Consumer

Two-three years ago, Golden was in town visiting Kortney and the three of us went to the Shore House diner in Long Beach. I remembered it since then (it's located in the Belmont Shore neighborhood which has become such a string of douchebaggery over the last few years, I tend to avoid it). And I think what I remember most about that place during that first visit is the waiter guy. I think he was Hispanic because he had a thick Spanish accent but he had green/gray eyes, maybe middle-aged, and I remember him because he was incredibly nice to the three of us. I mean, neither Golden nor Kortney nor I are high maintenance customers but at the same time, I felt like my patronage was appreciated.

Years ago, before our trip to Philadephia and Seattle, Golden and I went to the mall for things to wear. And I remember very clearly we went into the Gap store despite my own reservations so Golden could get something. At the register, the girl took what Golden was buying and started ringing her up. The cashier did not once say hello and she did not make eye contact until, Golden, seeing what was happening, courteously but audibly said hello to the cashier.

Recently, Corey and I have been going places that unfortunately remind me more and more of the latter example than the former. And then it made me think yesterday, as Corey and I left Basix in West Hollywood, as I'm typing a quick complaint email, as to whether or not I'm a demanding customer.

I think at restaurants, when I order and I don't like what comes - either because I don't like it, or because I order something familiar sounding but is not what I want - I'm willing to chalk that up to adventurous ordering. When I go places I've never been with people who have, of course I ask what's good. And everything is up for grabs except seafood and curries. Most recent example was at the aforementioned Basix. Corey and I went for breakfast after church service and I ordered huevos rancheros and the plate was disappointing in size and flavor. Not sure how that's possible on supposed eggs sunny side up. But that's fine: I knew I would probably not like it and I stuck with it.

What puts me off more than bad food choices (and even bad food) is the service. Yesterday, we took a bit to place our order. We always do and the servers always keep coming back and I wonder how frustrating that may be for them. The service sector is about turnover right? So, we finally placed our order and the guy who was our waiter suddenly stopped coming. He didn't even bring our food out; someone else did that so where was our waiter? He didn't come back until Corey stopped him to ask for water and syrup. And then he returned when it was time to pay. I asked Corey whether or not he was going to leave a tip for the waiter because I was not.

Of course, it always reminds me of Mr. Pink in Quentin Tarantino's RESERVOIR DOGS. And then Mr. Blue asking Mr. Pink if a waitress taking him out back and giving him a blow job would be enough to garner a tip. Anyway...

I've been to two places Corey's suggested and the service has been, in my honest opinion, abysmal. As I mentioned before, it wasn't the food that put me off, or even the highly pretentious atmosphere at the other place, Rocksugar in Century City, but rather the terrible waiters we've had. Corey's mentioned he's okay with that because the ambiance and food are what he's there for. That's what people do, I think. So why do I even bother going out to eat anywhere? To be fair, Corey and I went to the Pho Cafe in Silver Lake and while the food wasn't what I was expecting, the guy who served us was pretty awesome so I would definitely go back there and try something else.

It leads me to ask this question about me: am I too demanding a customer?

I've often said I wouldn't ever work in the food service industry precisely because of people like ME. Why is that? Do I expect too much? What do I really want? If it isn't the food nor ambiance, then what is it I go places for? To berate the waitstaff once it's out of earshot? Hm,

Which also reminds me of Mr. Pink when he goes on to describe how many times his cup of coffee must be refilled in ratio to the time he's spent at the table.

My odd expectations at restaurants seems to be all consuming for me as soon as I walk in: am i greeted, did the hostess cop an attitude, did we have silverware at the table, did someone come for my drink order, did I get what I wanted fast, is the waiter friendly, is he knowledgeable, how many times will I have to ask for something, how many times am I asked if I'd like anything else, is the waiter visibly impatient, did I get everything I ordered when I ordered it, am I thanked, am I offered dessert even though I don't like them? And I'm sure there are more in this already-long list. And I think as soon as at least two of these are not meant, the only conceivable reason for it is our waiter, and by extension, the restaurant are not worth my time and money.

Who the hell am I? A customer. But, as the boyfriend's said before about other circumstances, am I human?

Corey's said at this rate we're not going to have very many places we can go to. He's right and I am wrong. Because, well, why should I hold a weirdly arbitrary standard to people who're doing a job even I wouldn't do?

There will be more about this, to be sure...

