
As a kid I would ask my dad to go places, "Hey, can we go to the movies?"
"Hey, can we go to the mall?" "Hey, can we go roller skating?"
"Hey, can we go to the beach?" "Hey, can we go to McDonald's?"
His stock answer would always be a deadpanned, "Will people be there?"
It didn't necessarily mean 'no' but he was letting me that crowds bugged him.
And that a lot of times people just suck. I didn't understand it at the time.
I mean, who doesn't want to go to the roller rink?
Doesn't he know that I have my roller skating moves to work on?
***
I soooooooo understand him now.
I stopped going to the movies. I stopped going to the theater.
I stopped going to the mall. I stopped going to trendy night spots.
Yea, you know why... Cuz people will be there.
***
Happy Birthday, Pop.
My 4th grade photo (1974) reminds me of a few things I wanted...
I wanted to be on a family drama - blame the Walton's.
I wanted to work in a newsroom - blame Mary Tyler Moore.
I wanted to fly around in a giant top hat - blame Charles Nelson Reilly.
I wanted to perfect a balance beam routine - blame Olga Korbut.
I wanted to be a trapeze artist - blame Ringling Bros and Barnum & Bailey.
I wanted to be a Von Trapp kid real bad - blame The Sound of Music.
I wanted a 'gets me out of all kinds of trouble' dog - blame Benji.
I wanted to quip witticisms with the best of them - blame Paul Lynde.
I wanted to walk around with a long cigarette holder - blame Phyllis Diller.
I wanted bionics and work for OSI - blame the Six Million Dollar Man.
I'll stop here cuz I would have given up all my 'wants' for some bionics.
I still bionics.
My kindergarten photo reminds me of a few things I wanted...
I wanted magical powers - blame Bewitched.
I wanted to be on a sitcom - blame Family Affair.
I wanted my parents to be stars of a variety hour - blame Chastity Bono.
I wanted to drink Tang all the time - blame NASA.
I wanted to fly - blame Sally Field.
I wanted a mile-high beehive - blame Jo Anne Worley.
I wanted a big fun head-turning laugh - blame Jo Anne Worley.
I wanted bell bottom pants - blame my older sister.
I wanted hit records - blame Johnny Horton.
I wanted lots of money - blame Thurston Howell III.
I wanted to talk with a funny accent - blame Thurston Howell III.
I wanted to live in a hut on a deserted island - blame Thurston Howell III.
I wanted to drink everything out of a coconut - blame Thurston Howell III.
Except for the beehive I still kinda want all these things.
Sometimes it's the photo that's the funny.
That wasn't even toilet paper - it was a toilet seat protector.
Crappy of us I know but we even let him walk away like that.
My friend Jeremy is leaving Los Angeles for the cloudier skies over Seattle.
His departure leaves a major void in my life.
Jeremy and his partner Jason entered my life one Friday night in mid-2011.
We bonded over a playful argument about a terrible TV show & a Jager shot.
Yes Jeremy, it was then & still remains a shitty show. I'll always win this one.
The three of us quickly became bar buddies enjoying the companionship.
But it only took a short bit of time for a wonderful friendship to bloom.
The love and laughs we honed in the following year and a half were magical.
A few weeks ago Jeremy approached me with the sad news of his transfer.
Though it's a painful loss I've handled it well. So far...
Talk to me next week when he's not at my side sharing a pitcher of beer.
Jeremy sets off today with Jason to follow in a few weeks: major ugh factor.
Life will feel strange for a long while - I will miss you wildly my dear friend.
I have long waited for a picture of these two together.
Wanna see who is in those shoes? Well, just click over to see it below.
Warning: Not for the faint of heart.
Yesterday as I walked Hector & Monji's dear dogs I had an incident.
As a good civic-minded dog walker I always pick up their poop. Always.
Well, yesterday just happened to be trash pick-up day so...
I tied the crap bags into one big bag of hefty poop.
I was a distance from the curbside trash bins so I gave it a nice arc-ing fling.
There was a satisfying thud. Followed my a man's yelp.
Suddenly up popped a dumpster diver. He looked at me and said, "Really?"
I apologized and replied, "Please tell me that that didn't hit you in the head."
He laughed, "Of course It did!" An awkward pause followed.
Then I flung him a punchline, "I guess that makes you a real shit head."
We enjoyed a nice laugh together. Thankfully.
