two years of torture

our last evening in the big easy. if there is anything i learned in the few days visiting, it's that this city lives and breathes music. we're still amused by how saturday night started with soothing folk music, went to a lively new orleans jazz ensemble and ended up at a reggae band dance party. and this all happened barhopping from one side of frenchmen street to the other.

we needed one last nola-style live music fix before heading back to california.

we head down toulouse, past bourbon in an effort to flag down a cab. indie music artist toro y moi walks by going the direction we have just come from. after he passes, we look at each other and laugh knowing that frances interviewed him last year before he became "big" and landed on the line-ups for sxsw and outside lands.

we see cabs passing by down other streets, but it takes a while before one comes to the corner where we decide to wait. finally, a cab slowly approaches and the three of us climb into the backseat.

frenchmen street, please.

it is quiet as he turns the car around and pauses to let other cars pass.

look how nice i am. i let everybody go ahead.

we smile at his odd opening line. i try to make conversation.

busy tonight?

monday night is probably the slowest night in new orleans.

he flips on the radio and turns left onto decatur street. a DJ is recapping songs recently played.

ooh wheee! "two years of torture." that song has to be about a relationship! have you ever been in love? if you have, you'd know it's torture. you know the comedian christopher titus?

he had a tv show, right?

yea, a long time ago. anyway, in one of his stand-up acts he says something along the lines of "if you've never considered murder, you've never been married. if you've never considered suicide, you've never been divorced." HA! ain't that the truth?

he gets distracted because we have arrived at our destination and his pack of cigarettes has fallen behind his seat.

right here is fine.

frenchmen street. you've got the whole strip ahead of you.

we pay and get out of the cab. as i'm shutting the door, i try to leave him with a final word.

thanks and don't torture yourself!

oh well, you know...being in a relationship is torture...but being alone is torture too!

"to be alive at all is to have scars" ~steinbeck

a quote in the book. a scene in a movie. most of all, the bright fushcia phalaenopsis flowers in full bloom for the first time since the orchid was gifted to me by the girls as a "get well" gesture. all subtle daily reminders that it has been quite a while since my incident last summer and i have yet to provide a full reflection on that time.

i hinted and promised that i would do so in a past entry, but every attempted draft didn't quite capture everything i wanted to say about it and it was too easy to keep moving forward.

for most of my life, i have been lucky enough to be blessed with relatively good health. this incident was probably the single greatest threat to my health. yet since the injuries were minor, the incident itself quickly became a surreal memory. after all, the next night i was surrounded by laughing friends and family in my childhood home. back to work the following tuesday. camping on catalina island only a week and a half later. then hiking through the andes the next month.

the other reason for my desire to put it in my past: resentment.

i resented being a victim. i admit that i withdrew from gchat and other social networks just to avoid being asked for nth time hearing, "how are you feeling?" people were only asking because they cared, but i grew weary of rehashing the state of my injuries and recovery. i didn't need any additional reminders of what happened. i was witnessing the everyday miracle of wounds healing and turning to scars.

i resented that it seemed to prove the misperceptions of oakland. there was no thought of the why. just a matter of fact: "that happens there." in my own mind, i've vaguely explored the root of it all. see it as a sign of desperation during these tough economic times and a reflection of the tension that is a common symptom in a rapidly gentrifying city.

and yes, one does eventually come to acceptance of it all. so much so that when the kind southern woman from the insurance claims office calls me months later to hear my story, she is in shock and full of sympathy while i chuckle in my explanation of how silly a circumstance i put myself in.

aside from a revival of humor, the greatest thing about acceptance is the ability to revisit even the toughest moments with a lighter heart.

#minorspoileralert: there is a scene in "50/50" where jgl is in the hospital crying to his mom (played by anjelica huston). she attempts to comfort him while the medical staff unapologetically orders her to retreat to the waiting room.

i spent a greater portion of the movie laughing, but i couldn't help tearing up a bit during that one scene. i realize later that my reaction was strong because it was incredibly real to me.

i remember when i opened my eyes to my dad, mom and brother standing over me in the trauma center. i immediately started crying. like every other time in my life that i have cried, my dad delivered his standard mantra, "be strong." i know he went out to the waiting room and translated my tears to my friends as an expression of the pain i was feeling. it was true my head was throbbing from the concussion, but my tears weren't for the pain. they were for my parents: that they had to see me like this, that i made them worry. my mom especially has already spent too many hours in hospital waiting rooms for my brother, for my dad, and in this one particular instance for me.

my pushy attending nurse scooted my family out of my room citing the strict two visitors at a time rule. ignoring that rule, the girls somehow snuck by my nurse and visited my room all at once. i remember smiling and telling them, "my favorite girls in the world!"

some of the dearest people in my life comforted me that night and the days following. thank you, all. after the open wounds and resentment have long gone, it's the memory of the love and blessings received that still resounds.

himyf (ep. 2)

the year 2035

kids, as i was saying, this is the story of how i met...
joseph-gordon levitt.

who is he?!? you know who he is. he's that actor from "inception" and "(500) days of summer," those classic movies of mine that you like to watch on the vintage dvd player.

well, your aunties and i are fans. that is why when we heard that his online arts collaborative was having a show in the city, there wasn't much debate about if we would attend. a few weeks before the show, i bought the tickets from a curt box office attendant who thought the show was general admission. it worked out well though because our random assigned seats were not bad at all: a third of the way back from the stage and one seat away from the center aisle.

we were giddy with anticipation waiting for the show to begin. the opening titles finally roll on the screen. as they end, he rushes out on to the stage with his squinty-eyed smile, a video camera in hand, and an enthusiastic, "ladies and gentleman, are we recording?"

the fear that the celebrity wouldn't live up to our idea of him completely dissipates in those first few seconds. the three of us are taken aback by the fact that we are actually in the same room as him and (as your auntie frances put it) that he is "as cute and charming in person as he is on screen."

after playing a few short films, he introduces the next segment of the show: the tiny stories collaboration. it's exactly as it sounds. writers contribute 1-2 line stories and artists make illustrations to accompany them. in some cases, they turn these tiny stories into tiny films with animated art, music and sound effects.

he jumps off the stage to choose people from the crowd to provide the voiceover for a couple stories. instead of picking people who are screaming for his attention, he tells us that he will be taking "recommendations" from other audience members on who should get a chance to read. at first we are excitedly pointing at each other but as he approaches our row, we completely freeze.

in our star-stricken state, he selects two people and returns to the stage. considering our mediocre seats, we cannot believe that he even came that close to us.

the first girl who reads is good. she's kinda irritating but adds personality to the story. he is slightly disappointed with the gentleman who reads the second story. in search of a new reader, he jumps off the stage again and walks down the center aisle scanning the crowd. determined not to miss a second photo opp of him 5 ft away from us, i whip out my camera to the ready-position.

focused on getting the shot as he approaches again, i don't realize that bev and frances continue to point at me to be chosen. he gets to our row and looks directly at me and says, "you with the camera!"

before i know it, i am on stage with him reading a story in front of 700+ strangers.

and that, kids, is how i met joseph-gordon levitt.

obviously, he is not your father. at the time, though, there were a lot of people that wished that he would be the father of their children (myself included). also at the time, i still didn't know that your father would be your father. that he would be the one to really make my dreams come true.