Sobrino

It's my nephew's birthday today. I believe he is 17 today. I hope I find the time and courage to call him, tease him and wish him a happy birthday, but his father, my brother SCARES me.

Happy Birthday, Kenny!

When In Doubt Have a Pastrami...

Spent much of the morning having tepid coffee and reading the newspaper at the counter at Langer's while the thug miss conducted business in a nearby booth. I didn't want any of its infamous pastrami for breakfast so I just settled with the coffee that man, just tasted awful in that familiar way. It might just be me, but the worst coffee is always made by people in my parents' generation and older. They don't have to cold hard sphincters us young kids have thanks to sbux (that's the nasdaq name / wall street journal name for starbucks). Still every once in a while my mother will totally hook up the Yuban for us that is positively delightful.

The stories in the paper were good in that borderline prurient way that gets the blood going on hump day. Wednesday for all you creative classer types is just a useless day. I wish everyone could do 4/10 days like cops and doctors. Anyway, I read about this 50-something year old guy who was desperate for love and ended up murdered by his lady love in Brazil. The story reads: Victim: Raymond Merrill, a lonely carpenter, may have been murdered by his fiancee and her real boyfriend in Brazil. It was a good read especially since it listed all of his previous girlfriends and wouldn't you know it they all had Spanish surnames. Looks like somebody had an affection for the la-la-latinas. Here's a picture of the man's object of affection:

Dude didn't stand a chance, huh? Man, I don't know about you, I love black widow types myself. Hey, at least I am a little more imaginative than liking catholic school girls.

Also, read another story an awful raid on immigrant workers in several Colorado meat plants that spun the whole situation as a serious identity theft operation put to a halt. I'm so sure anybody in that situation wouldn't totally steal social security numbers if it meant surviving and supporting your loved ones back home. I know I totally would if I had no other choice. I'm just like kick back homeland security.

Then I read about Pinochet being denied a state funeral by Chile's first female presidente Michelle Bachelet (A president named Michelle? Awesome.), a former torture victim under the Pinochet regime. It makes me miss my former comrades in my undergraduate training at cal state northridge's central american studies program since all we ever did was talk about what was going on in the isthmus along with Cuba (Fidel's in his last days!), Venezuela (Chavez is still alive and kicking!) and the rest of Latin America. It's been heartbreak ever since El Salvador dollarized my friends...Hmm, I wonder if I should devote more airtime to my opinions on world events on this humble lil' blog here. Well let's see something that really hurts me and my wallet is my college loans...you democrats better see that the loaning industrial complex comes crashing down now that you're in charge. Okay, how was that?

Okay so I did order the pastrami on rye to go because I would kick myself if I didn't have just a taste from the famous Langer's. I ate about 3/4 of it and dayum that was one serious bellybomb! The first couple of bites were pretty sexual though but by the end I was just feeling the arteries stiffen a little so I spat the rest out into my waste basket. What's weird is that they vacuum sealed my hot pickles...eww, I'm so not going to touch them! I'm having some green tea now to help the digestion along. Don't leave my side, green tea!

I Love Nadino...and Part of Walkout!

After work I went over to Nadino's to do some work for the upcoming show. I showed her a preliminary script I'm writing for her daddy visual diary we're putting together. She doesn't have a lot of time, space or privacy to write stuff down because she's been co-parenting these last few months but has quite a visual archive so we've been meeting and talking about some heavy ass shit in between her double shifts. So I asked her if I could produce a script about what she has shared with me and she said sure so I spent most of last night writing as much as I could. When I showed her the script and read it aloud to her we both tripped out. How would you feel if one of your collaborators wrote some sketch of your life? How would I feel if someone wrote a version of my life that wasn't completely mine though filled with intimate details that were both beautiful and difficult to comprehend? Sweet yet painful, honest yet uncomfortable. How would you like it if what you read was true but untrue at the same time? How could anyone know what you were feeling but decide to write a version of what those feelings might look like anyway. We both agreed that hot damn that was a serious exercise in trust and creative production and are we really willing to go there?

Hell yeah, you know it!

Then I came home and the thug miss and me watched a big chunk of WALKOUT! You know the HBO movie about the East L.A. high school walkouts of 1968 and I love it so much because Michael Pe~na and Alexa Vega are so GOOD as Sal Castro (Garfield HS teacher) and Paula Crisostomo, a student leader. The scenes of the police beatings the students endure during one of the walkouts is so intense, so brutal, it always brings tears to my eyes. So tragic, man, but I kind of think that this film kind of played some role in inspiring teenagers from those same schools as well as parts of Huntington Park, South Gate and Lynwood, to get organized and do the same in the name of immigration. Oh the one thing that I get all embarrassed about though is that the whole flick is directed by Edward James Olmos...though he actually does good for once. In terms of violence though, he teeters in Mel Gibson land. Hey, I'm just saying...shanking an inmate in the ass after raping him?? Come on!