***
Yes, that is actually a pic of him.
The other day I was waiting for the bus on Sunset Blvd. There was a homeless man eating some leftovers he'd dug out of the trash. He seemed quite content with his find.
That is until another homeless guy showed up...
The intruding homeless guy had a sign that said PLEASE HELP and he was walking among the cars stopped at the light.
This angered and interupted the first homeless guy's lunch as he stood up and yelled, "Hey, you can't panhandle here. This is my spot."
The second guy ignored him and continued walking through the heavy mid-day traffic.
The first one continued while waiving a spork in the air, "Hey, you. It's illegal to panhandle here. You need to leave before I call the Mayor."
That triggered a response, "You don't have no Mayor's number and besides I see you panhandle here all the time. Don't the laws apply to you too?"
Now with arms akimbo the first guy said, "No asshole, I am not subject to your human laws."
The second guy angrily asked, "What the fuck does that mean?"
The first guy did a big (and impressive) doo-wop move and proclaimed with his proud gesture of matter-of-fact, "I am from outer space - your human laws do not apply to me."
It worked as there just was no arguing with that so the second guy shrugged and took off down the street.
Satisfied with himself he returned to his lunch. He took a bite and then realized that I had been a witness to this bizarre encounter. He looked up and I asked, "Are you really from outer space?"
He pointed his spork in my direction and said cooly, "Not really."
This is the family portrait we gathered to take on Thanksgiving 2000.
Nancy was very ill and wanted a record of the family together before she...
Well, you know.
This photo was taken toward the beginning of her 4 year battle.
The only good thing her death did for me was bring me closer to my family.
Not that I was entirely estranged...
But for a few members of the family my being gay was a bit of an issue.
Which just made things a tad weird thru the years. And kept me away.
Before we left for the photography studio my niece Crissy pulled me aside,
"Uncle Chuck, I really owe you an apology."
Curiosity crossed my face as I asked, "An apology? For what?"
She continued, "I wasted all these years thinking you were weird."
Oh that.
I gulped and tried to make light to deflect the awkward moment, "I am weird!"
Crissy stopped me, "No. You're so cool. I hate that I didn't see that before."
I pulled her to me in a tight and tender embrace - one of genuine warmth.
While well-hugged she concluded, "I just hope you can accept my apology."
I was tip-lipped owing to tearing-up but I managed a quiet, "Of course."
That moment may be a small moment for her but it was pivotal for me.
And from that day forward our relationship deepened & it's been wonderful.
Hmm, beyond.
***
Crissy is the young blond on the left just behind the boy, Nancy's son Alec.
I came across this photo today. Dad, Sandi (stepmother) and Nancy (lil sis).
Thanksgiving 2000. We gathered in Phoenix for a family portrait.
Nancy was very ill and we didn't know how much longer we'd have her.
Because once she passed our family portrait would forever change.
We got lucky and had her another 3 years.
Today marks the 8th anniversary of Nancy's passing.
Today also marks the 22nd day since my dad's passing.
Missing them both today. So much this Valentine's Day.
I took this photo a half an hour after I saw my father alive for the last time.
The date and time was: January 22, 2012 - 10:45.
I was just going home quickly and set to return to San Diego 2 days later.
Unfortunately time cruelly intervened with my ill-planned intentions...
He passed away the next day.
Looking back I sure wish I'd have hugged him a little harder; a little longer.
And instead of the single kiss I gave him on his forehead -
I wish I'd have covered his sweet face with them.
And instead of boarding that train I wish I'd have paid head to my instincts...
And just stayed with him.
On Tuesday, the night after my father passed, the heavens were painted with a gloriously vivid sunset. So much so it stopped me in my tracks. These types of scenes can really take ones breath away.
I took a photo of it and posted it on Facebook with the following caption:
This is the sunset right now. If I were religious I'd say that they let my dad in - with great fanfare. As it should be.
After giving the photo a little more of a ponder I decided that it might actually have been the moment that my father was reunited with my little sister.
You see, next month marks the 8th year of her passing from breast cancer and the skies the other night were lit up in the Susan G. Komen for the Cure colors - shades of breast cancer awareness pink.
I know my father was eager to see her again. And maybe, just maybe, the power of their embrace and the warmth it generated sparked the heavens to blaze.
No, not maybe. Certainly.
Yesterday in the late afternoon my father died.
