HappyLand

Friday

2009-07-17T17:02:00.000-07:00

Hmmm, so I see how this is:

I am not getting anything done tonight.

But I'm going to go ride my bike?

Thursday

2009-07-16T20:46:00.000-07:00

Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets.

In this case she wanted new tires, bar tape, and a thorough cleaning. She also wanted a front derailleur adjustment. Good thing too: turned out the cage was mounted too high on the seat tube. This should finally alleviate some of my shifting problems.

I love this bicycle.

Quick ride around the block to test new lever position. Then bed. Then it's Friday!!!

Wednesday

2009-07-15T21:53:00.000-07:00

Today was a good day. I remembered who I am.

Monday: Writing

2009-07-13T18:56:00.000-07:00

As I approached the small dock, I noticed a small sailboat anchored and tethered to it.

He set a small wooden crate of books on the deck.

I was confused. And more urgently, I was frightened. "What are you doing? Where are you going?"

"I can't stay here."

It was as I had feared, but I was no less desperate when confronted with the inevitable. I grabbed his arm as he bent to hoist the anchor.

"You can't go!"

He sighed and avoided my eyes. "But I can't stay either."

"Please don't go. Please don't leave me."

He pulled away and his voice cracked as he said, "Liz, please don't make this any harder than it already is." He trembled.

Though it was sunny on the beach, the horizon faded into an ominous darkness. "There's isn't even anywhere to go to."

"Liz, I have to go." The little boat bobbed in the waves. To himself he repeated, "I have to go." He grabbed the anchor rope again. I pulled it away from him and we engaged in a tug-of-war.

I heaved. "No!"

He did not yank but he did not yield. "Don't do this, Liz, please don't do it."

The tears were suddenly in my eyes. "You can't fucking leave me, you hear that? You can't fucking leave me!" I screamed even though he was close to me. I was somehow falling away.

"Liz...." A sob strangled his voice and left it weak.

"I already let you go, I already set you free, why can't you just stay? Why can't you just stay here with me?"

"I've got to read my books and I've got to sail my ocean. I have to know what's out there."

"But you already know everything here. And I'm here, and we can just be here and it will be okay."

"It won't Liz, it won't. Neither of us can really stay here, but I have to go now. You should go too. This place...it's cursed."

"But what will I do? Where will I go?"

"You know there's a road over the dunes. Go ride it, find where it goes."

"How? How can you expect me to do that?"

"With your bicycle."

"Come with me, please come with me."

"I can't. My bike's broken. The chainring is bent."

"Well fix it!"

"I have to go find a bike shop. There aren't any here. Maybe there's one out there." He gestured with his shoulder to the sighing water.

I yanked on the rope. "No!"

He yanked harder. The rope burned my palms as it lurched out of my hands.

The waves rocked harder, splashing against the dock and sending up a spray.

"No! No no no no!"

He choked. "Liz, please...."

I fell to my knees on the dock. "Are you going to come back? You have to come back!"

"I don't know. I can't say for sure. I don't know what I will find out there."

"But what about everything? What will happen to it?"

"I have it all right here." He patted a small wooden intricately-illustrated cigar box.

"What if you lose it?"

"I'll never lose it." He meant it. "I'll never lose this box and the things inside of it. I may lose my eyesight, I may lose my sail, I may even lose my way, but I will never lose this."

"Never?"

He said, "Never."

"Do you want to come back here? One day?"

"In some ways I do. But I may lose the map, or may have to sell the boat for food."

I looked down. I'd been defeated from the moment we engaged and I had known it all along.

"Be safe out there. Will you write me letters?"

"If I can find a mailbox."

"I don't want to say good-bye."

"Then don't."

He took up the anchor. The boat immediately drifted away. He unfurled the sail and it snapped to attention in the wind.

I watched as he waved to me. I blew him a kiss, but he had turned away.

I walked to the road, where I had locked my bike to a signpost.

Writing July 13 2009

(Yeah, sorry for the recent juvenile reliance on music to express my feelings, but Pandora played this one for me today and I caught the lyrics through the drone of work. Not only is the song catchy, it expresses an atypical sentiment which strikes a chord in Yours Truly, and the video reminds me of some eighties fantasy film, an aesthetic I enjoy.)

Friday: Writing

2009-07-10T16:27:00.000-07:00

One night I slept with the light on, like a child, because I was struck by what I guess you could call a panic attack. It didn't help that my system was loaded with conflicting narcotics, but I suddenly found myself lying wide awake in the dark and shivering even though the air was still with heat. I turned on the light, but the walls continued to move in toward me.

You see, I had been thinking about you, and I had been thinking about the anniversary of our break up and what exactly an "anniversary" means: one year since I said the words and walked out the door, one year since I have seen you, one year I have spent stuck in the same broken place.

One year farther away from the last time we made love, one year farther away from our last bittersweet day at the zoo, one year farther away from the night we made dinner and jumped on the bed, one year farther away from the day you came home from England and I cried to hold you, one year farther away from the day you bought me an unexpected Valentine's Day present, one year farther away from that night smoking pot with your dad in your parents' garage, one year farther away from New Year's in San Francisco, one year farther away from....

