Double Tuesday

This is my second post today...but I just saw this vintage Tori video that made me want to cry. I remember listening to this song on replay in high school. I have an understanding of this that only time could unveil...so in a way, it is new to me once more.

During the performance, she looks like she is fighting back tears. Makes me want to go hug my dad really, really tight. If only he wasn't 2500 miles away.

Nonetheless, this is lovely, just lovely.

Jive Turkey. Ain't No Jive. Ain't No Turkey.

Thanksgiving has come and gone. Where did the time go?
Just back from Los Angeles. Did I ever mention that I have in-laws in We Ho?

We had a wonderful feast and consumed multiple alcoholic beverages (you know, to take the edge off).

We stared at the Hollywood sign.

We shared stories.
I confessed secret feelings of a deep, unwavering love for my pre-Recession cleaning lady. I loved the perfume of Fabuloso that clung to the air when she walked by. I made a humping motion to fully illustrate the love I felt when my toilets sparkled. Did I go too far? Fuck it.

For the first time in 15 years, I was myself around them. Unabashed, unafraid, and yet still somewhat apologetic. Now, at least if they don't like me, they can not like me for the real person I am and not some false representation. So much of this has been my fault. So much.
New leaf.
Turned.
So, excellent Thanksgiving day, excellent dinner, and excellent company was had.

On another note, A Diddy and I went to Bizarre and had the WORLD'S BEST DINNER.
I can't begin to express...the sensual and almost drug-like feeling wonderful food has on me.
This man, Jose Andres, is a fucking GENIUS.

Let's do a mathematical equation on this...

+ = Multiple Orgasms

(Jose Andres) (Carl Sagan)

I'm done holding your hand on these matters.

Jose Andres is from Spain but lives in DC (woot, woot). He has a restaurant that is almost exactly like Bizarre in DC called Minibar.

Now, I am not a fan of molecular gastronomy, but I can safely say I am a convert. Praise the Lord.

I wanted to scream, sing, make out and laugh all at the same time. Where we stoned?

Excuse me, Waiter, there is some delicious THC sprinkled in our tomato salad.

Think about it, with gastronomy you can get away with it.

We had jicama wrapped guacamole...deconstructed. First flavor, sweet. Second flavor, tangy. Third flavor, buttery. Finally, deconstructed corn tortilla? What?

How about some corn with a cream sauce, large grains of kosher salt and bitter, bitter grapefruit? Yep, deconstructed corn chowder motherfuckers!

They liquified mozzarella...and I drank it, like I was drinking from the fountain of youth.

Caipirinhas anyone? Ever had the real thing in a gelee? I was about to start rubbing it all over my body.

We were about to walk out of the restaurant to go get it on, when we bumped into an old Vegas friend. He coerced us, with blunt force, to have another cocktail. In the spirit of keeping the party rolling, and overlooking the obvious cock block, we set out to have the best gin and tonic I have ever had.

This is it:

(Blame Blackberry for the shitty image. I tried....and I was a bit drunk/stoned? to focus)

It has juniper berries in it. It has jasmine blossoms. I was told the most romantic story by our friend. He told us that on a trip to Spain with the chef, they sat at his hacienda during sunset after a long, grueling day. The chef offered our friend a cocktail and then set out to collect berries and blossoms for this wonderful, aromatic gin and tonic that we now held in our hands.

In summation, it was worth the cock block.

The next day, we visited our dear friends in Silver Lake, California. Ever been to Silver Lake? Even though I hate Los Angeles, this place is cool. It is a total artist town full of the most amazing people, schools and buildings.

Our friends fit right in there. Even their furniture looked better in its new environment, free of the Las Vegas pineapple and palm tree decor guidelines.

Furniture aside, they just started this little service and it is amazing. If you live in the LA area, check them out.

www.asiansoulkitchen.com

When I walked away from their house, I felt that strange chimichanga feeling in my stomach. Was I sad? Was I elated?

I guess I realized that it was the end of an era and the beginning of another for both couples. Although we will always be friends, our paths are no longer crossing. Glad their Hockney posters and vintage chairs found a better place to reside. Glad they are happy. And that we'll say we knew them when...

Excuse Me

But, what the fuck is THIS?