Besides his unconditional love I got these five things from my dad:
1. My extreme punctuality. In fact, like him, I'm usually early.
2. My looks. In the photo above we are about the same age, 46.
3. My love of classic country music. Waylon, Willie, Merle, Dolly, Loretta, etc.
4. My sense of humor. He was quite the wit. I pale in comparison.
5. My stepmother Sandi. They were extremely lucky to have each other.
His passing is a stunningly numbing loss. My heart is broken.
But I'm confident my little sister greeted him with outstretched arms.
Goodbye, Pop.
As I sit on the train heading toward San Diego to visit my father I have allowed my mind to wander through the years and smile at the many memories of us. Reflection in this manner is sweet. And sad. It's funny how sweet and sad sometimes hand hands as if intimates.
Anyway, I came across a particular memory I'd like to share with you today. Many of you already know this story but it's a very funny one and bears repeating - for my recent fans friends. It's short and you'll Chuck'le (again).
As a child my father had two nick names for me: Charlie and Butch. Yes, you read that correctly - Butch. I have no idea where that came from or how it started but he called for me using both equally.
About 15 years ago I was telling a coworker this story and when she heard the name Butch she twisted up her face and snarled in amusement, "Butch?"
I too laughed at the obvious ridiculousness, "Yea."
She continued, "Well, he got all the consonants right but he employed the wrong vowel."
We enjoyed a fairly lengthy laugh at her apt joke. Just as you will, once you think about it a second more...
Yesterday I had to stand before a judge in Beverly Hills on a ridiculous charge that was rightfully dropped. The court found it a waste of time. And I'm not going to bother to elaborate here but I will say that I'm thankful that I did not have to sit around all day waiting to be called as the public defender made sure I was up second confiding in me, "This is a complete waste of the court's time - let me get you out of here."
The first case was a young guy in court from a rehab center with a progress report for the judge. The rehab center had a name that suggested it may have had a religious angle, it was called Holy something, I can't recall the exact name - just the Holy part.
The judge asked the defendant, "Just for future reference I'd just like to know if this rehab center is religious. I wouldn't want to send someone who is not religious to a faith-based center."
His lawyer answered for him, "Your honor, we'd prefer not to answer that question as it may prejudice the court."
The judge responded, "That fine."
The lawyer continued, "I will add that I think it's 'holy' just because when you are admitted you walk in and look around and say 'holy crap.'"
The judge smiled and said, "While I recognize that that is a pretty funny joke," she took a pause for her own comic timing, "I'll remind you that the Comedy Store is up on Sunset."
***
About the photo: The Beverly Hills Fire Department is on the next block from the Court House and they have a memorial to 9-11. The twisted piece of metal is a beam from the World Trade Center and it's base is a Pentagon shaped flower bed with the greenery representing the fields of Shanksville. The lovely memorial is surrounded by welcoming benches for one to sit and reflect. Los Angeles is a big part of the 9-11 plot - remember, 3 of the 4 hijacked planes were LAX bound.
Yesterday my world was rocked. Jolted. Tilted. Slammed. Wrecked.
My stepmother Sandi called with news that my father was in the hospital.
It seems he had not been feeling well over the holidays.
They finally decided to go to the emergency room on New Years Eve.
Blood was drawn. Tests were performed. Breaths were held.
The end result was an unimaginable horror: stage 4 liver cancer.
Exhale.
My father is battling Alzheimer's and his memory fails him constantly.
I called him yesterday while he was in the hospital.
Me, timidly: Hey Pop, how are you feeling?
Pop, urgently: I got a clean bill of health. I want to go home now.
Me, lying: Hang in there, maybe you'll go home tomorrow.
Pop, demanding: No, I want to go home now.
He began calling for Sandi. But she was out of the room.
My father has always been impatient & it's worse when Sandi is not near.
Pop, frustrated: I need to find Sandi for you. She'll tell you.
With that my poor confused father hung up the phone...
For which I was thankful as it was getting very tough to keep it together.
I spent the next couple of hours lost in tremendous sorrow. And tears.
I sought out the comfort of friends. Theu were gracious with their time.
So cancer is determined to revisit and terrorize my family again huh?
Well, fuck you cancer. Fuck you hard. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.
Exhale.
Last evening I watched the Kennedy Center Honors as I do every year. They usually honor a couple of people I really admire and one (or two) that I know of and learn much more about. Yo Yo Ma fell into that latter category last night.