And I realized that between those moments of memories, there was an increasing darkness, as if from a night of blackout drinking, and that even the events I could recall were beginning to fade into a horizon of age and time.

For four years I spent my life alongside yours. And now I have spent three hundred and sixty-five days without you, still clinging to the hope that we are not yet lost, while the reality of you slowly slips through my fingers. I begin to wonder if I ever knew you at all, if there will one day come a time when those four years will be merely one spark among a cluster of dead fuses. When that happens, will I only know you in dreams?

I have learned much about myself that I could not have learned with you inside that cramped apartment we shared, but I hopelessly wonder if part of what I have learned is how incomplete I truly am without you. I naively dream that like some mythic story, you will cross mountains and overcome demons to return to me, that we were forged from the same cosmic fire, that fate will end our fairytale happily ever after.

And like a child, sleeping with her nightlight on to keep the closet monsters at bay, I wish upon a star, blowing out the candles and never breathing a word.

Writing July 10 2009
Dedicated to those who likewise wander this Land of Broken Dreams. One day you will find your peace of mind.

Thursday

2009-07-09T20:53:00.000-07:00

Drank two cups of tea tonight, and let the third one go cold.

Today I was hurled through a spectrum of emotions, and I'm left feeling numb. I am not sad but I am not happy either, instead I sort of slowly move through a haze. I've been really concentrating on my personal projects lately (Writing), along with losing a little itty-bitty teeny-tiny bit of weight and training for speed on my bike. I vaguely structure my time, but if I don't follow the rules, I forgive myself. I'm really focusing on myself and the things that please me. It's a lot of smoking, putting on some incense, some music, and reading delicious fluffy young adult fantasy novels.

I'm also trying to fend off a cold or allergies or something. I've developed an annoying cough. The smoking, of course, does not facilitate my recovery.

I was going to do some writing, but found myself reading and drawing instead. I was always disappointed with my drawings, to be honest, feeling that I could only achieve results after much laboring and erasing, and even then, my results were not what I envisioned. I am learning to unlearn and draw as I used to draw as a kid: which was sitting for hours caressing one graphite line until it curved just so.

Earlier today I caught my bicycles engaged in conversation.

What could they be saying do you think?

They might be discussing my messy messy apartment. And the pink bike is bored, I am certain.

Hurry up with my new tires, Nashbar!

Wednesday: Writing

2009-07-08T20:34:00.000-07:00

I believe that in addition to being Countdown Day or whatever (It was actually only a second), today might also be the one year anniversary of the "fight" which commenced the break up of Yours Truly and the Love Of Her Life (I only know this because I stumbled upon the entry in my Livejournal recently). We lived together until our lease was up, and, a year later, I still don't really understand what happened, just that it was really over, and I'm still searching for some sort of closure, progress, and enlightenment.

It's good that I can and like to write, so I can work this stuff out in strange simple inventions.

Enjoy.

One day my best friend and me got really high, drank one beer each, and then took the bus from Hollywood to Venice Beach. It was a lot of time to talk.

"Oh my god," she said to me, "I heard the craziest thing."

Baited, I said, "What!"

"So you know that friend of mine? The one who's been with her boyfriend for like, five years? Well, they broke up, and guess what, the boyfriend turned into her vagina."

I tried to imagine this. "Did it have his face or something?"

"No, I think, it was like, the vagina looked normal, but it could talk to her in her head, and it was her ex's voice."

"Oh mannn."

"Anyway

...when they had been together, they had been very much in young impetuous, naive, and optimistic love, and they burned right through it. They smoked a lot of cigarettes and they smoked a lot of pot and they had a lot of sex. They were together through college and one time, when he spent three months away in Europe, she cried to hold him in her arms again at the airport. They went home and made the closest thing to love that they could understand.

But the love died, or it changed, or it simply went away, and neither had the wisdom to cope. Then the day came when he put all his things into boxes piled in his car, and drove away. That night she laid on her back in bed, numb, and she absently reached into her underwear.

"Hey!" she heard, "Hey what's going on!"

The ex-girlfriend started.

"This is your...this is your...oh my goddd...."

"Wait, are you my...?"

"VAGINA."

"Well, that's weird," she observed.

"Look, this is going to be difficult for the both of us."

"God, I miss you already."

"But I'm right here!"

"But I need my space."

"I do too. If you respect mine I'll respect yours."

They did their best to obey their mutual rule, but the ex-girlfriend often cried and begged that they get back together, and the ex-boyfriend would fall silent, almost lifeless, and the ex-girlfriend felt as if her body were very far away.

But sometimes the ex-boyfriend would help her masturbate, plucking on nerve endings as if she were a harp, and she'd sing like a well-tuned violin. He would see the memories floating in her head and fish them out, sweetly describing the moments of sexual ecstasy. They did that together even though it always ended up hurting.

