Even when it's a quick trip to Las Vegas, I love traveling. Whether driving or flying, and as of last year, going by train, I just like the idea of getting up early in the morning, grabbing my backpack, maybe my computer and camera, and being off into the city. Any city. In the last nearly eight years, last year what the only one that only afforded me one, maybe two quick trips. And both were lovely in their own way. But that was it. All of it, really, my fault, but it doesn't make for me stopping wanting to go...somewhere.
I just spent an inordinate amount of time looking through hotel websites and through Expedia, trying to see if I can plan a trip, and book it this coming week. I want to commit to a trip. I suppose it's the one thing that I love the most that isn't something you can touch: travel. I mentioned at the beginning of the month the same thing. And as I was exchanging messages with Derrick (hi!) on Tumblr earlier, and my ridiculous lusting after online just now, I'm all set to go...
...except that I'm not certain to where, and why, and how much. All the practical details you know.
Since he posted on his blog, Warren Ellis's COUNTDOWN TO AN EARLY GRAVE always comes to mind when I start to think about traveling. Lots of my experiences out in the world, have involved great people, some who I love greatly, some who I can no longer stand, and as I've gotten older, and my venturing out has diminished, I'm finding that I prefer to be somewhere new alone. During the traveling part. At the destination, as it's been in not-so-recent years, I tend to walk a lot, talk to more strangers in a couple of days than I think I do in an entire year, have drinks, write more, and am happy.
This is when I'm the happiest in life.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
Date
Just so you know, when you end up handcuffed in the back of a police car, get your shoelaces taken from you, you have to describe your tattoos to the booking cop, and then have to get a ride home from the same officer who arrested you, it was a bad date.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
READ: Blue Pills by Frederik Peeters
At one point in 2008, my friend Jodi and I were in Book Soup in West Hollywood. She remembered many years later I nearly got a parking ticket when we were about to leave. We were in Book Soup, just looking about, and we split up briefly at one point (it's such a rather small space, frankly), and I was at their then-new graphic novel section. there really wasn't much that grabbed my attention aside from two books, Adrian Tomine's SHORTCOMINGS (a gift for the best friend) and Frederik Peeters's BLUE PILLS.
When I was finally home, I read BLUE PILLS and I cried and cried as I read it. It's a memoir, telling Peeters's story about meeting his girlfriend Cati and her son, and how they came to be together. Cati and her son are HIV-positive, and Peeters tells us how it was that their relationship came to function, how wonderful it was, how mired in uncertainty it initially was, and how, ultimately, there wasn't necessarily anything spectacular about it. And I cried because for a very long time at that point, I was still having a lot of difficulty with my own then-recent diagnoses.
Christ.
I remember so many nights of not sleeping and thinking about it. Feeling as if I was off-limits, thinking that no one would want me, that I was broken and damaged, and that I was sentenced to an isolated life. I remember as I'm reading BLUE PILLS, when Cati tells Fred of hers and her son's infection, how he reacts, because it wasn't how nearly everyone I knew did. And it made me love him. The romantic in me made me think that even though this was a memoir, guys like Fred were only fiction. I cried because he seemed, rightly or not, hesitant but honest, and still very much willing to take the chance, you know? Ah! It all seems a little muted now, but I remember how great I felt for Cati! I wanted him to want her and he did!
And I remember when talking about Cati's son, when Fred begins to think about this child's future being forever tied to the medical system, and whose live will potentially end in sickness, I was broken apart again. Because that is how I felt, how I foresaw my life. And it didn't matter that everyone seemed terribly upbeat, including my doctor. All I saw, much like Fred, was a life forever linked to a hospital and pills. Blue pills for Cati and her son.
I think this comic did more for me at the time when I needed it the most than anyone or any other thing did. Because it wasn't talking in bullshit: it's direct and a little difficult to read through, but it gave me a glimpse at something other than what my brain had cooked up for months prior. It showed me in rather obvious way that it didn't need to be the end of anything for me, just adding a few more steps to life. And it illustrated very much how a lot of us who're HIV-positive so feel such guilt for seemingly inflicting ourselves upon others, how many mistakes lead us to where we are, and how scary it is to face the world sometimes.
This is the most important book in my life since 2008. Peeters got me. And I'm not even sure if that was his intent. But it accomplished so much for me than I think I can ever be grateful for. Perhaps you think this is all hyperbole. Whatever. I'd read other things (around this time I also read Shawn Decker's MY PET VIRUS, which in trying to talk to people about, they'd rather talk about their asshole boyfriends) and talked to several people about being HIV-positive, but everyone seemed to be either too blase, or too gloomy for me to ever get something useful out of it (I remember telling my doctor then that if "living with HIV" isn't such a big deal, why did everyone around me burst into a little chaos of tears around me). It's one of the instances in my life wherein comic books seem to have more value and truth and love and anguish and even hope than the rest of the universe has.