Ridiculous...

Okay so I went on and on about the East Los weekend I had in my previous post, right? Spending money, eating good food, good cultural fun was had by all. Well shit, if you think Saturday was good wait until I tell you about Sunday. The troll miss and I rolled out of bed, fucked, fought and forgave and then went and took all of our unframed art over to awesome cheap frame shop in Chinatown and giggled with glee at the amazing price they offered for four pieces. Hell yeah, personal coup for us. Then my tumbly was rumbly so we went across the street to the little plaza we both know when we at different times used go risk our young lives to see punk bands play at the old Hong Kong Cafe to forage for food. Sadly, the place that was the HKC is now an overpriced hipster housewares with Asian motifs hack shop but they had this big B&W photo framed of Alice & The Bags that I coveted with all of my being.

Before Hong Kong Cafe, right as soon as we crossed the street, this is so fucking funny, I saw Jo$h Kun sauntering over to one of the happening bakeries. It forced me to pause and ask myself--oh no, am I having an earnest attempt at challenging consumerism in my part of town or am I just having a bourgeois bohemian-obsessed-with - L.A. underground - to the point-that-now-I'm -just a cliche - weekend?? Seeing Kun forced me to feel like I was having the latter -- I mean, once Kun shows up to the party, the scene is done! Over a quick lunch of veggie pho and shrimp spring rolls, I told troll miss that while I'm having so much fun going around town, I felt like we were unwittingly experiencing a live re-enactment of an L.A. Weekly story, probably written by Kun or Gendy Alimurung. I feel like I've read cheesy silverlake-living L.A. Weekly writer's blogging and ranting about patronizing forgotten L.A. neighborhood fixtures, or discovering their stiff drinks and grimy pupusas and hot butt sex and now we're going to underground heaven and you're not invited. I mean, I guess that is what the L.A. Weekly has become, right? Do you really need to tell me about Sky's Tacos on Pico over and over again?? It's such a drag sometimes being so self-conscious.

A lesson in your anthropological trolling, people. Speaking of which, should I share with you what fun it was to ride over to El Sereno's Anti-Mall to stock up on ELA punk rock. Nevermind the fact that I had to run into my former closet-case, guitar-playing, bi-racial issue-having roommate (if you think I'M self-righteous you oughtta meet her!), it was just worth it to see The Brat (man, I love aging punk rockers) in full effect. It was cold as a witch's titty being in the outdoor Anti-mall and all, but Teresa C. and the rest of the crew delivered serious punk goodies. There's only two original members left and now they're playing with guys that look straight out of a Roberto Rodriguez movie.

Anyway, I lifted this picture off their myspace page. See there for photo credits.

Spending Money In East Los...

Hey, that's what it is and it's always a good thing for the local economy, especially since I hear there are movidas towards becoming its own city. Yes, East Los wants to be its own city and as much as I advocate autonomy like the next cat I still think that's going to be impossible. Your own city services--yeah, that's what it means. You have to get your own fire department and law enforcement agency. But hey, do what you want, East Los, what do I know??

Well speaking of having to work hard, the troll miss and me spent the day spending ducats at local eatery Homegirl Cafe, the Jobs Not Jail arm for formerly incarcerated ladies (and their admirers). I really liked our food, the Angela Green Potion is definitely worth writing about -- lemonade/spinach/mint elixir that goes down tart and while I almost choked on my chilaquiles they were still so good but just a bit too spicy for my bland Salvi ass. Still, the eats were cheap and delicious. What I dig about Homegirl Cafe that unlike it's Homeboy counterparts (the silkscreening joint) is that there is definitely a queer ambiance there so I always feel welcome and never suspect. The first time I went there was back when it first opened and damn the chicken pepian was just insane and I sat down with friends who introduced me to Jennifer, this pelona who had a busted crazy eye and just gotten out of lock-up and had her girl's name (Isabel) tattooed right above her forehead at where her hairline begins, and we started talking about what kind of movies and plays she would want to see about bisexual girls--it got a little raw. But then my friend who was there lunching and introducing us mentioned my performance group to Jennifer who got all excited about it. and I got excited about her getting excited so I was all happy to give her some punk rock BdP pins and she put it on her buttoned up to the collar dickies shirt and some of our bookmarks that she stuck in her pocket. Anyway what was hot about the whole thing was that the other women who were running the kitchen and waiting tables kept hitting her up for the bookmarks and giggling in her ear, touching shoulder, rubbing bald head. No one ever looked at me which that was cool, too. For me, it was sooo cool strictly from a bad cabron's perspective in that giggling on the inside way that bad female cabrones tend to do when alpha cabron with the most pegue is having a good time flirting the afternoon away--I tend to enjoy things vicariously anyway. Jennifer mentioned that a lot of the women were bisexual and I just got the sense that HomeGirl Cafe was a fun place to come home to for something besides a warm meal.