As I watched the great tribute being bestowed upon him I couldn't help but think of my very own Yo Yo Ma story. And I'll confess about a dozen Yo Mama jokes flooded my head too. But Yo Yo Ma is no Yo Mama joke - he's the world's greatest cellist. And I don't think that's even open for debate.
About a million years ago I worked in the major donor fundraising department of a local (and very popular) public radio station. My boss and I were given a tight corner in what the station fashioned a bustling news room. In this room I experienced all sorts of history: the OJ Simpson, Timothy McVeigh and President Clinton trials; the Bush V Gore election frenzy; the Y2K build-up and... well, you get the idea.
The radio station also boasted 4-5 live performances a week in the 11AM hour. From the unknown to the very famous played in our studios: James Taylor, Willie Nelson, Moby, k.d. lang, Pink Martini, Rickie Lee Jones, Beck, Tom Waits - just to name a few.
One morning there was a major buzz in the station because Yo Yo Ma was coming to do a set. At 10AM the general manager, who was a Los Angeles icon for her distinctive Brooklyn-accented pledge drive voice, burst into the room and announced rather dramatically, "YOU GUYS, STOP EVERYTHING, I HAVE NEWS."
The cabin pressure in the room changed as we braced ourselves to hear what terrible event has happened in the world as she continued as if in a dream-state, "The cello has arrived."
***
(Yo Yo followed the cello by about an hour.)
Yea, so this happened last week...
I was at a local dog park and this bulldog's owner kept throwing the ball for him to fetch and as he retrieved it he would come to me and lay the ball at my feet. Every time I would begin to bend down to pick it up the owner would make a rude 'no no' clicking sound with his tongue which told me not to touch it at which point he'd grab it and throw it again.
The dog just kept bringing it back to me. But I wasn't allowed to play. I think this annoyed the dog more than it actually annoyed me. Soon they were gone and I was left to ponder about how it really bothered me that I let this guy bully(dog) me.
The very next day I went back to the dog park and the same bulldog was playing fetch - only this time with a female. And again, the dog kept laying the ball at my feet. This time I was allowed to actually pick up the ball and play.
The woman said, "My dog seems to really like you."
I replied, "Yea, he really liked me yesterday too."
A puzzled look made a mess of her pretty face, "Yesterday?"
I said matter-of-factly, "He was with a male yesterday."
She tensed-up even more, "That was my husband."
I thought about telling her about his shenanigans but opted not to as she continued, "He told me he was at work all day yesterday."
I took a step backward as she thought out loud with a bite in her voice, "I wonder what else he's lying to me about..."
I jerked a corner of my mouth downwards and managed an awkward, "Whoops."
Clearly agitated she promptly leashed her dog and departed with a heavy foot. I felt bad for a couple of minutes but if I'm telling the truth - it actually felt good that I unwittingly exacted revenge on that big meanie.
Right around Thanksgiving 2003 my little sister Nancy became bed-ridden. Not by choice mind you - just one day she never got out of bed again. She had the will but her poor little body hadn't the strength anymore.
The weekend before Christmas '03 was my turn to go to Phoenix to keep her company. When I walked into her house I found it strange that it was completely devoid of anything Christmas-y. Nancy ran a successful daycare center out of her home and every year she turned her place into an awesome winter wonderland.
I asked, "How come you don't have your decorations up?"
Nancy replied, "He doesn't want to hassle with it."
He meaning her husband. They were in divorce discussions when she was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. Nancy was given 6 months to live but managed to fight for an extra 4 years. He was miserable and ready to move on with his life. And he could sense the finish line. But this isn't about him...
I am not much for Christmas but I took one look at her face and could see that she needed that tree set up so I said, "Fuck that. I'm getting that tree and its going right there." I pointed to the corner of her room so that she could enjoy it all day long.
I had no idea the undertaking I had assigned myself. You see, she didn't have uniform decorations for the tree. Every ornament was different and purchased with intent. And each had a story, "We got that one when we went to..." Or, "Grandma got Alec that one when he was born." And so on.
Alec is her son and he and I spent the rest of the day setting up that tree. Proudly. And with flair. Nancy was so happy as memories flowed from her like a fountain of precious liquid gold.
At one point Nancy said, "Don't worry about the angel for the top of the tree - it's too high. I don't want you to fall."