Re-Gifters

We were talking gifts the other day.

I don't keep very many things people give me over the years, whether friends or ex's. Because there is a disassociation with the people who gave them to me. Corey and I were talking, and this is what I said. I don't return anything that was given to me that I don't like because I appreciate the gesture and thought. But once that particular relationship is dissolved, whether through my or the other person's actions/inactions, there is no point in cluttering my life with things.

Don't get me wrong: I keep things that truly matter in context.

But most things do not last that long. People don't last that long.

I'm really not much one for gifts. I mean, I like giving to someone something I think they will like, or I know they want, or both. But as far as I'm concerned, the gesture, not the thing itself, matters a little more.

I was thinking that there wasn't anything from the last, say, ten years that I've kept beyond the 'I like it' part of it. But there are. A few. One being the envelope Golden gave me back in 2003 with the zine she made. Another is from 2004 when Justin mailed me a framed and autographed version of this photo. Another is this bracelet Cynthia gave me. And most recently, it's this list of things Corey gave me for Valentine's Day. I have these things and will continue having them because they matter in the context of my life at these various points in time. And, truly, most everything else I've gotten does not stand up very well to this test.

(Don't misunderstand: I've other things from before, during, and after the ones above. But the sentimental cache if you will isn't there anymore and I keep a CD because I like the music in it, for example.)

Corey called it 'love stories in the trash' in a text. But it's not nearly that, I don't think. Sometimes, I come across something someone's given me and that person and I no longer have any sort of emotional or personal or even practical attachment, so why keep it? Years ago, this girl, Carly, gave me a framed picture of her and me at her birthday party and I got rid of it a few years ago because...there is not reason for me to have it any more. It reminds of all the things kids write in year books during the last week of classes and we write "K-I-T" but no one does it; it's the polite thing to do because we know full-well that we are not going to do it. I know I'm not. I don't have anything anyone's given me who is no longer a meaningful part of my life. With very few exceptions. Funny thing: my best friend tweeted this quote from SEX & THE CITY as I began typing this.

All of this reminds me, of course, of CHOKE by Chuck Palahniuk: "You'd be surprised how easy it is to close the door to your past."

I'm not sure if this means that I'm more utilitarian than I think I am, or just more petty. Probably a little of both (or a lot of both.).

But then it makes me think of whether or not I place a higher value on the thing than the person. I mean, I have a handful of things that mean something to me - a good memory, a sad one - but the person from whom it came, why don't I have the same emotional attachment to it? Obvious answer is, well, I held that person in high regard but they showed me I was wrong and they are worth less than what they say. How vile does that last sentence sound?

While I'm not partial to receiving (I'm going to snicker at the double entendre!) anything, I suppose thinking that the person who got me something to for any effect probably has in their mind that I will always have it. I mean, I do when I give. For the most part I think we all do. I really do. But once that relationship is dissolved, then what? Clutter. It's the literal representation of when we say about each other that we have a lot of baggage with us at all times. Perhaps when I get rid of that book you gave me because it comes with baggage: you.

Tonight, Next Year

We went to lunch and a short walk and a movie and a fast-food dinner.

We talk for hours about meaningful things. And there've been some frustrations on both sides of the conversation over the last year.

One of the things we talked about today (yesterday?) was time and how I feel my perception of time is skewed. Before, I've said that there is no such thing as time, and I'm awake all it is is change and entropy (grand and original though, hey?). But as we're talking briefly about the preceeding year, and I think again how everything that happened last year had to have happened in my life, it still feels as if everything was just yesterday (more accurately, all of it happened last week), and he says he feels he's a bit more removed than I am from all of that. Last year wasn't absolutely terrible, but it wasn't good, was it?

And when we're laying next to each other - sweat and come spent - I feel like I'm trying to see if tonight will seem like yesterday next year. Or if he'll see tonight as having happened years ago next year.

We both agreed that everything that's happened since January seems to be compressed into a much shorter amount of time than three months. A lot has indeed happened in three months for him and me and us, definitely not everything has been unambiguous and not everything has been sad.

Just got off the phone with my best friend and we're talking, not about time, no, but we're talking about making reckless choices, or having the choices be made for us. Which is the better option? As I tend to do, I vote for the former.

So, we strip off each other's clothes and move and maneuver and kiss and grind and lick and envelop each other and you know what? fuck next year.

Current

Currently:

My favorite picture of Corey.