Other times he'd subconsciously creep into her skin, standing her hairs on end as her very flesh recalled the feeling of his body. She could almost smell his hair, which had always smelled wonderful. She could even imagine his weight in her arms. And then the ex-boyfriend would wake from his sleepwalking and everything would knot up in her stomach.

The real problem arose when the ex-girlfriend started dating. As her ex-boyfriend was residing in her vagina, she encountered the expected problems. He was jealous, he was hurt, he was desperate, he was angry, and he was totally and utterly and cruelly dismissive.

One time the girl met someone she liked.

"I like this guy, so please, respect my space."

"Does he make you happy?"

"As happy as I can be right now."

The ex-boyfriend promised, but when the ex-girlfriend and her new partner started to remove their clothes from each other, the ex-boyfriend accidentally let loose a sob. He whispered, "I used to touch you like that...."

It was so quiet that the ex-girlfriend mistook it for her own thought. Her partner asked, "Is everything all right?"

The ex-girlfriend took a gulp from the glass of whiskey on the bedside table. "Yeah."

They kissed against the headboard, and the ex-girlfriend's partner put a hand on her breast and began twisting her nipple as if he were searching for a radio station.

The ex-boyfriend rolled his eyes. The ex-girlfriend said, "Oh, you don't have to do that." She hoped that his lack of skill in one form of foreplay was compensated in another.

They wrestled in the sheets for a while, and the ex-boyfriend was jealous to feel the ex-girlfriend's response. But he held his tongue.

Finally her partner put his penis inside her vagina, and the ex-boyfriend made such a gagging sound that the ex-girlfriend froze and said, "I'm sorry, but I just can't do this."

He complied, and they repeatedly apologized to each other, the whole time looking only at their clothes as they reassembled their modesty. She sent him out the door and it was like ripping a Band-aid off - initially lingering, languishing, and then one swift hair-pulling yank.

"I can't have sex with you!" the ex-girlfriend said.

"I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to. He just felt all wrong."

She sighed. "Maybe. It's so hard. You always felt so right."

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"I know. It's okay."

....so that's what I heard. Isn't that the craziest thing ever?" My best friend's eyes were wide.

I whistled and leaned back, putting my arms behind my head. "Sure is."

"Hey, is this our stop?"

I looked out the window. "Yup, this is the one." She pulled the cable and it rang. The bus lurched to a stop at the corner. We climbed off.

"Let's go find a place to smoke."

"And then let's get vegan desserts."

"Hells yeah," I said.

Writing July 8 2009

Monday: Work in progress: Ride A Bike Crest

2009-07-06T18:54:00.001-07:00

Slowly but surely!

Work in progress July 6th 2009

I am going to make a screen with it. I think it will make an excellent print.

Monday weekend roundup: Fourth of July

2009-07-06T18:02:00.000-07:00

My Fourth of July weekend was a manic flurry of body-sweating, bike-riding, beer-drinking, bus-riding activity. On Friday one of my best friends and I took a bus adventure out to Venice Beach, encountering the typical reality TV sitcom that results from forced surrender of "personal space," including, but certainly not limited to, an older man so drunk he didn't realize when I shoved him out of my friend's lap.

At the beach, which was overcast, we struggled to light a match in the wind, paid too much money for boardwalk pizza, enjoyed vegan desserts, and did all those Los Angeles things that are not for tourists.

That night was another bus adventure, only this time we went out to Silver Lake to welcome our good friend Rhonda back. Man it was good to see her. Bitch may have gotten some work done, but she was the same old booze-guzzling hot mess underneath...just the way I like her. I wore an absurd outfit and danced till my hair stuck to my face.

Saturday was a whole day of riding, which kicked off with a literal bang as my rear tire blew out. I am not quite sure how it happened, but Lola ended up with a hole in her rubber. I patched it with a boot and swapped out the tube, but the tire tear would later prove un-ride-able...although it was so much later that it hardly affected my day for the worse.

Meeting up with Bear Cavalry, we rode, we ate, we drank, we crashed parties, we climbed hillsides, and we eventually saw fireworks over the ocean. The fireworks were not as exciting to me as the time I got to spend making new friends and building relationships earlier that day.

Sitting on the top of a hillside, a little lovely in the brains, with a bird's eye view of the road, the trees, and the ocean, engaged in meaningful conversation with people I have growing affection for was enough to liberate me from the heaviness that has been anchoring me to this semi-fulfilled state of being. For a moment I was a bird upon the wind, perhaps the great elegant crane we spied in the river down below, and I was soaring as I sometimes fly on my bicycle, only this time, the world was far far below me, all its troubles shrunken down to nothing. It was an enchanted moment, scored by the music coming out of the sound system below, and for a little while we were lost boys, defiantly childlike and perpetually daydreaming.

En route to the fireworks, I could feel my tire go flat again. We replaced the tube to no avail. Fortunately, I dropped myself close enough to Venice to walk back to a familiar bus stop and limp home.