What I find curious now, even after just re-reading it is that one of the medications I take are blue pills.
[cross-posted everywhere.]
When I was finally home, I read BLUE PILLS and I cried and cried as I read it. It's a memoir, telling Peeters's story about meeting his girlfriend Cati and her son, and how they came to be together. Cati and her son are HIV-positive, and Peeters tells us how it was that their relationship came to function, how wonderful it was, how mired in uncertainty it initially was, and how, ultimately, there wasn't necessarily anything spectacular about it. And I cried because for a very long time at that point, I was still having a lot of difficulty with my own then-recent diagnoses.
Christ.
I remember so many nights of not sleeping and thinking about it. Feeling as if I was off-limits, thinking that no one would want me, that I was broken and damaged, and that I was sentenced to an isolated life. I remember as I'm reading BLUE PILLS, when Cati tells Fred of hers and her son's infection, how he reacts, because it wasn't how nearly everyone I knew did. And it made me love him. The romantic in me made me think that even though this was a memoir, guys like Fred were only fiction. I cried because he seemed, rightly or not, hesitant but honest, and still very much willing to take the chance, you know? Ah! It all seems a little muted now, but I remember how great I felt for Cati! I wanted him to want her and he did!
And I remember when talking about Cati's son, when Fred begins to think about this child's future being forever tied to the medical system, and whose live will potentially end in sickness, I was broken apart again. Because that is how I felt, how I foresaw my life. And it didn't matter that everyone seemed terribly upbeat, including my doctor. All I saw, much like Fred, was a life forever linked to a hospital and pills. Blue pills for Cati and her son.
I think this comic did more for me at the time when I needed it the most than anyone or any other thing did. Because it wasn't talking in bullshit: it's direct and a little difficult to read through, but it gave me a glimpse at something other than what my brain had cooked up for months prior. It showed me in rather obvious way that it didn't need to be the end of anything for me, just adding a few more steps to life. And it illustrated very much how a lot of us who're HIV-positive so feel such guilt for seemingly inflicting ourselves upon others, how many mistakes lead us to where we are, and how scary it is to face the world sometimes.
This is the most important book in my life since 2008. Peeters got me. And I'm not even sure if that was his intent. But it accomplished so much for me than I think I can ever be grateful for. Perhaps you think this is all hyperbole. Whatever. I'd read other things (around this time I also read Shawn Decker's MY PET VIRUS, which in trying to talk to people about, they'd rather talk about their asshole boyfriends) and talked to several people about being HIV-positive, but everyone seemed to be either too blase, or too gloomy for me to ever get something useful out of it (I remember telling my doctor then that if "living with HIV" isn't such a big deal, why did everyone around me burst into a little chaos of tears around me). It's one of the instances in my life wherein comic books seem to have more value and truth and love and anguish and even hope than the rest of the universe has.
What I find curious now, even after just re-reading it is that one of the medications I take are blue pills.
[cross-posted everywhere.]
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Partner
We were talking earlier in what ifs and wouldn't it be nices, in that sort of way, and I asked if when people decide to get married or live together, if one of the things they consider is what their partner, whether wife or husband or boyfriend or girlfriend or whatever, brings to that union in terms of something practical. Our ridiculous example was, of course, work and money. As in, if I didn't feel like working for, say, a week, would my partner say to me, "Of course! Take time off and I'll get paid. Don't worry about it." Is that part of it, or were we just talking crazy?
Monday, January 3, 2011
Junk Drawer
I'm listening to Isis's IN THE ABSENCE OF TRUTH right now after nearly posting a whiny rant about the band breaking up. I only just now discovered this, the end of the band. Which is terrible. But I posted a clumsy bit on why I love Isis over on Flickr...
This year I'm not optimistic at all, nor even realistic. 2011 will probably suck. Already, in 2011, the DMV is winning again, my car is falling apart more, and my wallet is crying. Boo-hoo, right? Anyway:
This year I'm going to do a bit of a 365 thing again, but because I'm pretty sick of myself still, I'm telling you about things I love. Because, well, I love me already, and a lot of people need better pop culture bits in their life that don't have the words 'gaga' or 'lakers' in them. Click here, there are two already, the aforementioned Isis and writer Neil Gaiman.