Understanding Sen~or Citizens

For the last three or four days, every time I bend over, I get this loving, gentle flow of excruciating pain that radiates from my hip to my toes. Good morning sciatic nerve. Did I offend you last night? I must've sat on you.
I think it is time to pull out the ole check list.

Recurring Ailments. Check

Grouchy All of the Time at Younger People. Check.

Enjoyment of All Things Crochet. Check.

Constant Anger at "Reckless Drivers". Check.

I think it is official.

I AM GETTING OLD.

I was watching senior citizens the other day and decided that maybe there is something to look forward to in my golden years. They seem to be happy, with their dinners at 4 p.m., power walking through the mini malls, and driving vehicles that resemble cop cars. Maybe there is some secret disco, like in the movie Cocoon, where everyone dances salsa and power slams umbrella drinks? Maybe that is a Tuesday night event....I mean, why wait till the weekend when every day is Partae Time!

I think the scariest thing to face is the whole physical aspect of aging. Really, who wants to be a young person trapped in an old person's body? I'm sure that a lot of them feel that way...

Case in point, my dad.
Now, he is not old as balls yet...but he's getting there. I always envision my dad as the young, handsome, long-haired hippie that everyone loves. He still acts like that young, handsome hippie that everyone loves, with one exception: he is starting to shrink. Either that or I am getting taller and guess what? I AM NOT TURNING INTO CINDY CRAWFORD.
You do the math.
Here is my dad with my mom on their wedding day:

In case you hurt your head recently, I am referring to the person on the right.

Studdly, right?

Even though he no longer sports the chops or weighs 120, he still has a strong pimp hand. One of my girlfriends insists that he is a stone fox. Ewww.

Yes, he is 61 and goes to sleep at 8:30, but the man can still make a mean Beefeater Gin and Tonic. He also loves seeing live bands at the 9:30 Club, traveling to other countries on a whim, laughing at just about anything remotely funny, screaming at sporting events, dancing at every family party and finally, farting on command. That makes him kind of like a sensei.

So, if getting old is going to be more like my dad, Sen~or's example, I'm on board with it.

So here's to you, Dad, and some other senior idols of mine:

I think I just roundhouse kicked through a wall just then. Golden Girls. So legitimate.

Oh and please don't say anything bad about the Golden Girls. I don't want you to end up burning in the hell fire of eternal damnation. It can happen. Think about it.

Shake a shake rattle dem old bones

The Gift of Music

Like him or hate him, there is an earnest quality to his voice that I find lovely...

New, Improved, LIVE: Yoni Wolf (of WHY?) - "Against Me" from The Bay Bridged on Vimeo.

Time's A Wastin'

Drastic Measures, people. Drastic Measures are what makes life tremendous and great.

An excerpt from a book that has stayed with me through the years:

"The broken are not always gathered together, of course, and not all mysteries of the flesh are solved. We speak of "senseless tragedies," but really: Is there any other kind? Mothers and wives disappear without a trace. Children are killed. Madmen ravage the world, leaving wounds immeasurably deep, and endlessly mourned. Loved ones whose presence once filled us move into the distance; our eyes follow them as long as possible as they recede from view. Maybe we chase them-clumsily, across railroad tracks and trafficked streets; over roads new-printed with their footsteps, the dust still whirling in the wake of them; through impossibly big cities peopled with strangers whose faces and bodies carry fragments of their faces and bodies, whose laughter, steadiness, pluck, stubborness reminds us of the beloved we seek. Maybe we stay put, left behind, and look for them in our dreams. But we never stop looking, not even after those we love become part of the unreachable horizon. We can never stop carrying the heavy weight of love on this pilgrimage; we can only transfigure what we carry. We can only shatter it and send it whirling into the world so that it can take shape in some new way."

My message to you, on this eve, Oatmeal Rubbers: clean your house, inside and out.
Do yoga.
Be ok with getting angry.
Tell the truth, even if the person you are telling leaves your reachable horizon.
Do things that take courage...and fear not what tomorrow brings, because it might never come.

My love to Alex, who I can't breathe without.
My love to Mimi, who stumbled after me, clumsily, to my destination. At least she is here to save my life every now and then.

My love to my wonderful sister and brother, Emily and Carlos. Please stumble closer...

Unit