Then later after spending too much time at the worst Target in L.A. county (Alhambra), we drove to Self Help Graphics to buy some stuff for ourselves and loved ones. SHG is so not like Homegirl Cafe in that the place is so painfully gendered and super straight. I don't have any cool queer stories to rattle off about the place except that BdP performed there once during one of the few queer programs that I could probably count on my hand. Damn don't the indigenous chic like to get down from time to time? Anyway, amongst the usual Calaca/Frida stew I got a new book on Mexican Calendar Girls, a tough ass leather cuff bracelet with an Aztec skull and a new silkscreen print of Jorge Hernandez' El Muerto for the Troll Palace. Yay our first art purchase! Domesticity rules. I wanted another print by Shizu Saldamando but we couldn't splurge that hard. Next time though girl! Supporting the arts, man--if you don't do it, you oughtta try it!

Today I'd like to go check out The Brat and Domingo Siete at the Anti-Mall situation in El Sereno. I hope I don't run into any more people that recognize me and my tits from the Our Lady portrait. I hate being nice to folks whom I don't know but have seen me half naked. Just one of the drawbacks of passing through East Los, I suppose.

Aging yes...Improving?

Yes, the jury is still out on that.

I'm doing research for the new BdP show coming up in February. That sounds really official like I should get paid to do that. I'm only reading all kinds of shit right now, fuck you pay me. But digressng, I have Intercourse on "loan" from the GS library, have re-read certain passages of Chicana Lesbians, dabbling in a little Ruben Salazar, curious about the Bronze Screen, downloaded many a hip hop instrumental and currently obsessing on Alice Bag's blog. A lot of it has yet to frustrate me so that's a good sign... I'm enjoying learning and letting the riffing begin, but just when I want to do explore something that's been kind of folded into dominant histories fucking Jo$h Kun has already stuck his dick there. He's like the ultimate High Fidelity record store clerk stuck in a "cool guy"'s body with more resources, access, and not at all the unappreciated scholar. The dude has such an annoying habit of making it seem like my my my aren't you the Johnny come lately, but with the most jock sniffers he definitely wins. Who's the hardest working man in the knowledge business? I'm purposefully being vague in what I begrudge but let's just say it has to do with east los angeles musicalities and the insertion/intersection/erections of queerness within those musicalities.

Anyway, I feel like the more you do your homework the cleaner the shit should be when you present it publicly. I've always done my homework but I've never done well on the exams. Do you get my drift? Have you noticed what a cryptic little fucker I can be?

.Basically...the longer I'm out of the academic loop the simpler it becomes to theorize the work and center it around an imaginary that won't yield to trendy high theory. I'll be okay about remaining invested in certain strategic identitarian strongholds as long as that investment involves lovingly pissing on and away as a means to widening the way we understand how strongholds can be potential chokeholds. One day I will be okay. Most days I am not okay but I am okay with that. I said this or at least felt that I said an essential version of it in a recent interview with a grad student who is very smart and nice but I really have no idea what will become of her project, let alone my involvement with it because if anyone got their hands on the tragedy that is Gay L.A. you'll see that I just get/give the gasface (3 hours of me going on and on some serious good shit only to have my interview sliced and diced to become the book;s voice of "boi"??? What part of "that's mostly a NYC/SF construction" did you not understand, Lilian?), but I said something along the line that the way we understand things no longer fits the criteria of our identities. Well let's just say that it's kind of tough to stop, drop and roll that into something worthwhile let alone digestable, that is, cash the check your mouth wrote with a broke ass.

Now I'm starting just get weary of interviews. But I have to say, they sure do come prepared. It goes a long way, especially if drinks are on yo.

It's the usual I love you but I hate you/I hate to love you/I love hating you conundrum that seems to follow me everywhere I go.

Santa I've Been GOOD!

Dear Santa,
I've been really good this year, I swear. I mean sometimes I'm inconsiderate with my girlfriend and don't say what I mean with my friends and never return my parents phone calls and wish everyone would just go away and spend money I don't have and covet my boss' wardrobe and eat food that doesn't belong to me and am mean to graduate students and call other people's kids dumb names...but really Santa, I've been so good.

So here's a list. You can go ahead and check it twice. Chances are I've been more naughty than nice and like my boss said to me when I asked for a raise--there's a chance I won't get it but there's no harm in me askin'. Check out the goodies I hope will be at my door come X-mas morning.

Damn you baby Jesus, you better feed my materialist hunger!


Oh Santa, can you see how many awesome plays and novels I would write if I had this beautiful mid-century Danish desk! It's true!




And this turntable that connects to my computer! I could finally save all of my vinyl to MP3s and still maintain that warm buzz that is needle to record groove on my stupid iPod. AND this wouldn't just be for me but for those poor people who wanna hear my records but I don't let them near my precious if not sparse vinyl collection. They could finally hear the Prince's first album if I had this toy come X-mas morning.

Oh what's lil' fella like me to do...