She had high ceilings and the tree was enormous but I was determined to get that angel atop that tree. After all, this was to be the last Christmas tree she would ever see. Yea, I almost broke my neck a few times but eventually I was successful.
She slept for a couple hours. When Nancy awoke she looked at the tree and with a shimmer in her eye she said softly, "Ah, my angel."
I looked at the tree and smiled broadly then she continued with a tear in her voice, "I was talking about you."
I live at the end of the 105 Metro line. Lately I've been riding.
A couple of weeks ago I boarded and encountered a white bearded driver.
I thought to myself: I wonder if he realizes he's driving a bus & not a sleigh?
I sure do enjoy my simple amusements.
The next day I rode with him again - this time a rider exited saying,
"See you tomorrow, Santa."
Huh? People actually call this guy Santa?
Maybe even more troubling was the jolly in his response, "Until then."
I found myself on his bus again a few days later and heard the following:
Rider: Hey, Santa. Are you working much this season?
Driver: Oh yes. This is my busy time of year.
Rider: Do you make a lot of money being Santa?
Driver: Yes. I can make about a third of my Metro salary in December alone.
Rider: Are you kidding me?
Driver: The pinnacle of the Santa career is the Macy's Parade, of course.
Rider: Really?
Driver: Yea, the Macy's Santa makes bank.
Rider: I had no idea.
Driver: Everybody in the Santa community dreams of getting that call!
Rider: Do you know this years Macy's Santa?
Driver: Nah, I'm pretty sure he's an east coast Santa.
It's at this point that I reached my destination.
***
A few nights later I ran into my tranny friend Ricky dressed as Santa.
Or rather, undressed as Santa.
And I wondered if Santa Ricky would be accepted in the Santa community.
You decide.
You can get a full-on view but I'm warning you - it's not for the faint hearted:
Last night I gazed upon the star-pocked sky in the hopes that he was too.
I asked the moon to deliver him some sort of cosmic hug.
Recently he and I shared a untimely moment of intimacy.
For most it might have been a life-altering and joyous occasion.
Not so for Chuck. Just another in a long line of evasive affairs.
What is this karmic sentence I serve? And must it really be for life?
Surely I can have it reduced owing for good behaviour?
Tonight I shall gaze upon the moon again and ask it to deliver this message:
"I want my treasured friend back. I miss you.
I did not ask for nor do I want this fuedless estrangement."
I realize I will place a lot of pressure upon the moon. But she is generous.
And I believe she is on my side. This time.
Hopefully.
I took this a few months ago at a park in Beverly Hills.
I finally got around to doing something with it.
It was part of a young girl's art project. I found it quite touching.
***
"Despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart."
- Anne Frank
***
"When you fish for love, bait with your heart, not your brain."
- Mark Twain
***
"Go to you bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know."
- William Shakespeare
***
"So long as the memory of certain beloved friends lives in my heart,
I shall say that life is good."
- Helen Keller
***
"There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart."
- Jane Austen
***
"A loving heart is the truest wisdom."
- Charles Dickens
***
"The heart has no sharp edges so as to not sever its fragile strings."
- Chuck Keenum
At happy hour Scott and I made a bet as to whether James Garner was alive.
Neither of us was actually sure but I insisted he had died about a year ago.
Scott, being much closer to Garner's age, took the opposing position.
Scott gazed upward and tapped his chin a couple of times as he pondered,
"Mmm, what do I want to bet you that I don't care about?"
He reached over and patted our pal Roger on the back, "How about Roger!"
Thinking that I'd surely win the bet I bellowed, "I don't want him either!"
Roger threw his hands up - no, only one hand...
The other wasn't lettin' go of that drank - he cried out, "Hey, hey, hey."
Channeling my inner black chick I joked, "Don't neither one of us want you."
Roger lifted his Jack & Coke and shrugged, "I'll always have Mr. Daniels."
Just one of the enjoyable early evening laughs shared among good friends.
I lost. James Garner is alive. But he's really old. I'd win that bet in 2012.
This guy's been wandering about West Hollywood as Jesus for some 5 years.
He primarily sticks to Sunset Blvd and the tour buses love him.
He will often strike a Jesus-y pose while the tourists snap pics in a frenzy.
You can literally hear them collectively think: Only in LA.
Well, yesterday as I was walking along Sunset I saw him approach.
He has perfected the Jesus glide - he actually looks like he's walking on water.
Anyway, without hesitation I asked, "Mind if I get a picture with you?"