As a result, today I rode my mountain bike around, which was tremendous fun, especially since I removed the kickstand - it makes such a difference! Today on Wilshire Boulevard through Beverly Hills, I smoked two kids on fixies. I would hardly call them cyclists, simply kids following a trend, so it wasn't much of a victory to beat them, though they were utterly astounded at my prowess on my fat Gary Fisher. Which is not to say I did not derive a sick pleasure from slowing down and coasting within inches of the slower rider, ever so slightly to his left, right in the corner of his eye. Also gave a pretty good spring on Santa Monica Boulevard into West Hollywood, keeping more or less constant with vehicular traffic. That stretch might even be better on a mountain bike with the way that road is all torn up (In Beverly Hills too! Embarrassing!). When Lola's brand spanking new RED tires arrive (Along with her brand new RED bar tape), I am going to be so much faster and stronger from pushing myself on the Hedgehog (Which I've been riding with knobby tires, no less, for more resistance than my hybrids).

And not to make a hasty generalization...but why are dudes in black BMWs such dicks? Seriously, if you'd like to educate me on how I am "supposed" to ride, at least slow down. I can't hear you when you're yelling like a coward out your window as you whiz by ten miles over the speed limit just to catch a red light. If you're going to yell at a little girl on a little Gary Fisher, at least do it to my face.

So I can laugh in it.

Get a bike!

Friday: Writing

2009-07-03T10:51:00.000-07:00

Recently I had the pleasure of crashing on my bicycle. It was my fault, it was something my ego is still too wounded to confess, and all I know is one second I was riding and the next second I was on the ground with enough time to brace for an incoming chain reaction crash. My first thought was, "Oh my god, is my bike alright?!"

When we were younger, my kid sister was the one who made multiple trips to the emergency room for stitches and casts. She wasn't clumsy or careless, she was just fearlessly testing the limits, and I, as a chubby kid, admired her physical prowess.

Since I started riding, my relationship with the asphalt had become almost intimate, and only because I had learned to be adventurous. But when it was sheer oversight, the crash was only shaming.

So I trailed the pack for the rest of the night until we stopped to rest and drink. A young man approached me in the lavender dark and asked me if I was okay.

I grumbled an affirmative, and offered up my road rash-ed elbow as evidence to my unremarkable condition. He said, "Oh you're bleeding. Let me get you a bandaid."

I protested to no avail, and eventually submitted my wound to his care.

In a moment I relinquished all control and ego, and I was a child transformed, giving in to higher powers and sharing my mortality. He skillfully applied the bandaid, laying down one end and deftly peeling up the other, the way someone who's applied many bandaids would. There was a sudden security in his easy motion, and though the bandaid was merely a superficial and temporary aid, in that moment, it cured everything.

The extension of our humanity to one another stirred something deep and primal inside of me, and it occurred to me that we are the human animal.

Writing July 3 2009

Friday: THREE DAY WEEKEND

2009-07-03T08:00:00.000-07:00

Three day weekend!

Go on with your bad self!

I'm feeling better and I am ready to haaang.

Have fun, stay safe!

Tuesday: Chew your news

2009-06-30T19:40:00.000-07:00

My lifestyle has finally caught up with me, dragging my health down into the ground with it. It's actually not that bad at all, but I am under doctor's orders to (After regaling her with tales of my most epic fall upon an inquiry into my bruises she said this very slowly) "rest as much as possible," so I don't feel guilty that I haven't done one damn thing today.

As far as my mental health goes, I have reached out, and people have taken my hand, assisting me in taking one huge step out of this dark pit.

And here, chew on this news! (Don't swallow it whole!)

Film: A King County Sheriff's deputy uses "unnecessary force" to subdue a fifteen year-old girl who was already in custody, and it's all horrifically caught on tape.

Cycling: A father and son LA Wheelman's Grand Tour team were struck by a drunk driver on PCH in Malibu, killing the father and critically injuring his fourteen your old son. The driver then fled, was arrest, charged, and booked, and then set free on bail. As a daughter who indulges in her bicycle obsession with her father, this tragedy is particularly heartbreaking. But when you read about how the city and the law have reacted limply, heartbreak is replaced with anger.

Art: Famous German modern dancer and choreographer Pina Bausch died today from cancer at the age of eighty-six. I am not going to pretend that I follow dance as closely as I would like to, but I will say that I do tremendously enjoy the art form, and her "Rite of Spring" is terrifying and beautiful (Potentially NSFW).

Monday weekend roundup: Ben Oprstu

2009-06-29T22:18:00.000-07:00

At the Echoplex on Friday the 19th (I know! It was a long time ago!), I have to admit that the lads were fashionably outdoing the ladies, and as my eye is drawn more toward men's rather than women's fashion, I was visually pleased and inspired.

Ben Oprstu just keeps getting better and better. I'm glad I get to witness his evolution as a DJ.

Look what he made them do!

This Saturday I caught Ben at the Medusa Lounge. Driving over I found myself wondering if he would indulge our grief and celebration...and he totally did. Ben unabashedly touched on all the Michael Jackson gems, and that's what I love about the way Ben DJs. Ben doesn't shy from pop and he's incredibly skilled at reading the dance floor.