My favorite picture of me.

My favorite picture of us.

"Margaret Wente Is An Idiot" or "Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret Wente. And I'm Kind of a Dumbass."

Theremina pointed us to this article yesterday, WHY ARE BLOGGERS MALE? by one, Margaret Wente. Some bits:

On why she doesn't blog (apparently guys love snowmobiling, incidentally): "It's more of a guy thing."

"That's also why guys like blogging – instant opinions, and lots of them. Men clearly have an urge to blog that women lack."

And the winner for me: "Women never held peeing contests. Perhaps that helps explain why women tend to be more restrained and less concerned with public displays of prowess. We are just as interested in listening as in talking, and more interested in relationships than scoring points. We also tend to lack the public confidence that comes so easily to many men."

(Ms Yayanos writes over at Coilhouse.)

It's an interesting bit of writing in that Ms Wente is clearly an insane person. I'm of the mind that someone like her would have done her research as Ms Yayanos points out in her own piece, but I'm pretty astounded that this was deemed fit-to-print because of the sheer lunacy of it. It presupposes, to me, that women don't have any sort of interest in this particular bit of the 21st Century. Women don't have the inclination toward it, have no desire in partaking, and would just be bad at it. Is any of that true? Of course it isn't. It doesn't take but a moment through dig through any of our bookmark folders to see it's nowhere near truth. But nevermind, that: ask your circle of friends. But I'm getting off topic.

The assumption that blogging is some sort of men's competition (which I'm not naive to believe isn't partly true) and is best left for them is absolutely ridiculous. It's like saying that writing period -- say, journalism, for one -- is merely a man's thing because it is only men who have the predisposition for it. Is THIS true? Certainly not.

Personally, I just find it curious how Ms Wente just painted a weird caricature of women the same way Tyler Perry does of black people with his movies and she believes it (I'm also of the mind that when you say something, you only say it because you believe it). It's one of the things I dislike most about a person, this sort of self-hate in a way. Marginalizing your gender group, in this case, from the inside and being certain and resolute about it.

(It also makes me think of American-born Mexican folk I've come to meet in this country who target those who're only recently arrived through any means: ready to tear them down because immigrants are not at all like them. But, I'm digressing.)

The idea posited by her writing is a very bleak one if you are a woman who blogs. Hell, if you're a woman who writes. And of course, I find it hypocritical that this is how this woman earns a living.

I wonder what makes people of any type to seemingly be set again others from their group (coincidentally, last night, Corey and I were talking similarly about those of us who aren't straight and what there is to be proud of there; my take wasn't as positive (this too is a different post).). I really want to understand because if logic falls in place and reveals some truth, then I'd be more inclined to believe the argument...

...or it could be just like Ms Yayanos says: "Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret Wente. And I'm Kind of a Dumbass."

Read: Generation A

It begins with a tsunami and ends on an island.

When bees have been extinct for years and five people from all over the world are stung, forces mobilize and trips into pharmaceuticals and celebrity and religion and World of Warcraft and Abercrombie & Fitch and tourette's syndrome and maybe even a little brain stem cloning happen.

These five people--Harj, Zack, Samantha, Diane, Julien--must surely have something in common that long-extinct bees suddenly have stung them. But they don't. Not really. Not at first. But what happens is as they begin to unravel the reason (not mystery) of what's happening to them, I find myself seeing the world through their eyes. Not because they're their eyes. Their eyes are mine. (In a previous novel (ALL FAMILIES ARE PSYCHOTIC), Coupland introduced an HIV-infected mother and her dysfunctional family. And it seems so prescient that when I was dealing with my initial HIV diagnosis, I read this novel, and I was and am Janet Drummond.) One of the strangest things and most powerful things that Douglas Coupland manages to do with his stories for me is place them in the NOW. His stories and his characters could never have existed at any other point in time. And as I read about Harj while in the middle of the 2004 tsunami, or Samantha attempting to make an "earth sandwich," I know when all of this is taking place. But the ridiculousness of this feeling of NOW for me is that I am Harj and I am Samantha, and I couldn't be anyone else. Like them, I am built for this time on earth and I couldn't have even been conceived of in any other point in history.

