LATE-NIGHT REMINISCING

I have a love/hate relationship with my late night machinations. I am typically up way later than anyone else I know, so I can't share what goes through my head at the exact moment it's happening. By the time I go to sleep and wake up, the ephemeral moment has passed.

Tonight I watched "Adventureland," which I had saved on my DVR. Cute flick. I enjoyed it immensely, but it also brought me back. Way back. It's set in 1987, which is perhaps why it resonated. Also, I watched it on the heels of another actual 1987 film, Oliver Stone's "Wall Street."

While searching for some songs on my super helpful Windows 7 laptop, typing in the key words "don't dream" not only found the Crowded House song I was looking for, but also a few old blog posts from 2002. I always marvel at how I can go back and reread something I'd written and it still makes me laugh. What it means, I may never know, nor do I necessarily need to know, but it's nice to see that I can still impress myself, even eight years hence.

THE AMERICAN HEALTHCARE CONUNDRUM

Healthcare in the United States isn't really as advertised. In that, I mean it's not really health care. We are a country consumed by quick fixes and low costs. Also, we don't seem to want to be told how to live our lives. One need look no further than the expanding waistlines of roughly one-third of this country to realize that we don't want to exercise, nor do we want to scale back our massive meal portions.

What's worse is that while most of the country is united in feeling that healthcare costs are out of control, and that greater than 60% of personal bankruptcies are directly caused by medical bills, we're quite divided on how to solve the problem.

For awhile, I have listening to the debate over the public option versus private health insurance. Insofar that I have been covered by almost every major American health insurance company (and been "forced out" of some of them), I feel a vested interest in the discussion.

As the U.S. Congress tackles the intricacies of the healthcare abyss, I intend on investigating just how challenging it would be to put together my own "group" to be insured by one of the major insurance carriers, and how costly it might be. If companies can purchase plans based upon their size, then wouldn't it follow that a group of companies, pooling their workforces, would be able to buy a better plan for less money? And if that is the case, would smaller groups be willing to jump into the pool with each other, or rather, would the leadership of each company be amenable?

I'm not exactly sure where to start this investigation, but I figure that laying out my various questions is a good place to start. Perhaps I'll ask the broker through which my company purchases health insurance.

PLEASE TO EXPLAIN

Living in Los Angeles, one cannot help but notice the preponderance of those gas-powered leaf blowers. They're everywhere. And if they're not being used for their intended purpose, then they're usually blowing garbage down the street and into someone else's yard. I call them "it's your problem now!" My eyes are watering just thinking about them.

A cursory glance on Google for "gas powered leaf blower emissions" yielded many disturbing facts. Whereas I merely regard them as a nuisance, they are actually horrible polluters. First, the emissions from just one of these creatures yields as much exhaust into the environment as 80 automobiles, driven 12,500 each year. Moreover, they contribute to the worsening of allergies, since their essentially just blowing everything into the air, and eventually up your nose, and they're a tremendous source of noise pollution to boot.

My question is thus; have we "advanced" our civilization so far that we are no longer able to use a broom and/or a rake? This article would dispute that claim. Further, why haven't more municipalities, in an effort to "green" their burgs, ban these wretched monsters?

I, for one, intend to find out by querying my own local city council. I'll let you know if anything actually develops. I encourage you to do the same.

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE "LEADERSHIP" OF THE LGBT MOVEMENT

It's time for you to justify your existence. For far too long, you have asked us to open our wallets and those of our families and our friends to fund your folly. I say, no more.

The LGBT community ATM is closed. You cannot willfully spend tens of millions of this community's dollars without having to remain accountable for your expenditures. With such great investment, we demand results - greater than those that have been given us by you in the past. You can't point to the slim loss of Prop 8 and tell us that it's "progress" over the 2000 Prop 22 fiasco. The fact is that Prop 8 meant a lot more and cost exponentially more.

If this were a traditional investment, you would all be removed by your respective boards of directors, and short of that your boards would be voted out by we, the stakeholders. Quite frankly, most of you should voluntarily recuse yourselves from spending another dime of this community's dollars on anything related to the repeal of Prop 8. You should rise above your hubris and recognize that this is bigger than you, and that perhaps there is someone or a group of someones who are better equipped to handle the next campaign. Because this isn't about your vanity; this is about our right to be recognized as equals under the law.

It's time for new ideas and a new direction, and unfortunately, many of you "lifers" at our national LGBT organizations are no longer equipped to lead. Personally, I question your commitments in the face of the massive Prop 8 debacle.