I was only thinking of the cause it might stir when I posted it on Facebook.
He replied in a low saintly monotone, "Not at all, my child."
After the quick pic I realized that his birthday was 12 days away and said,
"Hey, let's not forget that 'Jesus is the reason for the season'."
Oh dear, I've taken to quoting Jesus bumperstickers to, well - Jesus.
He reached out his hand as if to bless me and said, "That's right, my child."
He then took a generous swig from his giant-sized Starbucks coffee...
Clearly satisfied he dropped the Jesus schtick as he cooed,
"Actually, this pumpkin spice latte is the 'reason for the season'."
***
Get it? Cuz the pumpkin spice latte is seasonal.
And Christmasly delicious.
Today marks what would have been my little sister's 46th birthday. Sadly, we lost her to breast cancer nearly 8 years ago but I am quite confident that she would have rocked her 40's. I imagine she would have gotten that divorce she (and he) wanted. That she would have raised her son successfully through his awkward teen years. That she would have continued to watch her day care business thrive. That she would have been unbelievably proud sending her only kid off to college. And on I could go...
Shortly before Nancy passed she, with the help of my nephew Ryan, made a CD of some of the songs that helped her through her 4 1/2 year ordeal that she wanted distributed at her funeral. I brought mine home and I never listened to it. Instead I put it in a cabinet where it has stayed since that cruel February day in 2004.
Yesterday I pulled the CD out and gave it a spin. There are 15 songs on it - inspirational, all. One thing I noticed is that many of the songs conjure images of mountains: forging, conquering, sitting atop. I'm not sure she did this on purpose or if songs of struggle and inspiration just gravitate toward the mighty mountain. I found this fascinating.
As I listened to the CD I was not as upset about it as I thought I'd be - that is until I got to track 11. Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush's, Don't Give Up: "I was taught to fight, taught to win. I never thought I could fail." Nancy didn't - not for a long time. She snubbed a dire 6 month diagnosis and gave her son 4 additional years. This was her Everest.
Nancy's family and friends, on the strength of our strong backs, helped guide our frail girl up her mountain and ease her onto that ultimate and peaceful rest. I have no doubt she likes the view.
Happy birthday lil sis, I continue to miss you.
This batch of willing participants...
Angela, Paul, Karan, Ethel, Eric and Char.
Thanks!
So there is this personal trainer at the gym we nicknamed: Pretty Pretty.
Cuz he sooooooo is.
There's always a head tilt in his direction with a whispered coo: Pretty Pretty.
After a while we decided that he's just too full of himself for our admiration.
So we change his nickname to the much more apt: Douche Douche.
After a couple of days we shortened it to just: Doo Doo.
The other day we were about to leave but I needed to use the restroom.
To get to the lobby bathroom one must pass the trainers office.
As I opened the door I nodded in the the trainers office direction and said,
"Sammy," loud enough to get his attention and everyone else's, "Doo Doo!"
As I locked the door behind me I realized that the 20 people within earshot...
Thought I'd announced - with enthusiastic flair - that I need to take a crap.
A friend of mine gets up before the sun rises 5 days a week for work.
The other day I asked him how he does it.
He explained that he sleeps with his cell phone in his underwear at night...
"I set it on vibrate. It's really the best way to make sure I wake up."
Weird.
This morning I awoke to a missed call from this friend at 1:30AM.
I texted him when I noticed it but got no reply and began to worry.
A few hours later I called him at work, "Hey, are you ok?"
He replied, "I got your text and had no idea what you were talking about."
I explained, "I'm talking about your missed call in the middle of the night."
He continued, "I know. I was sound asleep. I guess my crotch dialed you."
Yea that's right, say it with me now: that's what she said.
My friend Sammy has happily reintroduced the gym into my life.
We go (on average) 4 times a week. Lots of laughs. Best gym buddy ever.
The other day after our workout we were walking by the nearby CVS.
I said, "I'm kinda hungry, can we go in for a sandwich?"
Sammy replied, "Sure." We settled for a chicken pesto pita thing. Tasty too.
There was nowhere to eat so we just ate it at the trash can out front.
We looked decidedly homeless - made worse by the driving rain.
After it was consumed we walked a couple blocks before Sammy mentioned,
"Today is Jordan and my one month anniversary. What should I get him?"
I said, "Well, we were just at CVS - you should have looked around there."