On the latter, I'm trying to study Gaiman's work. Because it would be fun to dissect his comics and novels and children's books and even blog posts. And at the same time, as I begin with NEVERWHERE, I'm wondering why am I doing it aside from my secret obvious reason? I think there's an underlying thread through all of his work that says something to me about our world; even in Wall or The Dreaming there are aspects of our universe. I kick myself for not being more academic over the years. Anyway, as it is, at the very least, I get to re-read some of the best stories I've ever read anywhere.
January is only three days old and already I know it won't be the end of all the personal life bullshit from last year. "So it goes..."
I'm not prone to body image issues. Sure, I complain about the few gray hairs I have, about my belly being too big for its own good, and, man, if I was only six inches taller! but I don't really take it to the next level, you know, when you start obsessing over it (if the folk I knew would just fucking stop that already!). I took a picture and immediately deleted it last night. That's it.
Saw David O. Russell's THE FIGHTER. Which was absolutely fucking great! I would totally have added it to my list if I had six spaces in it. So, let's see, Top Ten Movies: BLACK SWAN, THE SOCIAL NETWORK, INCEPTION, NEVER LET ME GO, SCOTT PILGRIM VS THE WORLD, THE FIGHTER... see? that's it! Whatever, go see it before it's out of theaters!
When Golden and I were recently on the phone, the two of us on the verge of tears for different reasons, I told her I wanted to give myself something new. I haven't traveled in a long time and I want to again. I love traveling. I love traveling alone most of all because I am better without people that way. Truth be told, the last trip I took I enjoyed the most was the alone bits in Dallas and San Diego and New York. But these places, I've been to and I want something new. I want to go to Seattle again, and Chicago, and again to Philadelphia. I never once imagined going anywhere else in the United States than these places. However, on my browser there is an open tab with a list that includes New Orleans, Austin, Cleveland, and Denver. Also, London would be lovely.
(Hm that last paragraph reminds me of Warren Ellis's COUNTDOWN TO AN EARLY GRAVE.)
I'm not sure what compelled me to jot all this down.
This year I'm not optimistic at all, nor even realistic. 2011 will probably suck. Already, in 2011, the DMV is winning again, my car is falling apart more, and my wallet is crying. Boo-hoo, right? Anyway:
This year I'm going to do a bit of a 365 thing again, but because I'm pretty sick of myself still, I'm telling you about things I love. Because, well, I love me already, and a lot of people need better pop culture bits in their life that don't have the words 'gaga' or 'lakers' in them. Click here, there are two already, the aforementioned Isis and writer Neil Gaiman.
On the latter, I'm trying to study Gaiman's work. Because it would be fun to dissect his comics and novels and children's books and even blog posts. And at the same time, as I begin with NEVERWHERE, I'm wondering why am I doing it aside from my secret obvious reason? I think there's an underlying thread through all of his work that says something to me about our world; even in Wall or The Dreaming there are aspects of our universe. I kick myself for not being more academic over the years. Anyway, as it is, at the very least, I get to re-read some of the best stories I've ever read anywhere.
January is only three days old and already I know it won't be the end of all the personal life bullshit from last year. "So it goes..."
I'm not prone to body image issues. Sure, I complain about the few gray hairs I have, about my belly being too big for its own good, and, man, if I was only six inches taller! but I don't really take it to the next level, you know, when you start obsessing over it (if the folk I knew would just fucking stop that already!). I took a picture and immediately deleted it last night. That's it.
Saw David O. Russell's THE FIGHTER. Which was absolutely fucking great! I would totally have added it to my list if I had six spaces in it. So, let's see, Top Ten Movies: BLACK SWAN, THE SOCIAL NETWORK, INCEPTION, NEVER LET ME GO, SCOTT PILGRIM VS THE WORLD, THE FIGHTER... see? that's it! Whatever, go see it before it's out of theaters!
When Golden and I were recently on the phone, the two of us on the verge of tears for different reasons, I told her I wanted to give myself something new. I haven't traveled in a long time and I want to again. I love traveling. I love traveling alone most of all because I am better without people that way. Truth be told, the last trip I took I enjoyed the most was the alone bits in Dallas and San Diego and New York. But these places, I've been to and I want something new. I want to go to Seattle again, and Chicago, and again to Philadelphia. I never once imagined going anywhere else in the United States than these places. However, on my browser there is an open tab with a list that includes New Orleans, Austin, Cleveland, and Denver. Also, London would be lovely.
(Hm that last paragraph reminds me of Warren Ellis's COUNTDOWN TO AN EARLY GRAVE.)
I'm not sure what compelled me to jot all this down.
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