Tucked away as it is on Beverly Blvd, in limbo between Echo Park, Silver Lake, and Hollywood, the Medusa Lounge served a smaller group of people that night, but when the night concluded, Ben had won everyone over.

But that didn't surprise me.

Monday: Bike crash

2009-06-29T21:37:00.000-07:00

There are some indications that I might be hurting more than "just a hard time," which is ironic because "depression" is a disease I've always questioned the validity of. I've retained by functionality and I have an overall positive attitude, so I would say that my prognosis is good. What I am missing most is, well, myself, and the things I used to enjoy as myself. It's frustrating living life in an emotional fog.

What I do have to admit was briefly thrilling is the nasty fall I took on my bicycle Friday night. Yes, alcohol was involved, however, not the consumption of it. Lost the bike, which ended up sandwiched between myself and another rider. I felt terribly sorry for causing the accident, but upon confirming my and the gentleman's (And our steeds') well-being, I realized that it was almost a relief to experience physical pain, it felt real, it felt raw, it felt like something.

My ego, of course, is most wounded, and that night I felt so disappointed and embarrassed I almost went home. But, thanks to the tremendous support of my friends, I stayed, and had a very good night. For a major crash it was not that bad, and my battle wounds look fucking gnarly!

Yes, I was wearing my helmet. And I was sure glad I did.

Rode all day Saturday, came down in a tungsten glow with unexpected companions and low easy music. Took a nap at the absurd hour of nine in the evening, overslept, woke with a start, and somehow made it in time to catch Ben Oprstu at the Medusa Lounge.

Photos in the following post.

Monday: Chew your news

2009-06-29T21:17:00.000-07:00

(Real post coming soon, I swear!)

Music: A pop media tribute to the late King of Pop which unconsciously functions both as social commentary and (Pop?) art.

Gender: Off the Beaten Path is an international contemporary art exhibition exploring violence, women, and art, and you can check it out virtually.

Technology: On the heels of the arrival of my new netbook (Which I am using far more frequently than even I expected), is it really any surprise that the desktop PC is on its way out?

Friday weekend music: Ben Oprstu. Wednesday fliers: THE JUMP UP

2009-06-26T18:05:00.000-07:00

Ben Oprstu is one of my favorite Los Angles discoveries. Ironically, we both hold degrees from the University of Southern California, but it wasn't until after college that we would become colleagues.

Ben is something otherworldly, Ben is a force of childlike energy, Ben makes you feel like you're always on the VIP list, and his hugs make you feel as though you are connecting to the soul of the universe. It's difficult to feel negatively in his presence and he is truly a source of inspiration as I struggle along my own life's journey.

It's for these reasons that Ben is going to be monumentally successful in whatever he chooses to pursue. Fortunately, Ben has decided to share his good vibrations with the world through dance and music. Born in London, raised in the Bay Area, and coming into his own in Los Angeles, Ben Oprstu as we know him now originated in the electronic rock/hip-hop band Robot Love, which evolved into a staple DANCEiSM DJ position and its smaller, charity-oriented offshoot, D.A.N.C.E. to the Underground. Naturally, it doesn't end there. Ben has also designed a few t-shirts and word on the street is that he's about to connect Los Angeles through dance...just you wait and see. It's going to be a revolution in fun, especially when, as Ben himself puts it, "We are all so connected technologically but at the same time we can be so disconnected emotionally, physically, spiritually."

Ben achieves this connection by seamlessly weaving the new, the old, the familiar, and the underground all into one tapestry of fun and dance. When Ben spins, it's all about pursuing the spirit, and he won't shy away from a hot a Britney Spears remix if the mood calls for it. There's no doubt that Ben's got his ear to the ground, but he also has a superb instinct for his audience, tapping into the spirit of the dance floor and feeding it the beats it wants along with the beats it needs, a genuine mixture of fun and skills, and a party you don't want to miss.

Ben was kind enough to indulge me with The Five:

Greatest musical influences?
Thomas Bangalter, Pedro Winter, Wutang Clan, Peanut Butter Wolf, DJ Shadow, Benny Benassi.

What's your gear?
I DJ on serato with a DDM-4000 digital mixer it's got a lot of efx features which i love for making the music DROP.

As far as my live setup, that's yet to be determined... :P

Where can people find you?
DANCEiSM as always, otherwise you can find me at warehouse parties, or The Echo, I'm there like twice a week. Hit me up on Facebook that's the best spot to find me, just search me out, Ben Oprstu oh and join my FB group!

What's your going out/pre-show ritual?
For going out I just get dressed in dance gear, which normally means some kind of leggings are needed.

Pre-show ritual is pretty simple. There's a moment of meditation to find myself in the moment, then there's me stretching, followed by lots of jumping.

I also run a lot to stay fit, because I can't jump around stage like that without some kinda stamina. :D

Something about you that most people don't know.
I never do drugs, and I don't drink very often. Being involved in electronic music, and having such a crazy persona a lot of people who don't know me are always surprised to learn that. I'm a very spiritual person, I spend a lot of time meditating, I'm into moving energy and healing people.