So we went back.
We walked up and down every aisle but found nothing to his satisfaction.
I noticed that security was following us and made mention of it to Sammy.
Sammy said, "Well, I am wearing this gigantic backpack!"
I continued, "And it probably doesn't help that we ate over a trash can."
We enjoyed a laugh as the guard switched his observational gaze to a glare.
Eventually Sammy settled on a multi-colored bag of cotton candy.
I asked, "Isn't cotton candy suppose to come on a stick?"
Without missing a beat Sammy lowered his voice to a growl, "It will."
From the Veteran's Day tribute this morning in West Hollywood.
I feel honored to have captured this photo. Veteran's rock.
I walked into the gym and heard a woman asked the front desk gal,
"Who's teaching the class right now?" She replied, "Tonya."
The woman said, "Oh, she's tough." I chimed in, "Oh, forget that."
The front desk gal said to me, "Well, if you want a tough workout..."
I stop her by joking, "Yea, I don't want a tough workout!"
A personal trainer overheard me and said, "I love that you just said that."
And then we all enjoyed a good laugh.
***
I've been going to the gym with my good and dear friend Sammy.
We always finish with some floor exorcises on a matt in the aerobic room.
The truth: Sammy always finishes with exorises in the aerobic room...
I man the timer.
Yesterday we went in and this guy was atop 10 matts (see pic above).
I made a flippant gesture his direction and cracked-wise,
"What's with 'Princess and the Pea' over there?!"
Yea, I got Snow White. Well, a drag Snow White - which is even better.
I hope I have someone on my arm when I'm 80.
My friend Rich & I went to see the new Chinese Zodiac exhibit at LACMA.
If you're in LA - check it out. It's pretty cool.
In an interesting coincidence Rich & I were both born in the year of the snake.
Not in the same year tho. We're not even one zodiac cycle apart but - TWO!
That's 24 effing years!
You might say that I'm young at hea... Oh, skip it. I'm not buying that either.
Rich & I make each other laugh - that's ageless & he's highly appreciated.
PS: My photo's do not do this exhibit justice. At all.
This might just be my favorite photo of my mother. It's tender and sweet.
I took it 2 years ago when her significant other took us to the Grand Canyon.
It was a lovely trip.
Since then Saul's health has betrayed him but he fights daily for full recovery.
And with my mother's help he will surely be good as new again soon.
Yet another reason I wish I had those magical powers I wanted as a kid.
I spend a lot of time listening to the Classic Country channel on my TV.
Some of the songs they play surely tug on my heart as memories haunt.
Glen Campbell's Rhinestone Cowboy more than any other.
It always produces a tear... or a stream of them these days.
As a 10 year-old in 1975 this song was immensely popular.
My father and I were driving cross country and we broke down along the way.
It was a ghost town and we were stuck there for days until the part arrived.
We slept in the car at the service station.
I spent those days wandering around the desert lost in daydreams.
I wanted fame. And I wanted magical powers.
Magical powers would have come in handy right about then, actually.
But more than anything I wanted be best friends with Olivia Newton-John.
I fantasized about all the fun stuff Livvie and I would get up to.
The concert tours. The duets. The awards shows. The Malibu living.
We were ridiculously happy together.
A few years ago I had the opportunity to tell all this when I met her...
Anyway.
Now when I hear Glen Campbell's Rhinestone Cowboy it means even more.
You see, he recently disclosed that he is living with Alzheimer's Decease.
Like my father.
I really wish I had those magical powers more than anything right now.
Yesterday I was feeling blue and spent an hour sitting on a park bench.
I was pretty catatonic and weepy - feeling all over fvck the world-ish.
After a bit a kid came to workout on the bars in front of me.
When he took off his shirt I could not believe my eyes...
Sprawled across his chest was a tattoo telling the story of my day.
He struck up a conversation with me and after awhile I said,
"Ya know, your tattoo reflects my mood today precisely."
He laughed as I continued, "Tho I'm hoping mine is less permanent."
He laughed and said, "You should get high. It helps."
I drummed up the courage to ask him if I could take a photo.
I was nervous about his response but he happily snapped, "Sure!"
He popped into an appropriately surly fvck the world pose...
Then climbed to the top of the monkey bars - perched and pondering.
I yelled up to him and thanked him for the chat and the photo.
And as I left he called down after me, "Live high homie, it's the only way."
Recent Comments