While it's easy and convenient to turn the community's anger on the California Supreme Court, the simple fact is that the Court interprets the laws - it does not legislate. Further, directing anger away from you who are supposed to be the caretakers of this movement only serves to deflect responsibility and culpability.

Take responsibility for your shortcomings and let's move forward with new ideas and renewed passion. Your outdated ideas are no longer relevant. Do what is right for the greater good and step aside.

NO MORE WHINING

Californians are up in arms - again - over same-sex marriage.  The California Supreme Court upheld the will of the people today.  Some call it the tyrrany of the majority.  I say, stop whining and get organized!

First, start holding leaders of the LGBT movement accountable.  If you invested $80 million in a hedge fund and it suddenly went out of business, you'd want blood, no?  This is no different.  Tens of millions of dollars were invested in the defeat of Prop 8 and it passed by four percentage points.  The leadership was, as always, at a loss for words because they have no fucking clue how to run an effective campaign!  I kindly refer you to the Prop 22 debacle of 2000.

While Prop 22 did not cost nearly the same as Prop 8, its fate was sadly the same.  The campaign was an utter joke - and I should know; I worked on it!

The forces at work are making California's proposition system, albeit broken, work for them.  When the LGBT community pulls its collective head out of its butt, perhaps someone will start doing the same for our side.  

First, we need to reach out in an effective manner to communities of color; African American, Asian and Latino, and educate them.  They don't have to love the gays, but they do need to be made to understand the basic tenets of the issue and how it affects them.  Second, we need to change California's easily-manipulated proposition system.  The longer we let the people govern, the further we will sink into the morass that is our own doing; it will be California's undoing.

Yes Prop 8 sucks, and yes the system sucks, but until the gays are in the majority, which statistically is unlikely, then we need to find allies and stop trying to make them accept our way of life.  They only need accept that equality means for everyone.

TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS

Recently I've realized that, like any other, renting an apartment is a relationship  Except in this case, you don't really know who you're dating until you're married -- or at least in a long-term relationship.

After signing a new lease in the uber-competitive rental market in which I live, I started discovering a few character flaws in my new beau.  After peeling down the layers, it became apparent that I had gotten myself (unwittingly) into an abusive relationship.

My first night was spent in my new abode last Sunday.  I awoke the following morning to find my car covered in what can best be described as sewage.  Apparently a pipe had burst in the middle of the night and soaked my car, a soft-top convertible, and had dried by the time I got to it.  The stench was unmistakable.

Upon phoning my new property's management company to find out what they were going to do to rectify the situation, and to perhaps get a simple "I'm so sorry, we'll fix it right away," I was instead greeted with something akin to "Gee, that sucks - why don't you go fuck yourself now so I can get back to my Sudoku."

Turns out that what had dumped itself so unceremoniously onto my car was not human in origin -- like that was supposed to make me feel better.  Rather, I was told it was manure meant as fertilizer from the planter above, and the faulty drain work was summarily repaired.

Suffice to say, the other "tiny" repairs haven't been any easier.  My kitchen was basically unusable for the first 10 days of my tenancy.  I've decided to stop pulling on the thread that is my new apartment so that it all doesn't unravel around me.

THIS COUNTRY NEEDS A PROZAC

The markets rise and fall, and we sit at rapt attention to the blathering pundits, hoping that this economic nightmare is going to miraculously signal its end. Invariably, that doesn't occur, and we're left to wonder how much longer can this continue?  If you're like me, the sheer anxiety associated with our shared economic instability is enough to make you want to head for the hills, or at least for the pills.

Truth be told, I've never been a fan of " better living through pharmaceuticals". I already have enough chemicals coursing through my veins; I've never felt compelled to add any more.  But to what peril do I deny the obvious solution of a Xanax, Prozac, Ambien or any number of the litany of mood- or sleep-altering substances that those ad nauseum advertisements tell you to simply "ask your doctor" about?  Would my world view be inextricably altered?

I sit and wonder what it must be like to feel contented, as it's been long enough that I can't recall what it's like.  Mostly I smile that falsest of smiles and recite my mantra du jour, "I'm just happy to be employed, especially in this economy."

REGRET

One of my most favorite songs is "Regret" by New Order.  The fourth line (or thereabouts) is one I've always sought to live up to; "But there's nothing I regret."  Sometimes I wonder, though, how realistic a goal that is.  Out of context, it looks trite, even as I'm writing it, but it really is a lovely song.  