The Tilt Mix - Ben Oprstu

Feeling the itch? Come out tomorrow night for THE JUMP UP! Featuring Ben on the spin and Yours Truly on the lens.

Thursday

2009-06-25T22:32:00.001-07:00

All day I lived under the pretense of Friday, but the sad reality is that it is only Thursday night and I am up too late.

I did not get all the things I wanted to get done today, but I got some of those things done, and maybe it's important to make ambitious to-do lists knowing that you will only accomplish half of it, laboring under false productive pretenses. I finally started writing Other World, after too much beer, too many cigarettes, too many distractions, and one conversation regarding my ex's maligned bicycle, which devolved into...well, into the usual (Whatever that means). It is both hurtful and helpful to speak with him, but it's good to know that he suffers similarly. He is, after all, one of my best friends.

Today Michael Jackson died, which strikes me more than the death of Farrah Fawcett and much much more than the death of Ed McMahon, which is to say that it does not strike me more than an inconvenience as folks remember him on the Hollywood Walk of Fame where I happen to make my home. Other people died today, but no one knows their names.

What I want to know is...so when are the Dandy Warhols recording their cover of "Black Bird," hm? (I have to give my ex credit for this one.)

Wednesday

2009-06-24T20:25:00.000-07:00

I have very very little to say other than:

My presents have all arrived and I am pleased with my new toys. Happy Birthday to me. The HP netbook is very very small and suits all its intended purposes perfectly. My PowerBook seems gigantic in comparison. Back when I was a sophomore in college, and lugged around my desktop and laptop, I could never have imagined that one day a $300 computer would be developed to do exactly what anybody ever wants a computer to do: check email, hit refresh on Twitter, and watch YouTube videos. We were so naive five years ago.

I did nothing creative today, but I caught up on a backlog of projects, so I guess that counts. Yes, actually, I am sure that counts.

The fellow at Bevmo who recommended the Bear Republic Hop Rod Rye is a genius because it was delicious. Behelmeted as I was at checkout, the cutely nose-ringed cashier recommended water bottle cages that fit pint bottles best, and when I mentioned flask cages, she laughed and said, "Not that I would know anything about that...." It was the first time I'd seen a woman working there. I fell in love.

I've been chain-smoking with the sort of desperation that half-cocked depression will bestow upon you. I am one part indulging myself in this and one part truly struggling, but never without a strange sense of humor and optimism about it. It's going to be okay and I know it, so I've fully adopted the angst-y artist aesthetic as I sit here on the floor of my messy studio apartment flanked by beer bottle and ash tray, my disheveled hair illuminated by the screen of my very very tiny netbook as I pour forth these words disguised as an inside joke.

As I slope toward bed, I am excited to use the brand new shower products I purchased at Target today. For this small point of light I am grateful, not gonna lie.

When people meet me in person they are alarmed at my general observant silence.

That's the inside joke I share with only myself.

Monday: Writing

2009-06-22T17:33:00.000-07:00

One morning I was stoned and drunk off of a mimosa at Swinger's on Beverly. Los Angeles being a city of all forms of diversity, I watched a family pay their bill and pack up to go. We were all seated outside on a strangely overcast summer day.

Their car - a Volvo station wagon - was parked at the meter to which my bicycle was locked. As the family's small daughter, dressed all in pink and sporting a crown of soft blonde curls, approached the vehicle, she beheld my bicycle, its own pink allure calling to her.

She considered it from a distance, taking in its shape.

Children generally terrify me, but I thought that maybe I could bestow some life-changing magic upon this one. After all, the LA cycling community is always looking for new recruits. "Bicycle," I said, "Can you say bicycle?" She looked at me and mouthed the word, but only a gurgle came out. "It's a bicycle. Bicycle."

She was overcome with some sort of glee, flapping her arms. She turned back to my steed, stepping bravely toward it. She reached out for the small decorative rainbow Murakami sunshine dangling from my saddle. I watched, curious for her next move. Before she could touch it, her mother called her name, and she withdrew.

With her younger brother strapped into his car seat, the girl's mother beckoned her and the girl obeyed, scooped up into her mother's arms. She continued to gaze at the bicycle, pointing toward it and babbling excitedly.

The mother caught my eyes. "Sorry about that," she said with some hint of an accent, "She is in love with your bicycle."

I smiled in response. I understood perfectly.

"Come on, let's go," the mother said to her daughter, who waved her arms and squealed with unencumbered joy, her eyes still fixed on the two wheels.

And I wondered if the girl knew, if the girl could feel the energy waiting in the chain, if she could feel the ecstasy of sunkissed skin and windswept hair, if the bicycle whispered to her the same promises of galloping freedom that it whispers to me. I wondered if the girl had been likewise enchanted. I wondered if one day she would mount her own two wheels, and I wondered if when she did, she'd immediately know its language because it spoke to her once in a time when the world was still forming and all things were still possible.

Writing date unknown

Friday: Tony's birthday party, Not The Government photoshoot, Thieves Like Us

2009-06-19T20:17:00.000-07:00

I was going to finish that drawing today, but ended up working on photos instead. I think I am going to start aiming for working on some creative thing a day, no matter how small or how random.