Coupland takes a certain amount of story time telling stories. His characters tell each other stories and reveals something that even they didn't know: that once you access your creative imagination and sit around a fire and tell each other stories, we're creating a better world for us all. But as it's asked, why is it so difficult for people to tell stories? Answer:

"Stories come from a part of you that only gets visited rarely - sometimes never at all. I think most people spend so much time trying to convince themselves that their lives are stories that the actual story-creating part of their brains hardens and dies. People forget that there are other ways to ordering the world."

And it makes me believe that Coupland feels the need to tell stories even in the age of digital everything and satellites and sms messaging is even more important than all of this tech. Maybe I'm naive in believing so, but Coupland makes me feel I am right and belong in this world. Stories. Not anecdotes, not jokes, but actual stories. Stories about us--ourselves! Humans as stories! Humans telling stories! And while not necessarily talking about telling stories as entertainment nor as a means to passing down history: when Coupland places the five in a circle, telling stories, this is what will eventually lead to their conclusion: they can save the world.

But ultimately, what GENERATION A does for me is that it makes me believe that we are not doomed in this hyperconnected world. Really, it's not that I believe this will lead us down the path of ruin, me, using this light and machinery to write this, but just because the world is changing, even if by our designs and desire and greed, the world remains a remarkable place that finds its way to let you know hoe much it's worth to stop and admire everything that you've forgotten you have. That I've forgotten I have. And I will always tell you a story.

Written by Douglas Coupland.

Unsent Email Number ?

hey.

i'm not sure what happened but good luck and i'm sorry.

i'm sorry for being an impossible person to get through to. i built up very many walls very fast when i feel i'm wronged, real or not. but you know this. i told you this the last time we talked.

and whether or not i'm right or wrong, this isn't about that. it's about me not seeing the good in a person. not anymore. because i do see it and am drawn to it, and when it's focused on me, even for a fraction of the time, i want to keep it always. but when it's taken away from me, through no fault of my own, well, then it becomes toxic to me. whether that's wrong, i don't much care, you see, because i simply can't care anymore. you hurt my feelings and for that you must pay. this is how i work. whether it's right, that's debatable.

so, here i sit, thinking that what's good about you is what i'm depriving myself of, and by depriving you of me, i get my revenge. and i'm sorry for that.

and good luck. because i want good things for you.

Double Up

Yesterday I went to the doctor for my winter appointment. While there, I got a chance to talk to him and to his wife, Susan, about how long it's been since I started seeing them. I made a comment how it really hasn't seemed like nearly three years. Susan asked me if I remembered how timid and scared I was the very first time I walked through their office doors and I smiled and said I did remember. Because I do. Of course I do. I'll probably remember it forever.

I first found out I am HIV positive on Friday, September 28, 2007. I'm not going to go into all that diatribe again. If you're so inclined, this is where all that can be found. Anyway: back then, I was a mess. Corey and I were talking recently about it, briefly, and he said how much of a turnaround I seem to have had since the original diagnosis and now. He's right.

Look, I can only say that the first year after finding out I was positive was very difficult for me. And, as I look back, I see someone who isn't who I am now. Which is the only possible outcome as far as I'm concerned. As Corey and I were talking then, I remember saying how very much I would kick myself in the ass if I could; if I could go back in time and talk to 2007 me, I would totally have to tell him to stop with the histrionics and foolishness. But that's for an imaginary life. Now, as things turned out, my numbers are the highest/lowest they've been since I first started seeing my doctor. Way back when, my T-Cell count was 333, and my viral load was over 49000. Yesterday, T-Cells were at 712 and viral load was less than 75. All of which is infinitely good for me. My doctor says the same thing every single time I see him: he says he doesn't see why I keep going to visit him, he says I'm always damn healthy, my blood tests always show that everything is working properly and nothing else indicates anything else. Since I started seeing him, I decided to keep track of my doctor's visits (which has morphed a little into my adventures with general and specialized medicine).

There are some days when I'm fully aware of the virus. And sometimes it gets me down a bit, I'll admit. Usually, it happens when I've forgotten to take my meds or when I need to refill them. It's happened recently, early this winter, as the entire family seemed to be struck with a vicious cold one at a time, and my niece was kept at home so as to not be around me. My older brother's said that there have been times when if Emma, my niece, is sick, he'd rather not expose me to all the little terrors she picks up from the monsters at her school. My father's said I should get the swine flu shot because I am already sick. You know, things like these. Which, as I've said before, makes me feel a little down because everything seems to be a little emergency now.

Still, it seems more like a nuisance than anything else. You know, like getting up and going to work in the damn early predawn hours: you do it because you must, there's no point in crying about it.