Dammit, how did I end up leaving this beer out to get all warm and gross?

Anyway, over the weekend I did very little sleeping, and part of that I can attribute to Tony's birthday party with Big Lovin' Panda at Unknown Theater. I guess I've known those boys for about a year now - crazy! And jeezus, what a wild and weird year it's been.

For their final show in their current incarnation, Big Lovin' Panda really poured their hearts into it. It was the most raw, most stripped down, most genuine Panda show I've seen yet, and I am excited to see where they go from here.

Tony didn't ask me to take photos, but I brought my camera along anyway, and tried for something more intimate.

There was also a panda-shaped piñata, which was raided of her alcoholic prizes even before the game could begin!

And, of course:

I also have some stuff from a Not The Government photo shoot I did about a month ago. It's been about a year since I met those boys too! Which makes it totally appropriate that I am dedicating the next month to a music video shoot for them. It might be time to let that passion burn again now that I've had my distance and time to recover from film school (And how it damaged my confidence in my talent).

Man, I'd forgotten how good it feels to be around people. I need to remember to do that more consistently. I had never realized how important friends are until this year.

Like I keep saying, it's been a very weird, very wild year.

And guess what? Tonight I am unexpectedly off to shoot here tonight:

You should come!

Thursday: Work in progress: Ride Your Bike Crest

2009-06-18T19:31:00.000-07:00

Ride Your Bike Royal Crest...I think it's coming along nicely, I just need to take a break for today. "Rearing" bicycles will flank each side and the banner will read "Ride Your Bike." Hoping to use it for t-shirts, jerseys, and bags. With any luck I'll complete it tomorrow.

Work in progress June 18 2009

Thursday: Chew your news

2009-06-18T16:47:00.000-07:00

Chew your news, swallow it whole, or take a laxative, just remember to take your vitamins and get plenty of rest.

Cycling: Streetsblog Los Angeles summarizes LA City Council's Transportation Committee meeting concerning cyclists' issues from earlier this week (Yesterday, in fact!). The outcome? Well....

LGBTQ: The murder of transwoman Lateisha Green finally garners some attention with the alleged perpetrator facing hate crime charges in the upcoming trial.

Sex: Safe sex good! Sexual violence/confusing messages bad! A recent safer sex ad campaign troubles viewers, and with good reason. (NSFW)

Thursday: Evolution

2009-06-18T15:44:00.000-07:00

HappyLand is a reflection of Yours Truly, and as Yours Truly undergoes the inevitable changes which the tides of life create in her sandy bottom (Heh), so HappyLand experiences a similar state of flux.

Speaking of tides, I've lately found myself overcome by a wave of sadness. I'm realizing that the rip tide has always been fairly close at hand, but only recently has it begun to drag me under. It's okay though, I've got books to read, ideas to write, and a bicycle to ride, so as long as I never lose sight of that shimmering surface, I don't think I will drown.

Sadness is like a virus, there is no cure for it besides rest and patience. Its source is fairly elusive and it leaves you unable to enjoy the things you normally would. I am fortunate to have a secure web of support to fall into. It is, strangely, during these times that my creativity bursts forth most vividly, so I am taking the hint and will be dedicating more time to those pursuits. Which might mean I sacrifice quantity for quality here.

I am grateful for you, my readers, and I look forward to growing and evolving with you.

In other news, you know that I conduct my life in a very austere fashion, distilling it to my most basic needs and desires. But fuck it, every now and then a person requires a little retail therapy, and so I've forgone excessive credit card and loan payments to indulge in the following items:

Because I would like to turn my aging PowerBook into a dedicated work machine.

Because I, for some reason, only just discovered that Frederick's of Hollywood produces brassieres in my unusual size.

Because it is cute, campy, matches my bicycle, made of wool, and has two rear pockets!

Speaking of retail therapy, I finally have new stuff for sale!

I will post again with some interesting articles I've come across today which pertain to my interests. And maybe again much much later with scans of the drawing I am about to work on.

In the meantime keep on keeping on.

Monday weekend roundup: My first century

2009-06-15T18:56:00.000-07:00

I know I am about a week late in writing about this, so I will do my best!

My first century was an exercise in patience, not endurance, and staying on course proved the most challenging aspect of the ride to one as apparently directionally challenged as myself. I hesitate to blame the LA River Ride itself for my shortcomings, but I would also like to show you what I had to work with, and let you decide.

"I am so going to get lost, aren't I?"

I arrived bright and early, moderately well-rested (My excitement impeded my sleep), and buzzing from a morning beer. On Friday I had done a twenty mile ride up to the Griffith Park Observatory to warm up and on Saturday I loaded up on carbohydrates. My oringally designed and screenprinted DiSCO VAMPS jersey was loaded up with essentials such as cash, ID, credit cards, health insurance cards, cell phone, asthma inhaler, roll on sunscreen, Clif Bars, and "map." My saddle bag contained two spare tubes (Which I've yet to use! Knock on wood!), two patch kits, tire levers, Park Tool, wrench, CO pump, energy gels, and electrolyte packets. I started out with one bottle of water and one bottle of Gatorade, and carried also my hand pump.