I don't know, after leaving the doctor's yesterday, of course everything was made of chocolate and whipped cream! And I think a lot about what could have been, probably more than it's healthy to. But at the same time, I think about myself and how, to Corey's point, there's been such a change, which has been totally unconscious. Used to be I was very good in the middle of a bad situation and it was long-term that I wasn't very good at. Who'd guess things might change? Certainly, not me.

(For your information: here, and here.)

Obstacle 1

We had a conversation the other day (yesterday? my memory is absolutely terrible), Corey and I, wherein I said that everything is on the table. Everything. We were talking about the future, you see. Maybe our future, maybe not - he's much smarter than I am, and often he makes sure I'm following his train of thoughts and sometimes it goes over my head - but the future. And as clumsily as always, I realized two things, long after the actual conversation had taken place. It doesn't discount the validity of either realization, but sometimes I wish my brain didn't have so many holes.

The first is the most obvious one. Not everyone thinks the way I do. My father has been telling me this for years and I've often, with reason or not, just brushed him aside and thought he was just being an angry old man, obtuse, set in his ways, and unable to understand. Corey's been telling me over the last year or so that everyone thinks a certain way...except me. Over our Valentine's Day weekend, we were walking along somewhere in San Diego, and I don't recall exactly what the conversation was, but at one point Corey said I seem to not choose to participate in what seems to be the norm for people our age, or just people in general. After a few hours, I think while we were having sushi (an underwhelming adult experience for me, which I don't understand, especially after having had eel (gross!!) for the first), I said to him that I liked what he said, that I choose not to participate. Because I don't.

Funny thing about me is I go under the assumption that whenever I'm talking and sharing with anyone, from my family and boyfriend, to strangers and co-workers, everyone knows what I mean when I say things I believe about marriage and music and family and films and books and politics. Because what I believe is the right thing, you see. It's everyone else who just doesn't get it. And for thirty-three years, having this assumption, well, can I just say I am wrong? And what really set this off like a neon sign in a quiet suburban street was when Corey and I were talking about the future, a hypothetical future, sure, but I was getting frustrated with the way the conversation was going because I couldn't understand why Corey didn't get what I was saying...until we were in the car and I realized that, despite whatever the topic is, I believe whoever I'm talking should automatically understand what I'm saying because I think...I don't really know why. Look at my arrogance.

The frustration Corey and my father and others probably feel/felt is completely justified and my own is regrettably not. Which means that I'm more close-minded than I think I am. Because I often don't let other people's sentiments and ideas and beliefs and traditions to come over and play with mine because I feel mine are right and just and theirs are not. How fucking insane is that of me!? And after having this little "ah-ha!" moment, I wondered why anyone talks to me (which I say often to these lovely people in my life, but I think I finally get what I mean to say).

The second thing I came to realize is that as far as the future is concerned, EVERYTHING is up for grabs!

Okay, so I just spent a page telling you how close-minded I am, yes? Well, this is the part where I tell you that I believe in the future and in the future everything is fair game: family and love and marriage and divorce and money and travel, etc. Because who I am now isn't who I was five, ten, seventeen years ago; who I am now isn't who I'll be tomorrow, nevermind the years from now. And because of this, as Corey and I were in the middle of the aforementioned conversation, I realized that every option for us is on the table. As it should be.

We were talking about us, of course we were. And when I say that the possibility of being together with the one you love for the rest of your life without it being marriage, that's valid. Just as it's valid that somewhere along the road I want to get married is also valid. One does not negate the other; both possibilities can coexist in the future. Because, you see, for me to say 'never' about everything is pretty much selfish and arrogant (there's that word again!) and plain stupid, I think. Conversely, I think when it comes to people, we should continuously remain open to every possibility. Because of all that stuff they teach you about the road less traveled, sure, but also because even when you go down a well-traveled path, it doesn't mean that you're not going to find interesting stops along the way...as long as you're willing to stop.

Reading this as I type it sounds pretty dumb because it tastes like everyone would tell me, "Duh! Javier, everyone knows this already!" if they were to hear me say so. Thing is, probably this is true, but I tell you what, me, realizing things about myself happens so infrequently, when it does happen, it's outstanding. Because I definitely don't want to be the main obstacle in my life.

Anyway: TO THE FUTURE!!!

Cute Monster

I would totally let him eat me.