The ride began with two climbing loops around Griffith Park, which I think I took much too slowly because I wasn't warmed up enough and I was concerned with conservation. I really should have fought for a better position toward the front and thrown myself into the hills because that's where my strength lies, but I only had a vague target time in mind and was mostly concerned with simply finishing.

The route then took us onto the LA River bike path, cramming it full of cyclists, which was mildly despairing, but ultimately prevented me from burning myself out. I was able to follow a pack of cyclists through the city streets which could have been marked better. I think I lost a lot of my thrust on the bike path to Long Beach, battling a head wind to the forty-fifth mile pit stop. I also lost a bit of steam there waiting to carouse with a group of Midnight Ridazz...but like I said, I wasn't in it for a time, I was in it for the simple triumph of one hundred miles. After all, drowned in a sea of grimacing Spandex, I felt I was representing the underground bicycle culture of Los Angeles, so it would only be fitting to ride along the beach accompanied by a music trailer.

At some point they split off and I continued on. I was elated to find one of the route markers accompanied by a "Go HappyLand!" sign, further demonstrating the ~~infiltration~~ presence of the Midnight Ridazz.

It was once I completed the Long Beach loop and returned to the original forty-fifth mile pit stop that I encountered some confusion, somehow unable to recognize the path I had taken earlier to the same exact spot. Next time I should remember to look back every now for landmarks for the return journey. Anxiety and frustration rose in my throat, tempting tears of despair to my eyes. I, however, reminded myself to keep calm, keep my wits about me, and relax...life is a journey, not a destination...it was daylight and my father could come get me in his car should I decide to bail. But I was already at sixty miles and hardly tired (I had been steadily consuming and hydrating about every couple of hours). I wasn't about to give up.

Fortunately, the "caboose" arrived, sweeping up any straggling riders, dashing my dreams for anything under six hours, but renewing my enthusiasm. I rode with them and two other riders until I recognized our location, and took off.

At the next pit stop I joined a group of young men who had started late. We became fast friends and rode off, and they were impressed with my steady clip on my flat pedals (They were, of course, thoroughly outfitted in the latest gear). I was reminded of the fact that for most people, cycling is a hobby, not a way of life, but my daily riding paid off in my endurance.

Reveling in a breezy tail wind and our chattering companionship, we missed a turn on the river and it wasn't until another group of cyclists on the opposite bank yelled at us, "Wrong river!" that we realized it. We consulted the "map," but it was ultimately an iPhone that saved us as we cut across the city to find the "right river." We set out more cautiously, a little less gregariously, and grateful that we had untangled ourselves without much trouble, apart from our mildly bruised egos (But no one would say it out loud).

We rode the city streets between the bike paths without further incident, with me leading the group most of the way on my wonderful, strong legs. Between all of the group's complimentary comments regarding my speed and endurance, I felt a growing appreciation for my legs, my chubby, shapely, and yes, cellulite-stricken legs. All my life I have struggled with these legs, finding them a source of self-loathing and embarrassment. I starved myself to make them thinner, I cut them with razors to punish them, I cried and I languished in the throes of devastating self-consciousness. I covered them up and denied them the sunshine. And once in elementary school a girl called them "thunder thighs."

But you know what? Yes, they are thunder thighs. Their power is like thunder in the sky, rolling through the clouds and shaking windowpanes. They are mighty, they are big, and they have traveled far and wide, and they have never once failed me. They've carried me one thousand miles on my pink bicycle alone. They are beautiful and they are sexy and I love them so much I show them off in short shorts, for everyone to see, for everyone to fear, for everyone to worship. Once again, without my bicycle, I would have never come to this sort of acceptance.

I sprinted the final four or five miles to the finish, "breaking away" from my companions, anxious to finish at last. I was, however, met with one more wrong turn before finally finishing, picking up my goody bag, and climbing into the car with my dad to go find a pizza to greedily devour.

I think my final time was seven and a half hours, but I haven't reset my odometer since and it's polluted with the numbers from my daily riding, so who knows? And really, who cares? I rode a hundred miles, I rode all of them and then some, without once questioning my ability to do so. I got lost without losing myself and I made friends - there has never been a truer metaphor for life (When life gives you bad directions, make friends with someone with an iPhone!). This is not to rag on my fellow Spandex warriors - for I would like to improve my time with my next century (And trust me, already that endorphin fix calls to me) - but when cycling is your life, you realize that though the journey may take longer, it is infinitely more satisfying by two wheels.

And yes, I did it all, and will continue to do it all, with flat pedals and no socks with knock off Converse low-tops from Target.

All of the wonderful photos courtesy of my wonderful father, who is so wonderful that he won't freak out over my first tattoo.

Ah yes, I can hear him cursing in thick Cuban Spanish right now....

I love you, Dad!!!

Wednesday

2009-06-10T17:11:00.000-07:00

Catching up, be back soon.