Logically, I know that I cannot go back and change things one way or another. Of course that doesn't stop me from wondering what my life might look like if I had slightly altered a choice here, a decision there.  I'm pretty sure that's just human nature, no?

HAPPY VS. THE TRUTH

I don't trust happy people.  There is no truth in happiness.  To happy people, the world is sunny and shiny and everything is pink and things always happen "for a reason".  Blah blah blah.  I relish the moment someone cracks and I get to see their gooey insides; dark and twisty.  It's in those moments that there is real truth.

Let's take an event that happened just this evening.  I was doing my laundry - it was an especially happening Saturday night for me - and into the laundry room walked one of my neighbors.  I live next door to an upwardly mobile gay couple who have been together seemingly forever.  I think they may have been high school sweethearts, which is almost unheard of in the gay community, at least from my experience.  One of them is a very highly-paid attorney, while the other teaches in a local junior high school.  On the outside, they are young (late 20s), happy, handsome and want for nothing.

Meanwhile, back in the laundry room, the attorney stormed in, saw me and for a moment he was silent, but then the flood gates opened.  He started on a rant about how he couldn't understand how he could spend so many years with someone as indecisive as his boyfriend, which he grumbled on about, at length. What struck me most was how visibly rattled he seemed.  I've known these guys for awhile, and while I've spent a majority of my time with the teacher, but this definitely seemed out of character.

In that one moment of raw exasperation, I got a glimpse into the imperfection of this outwardly perfect relationship.  I mean, they're shopping for property in this economy!  They frequently consume $150 bottles of liquor.  They travel extensively.  They even own a $500 vacuum cleaner.  

Even though I know that no relationship is perfect, it was nice to see it with my own eyes.  That was truth.

IF YOU WANT SOMETHING DONE, GIVE IT TO A BUSY PERSON

It's not just a saying, it's my current state of being.  Maybe it's a mid-life crisis. Maybe it's a funk.  I'm surmising that it lies somewhere between the two with a few more elements thrown in for good measure, but nonetheless, I cannot seem to get even the simplest tasks completed in a timely manner these days.

Now that I've written this, I have just postulated another reason; I'm used to being far busier than I have been these past six months.  It's not that I haven't been without job before, it's just that I haven't fallen into this type of lethargic mindset.  It's easier to write about than it is to actually do something about.

Oddly enough, I find that I've been watching less television than I used to.  I'm not sure how to attribute this, but it could be that I just don't have the patience for the time-suck that most American television confers, or that television is just devolving further into a cesspool of crap.  Either way, it's probably for the best, as there have been times I've actually felt like watching all the shows saved up on my DVR was a burden.  Quite frankly, I have enough burdens in my life not to add one so frivolous, thank you.

SCARED SHITLESS

I just realized that I have been rather liberal with the utilization of what some might call "unsavory" language.  I should probably be mindful of that since it's been said that one who uses such words usually does so for lack of vocabulary or imagination (or both).  I'd like to believe I lack neither, but I digress.

It's the beginning of the end for me, at least in my life as I know it now. Tomorrow I am giving my 30 days notice to vacate the apartment that I've lived in for the last three and a half years.  It's not so much that I want to move, but rather that I am entering the seventh month of unemployment and circumstances are such that I need to start radically conserving cash.

In the near term, it looks like I'll be a vagabond, surfing friends' sofas and guest rooms (but mainly sofas; my friends are not Rockefellers).  I guess I'm not entirely terrified, but there is much trepidation.  I am hopefully going to use the time to explore other areas of the country, see some friends and investigate other avenues of employment.  It will be sad to be leaving the one constant in my life, but I guess everything ends, eventually.

ADRIFT IN A SEA OF SHIT

As I sit in my sunlight living room, awash in the mid-70s that Southern California has offered up this fine winter's day, I find myself melancholy.  I can't pinpoint exactly why, but I know that I feel useless and purposeless since being let go from my last job.  Truth be told, I didn't even like my last job, but it gave me something, a raison d'etre.

I hate not having means -- and by means, of course, I mean money.  Being in your mid-30s, overly educated and poor is a terrible place to be.  I guess the worst part is that I am in no hurry to go back to work.  If I could scrape two nickels together, I'd go travelling instead of going to work -- I just don't see the point.

STUPIDITY RUNS AMOK

After much thought and consideration, I have decided to dedicate today's entry to stupidity everywhere, no matter what form it takes. This particular brand of stupidity is likely to be a running theme: my job.

This afternoon I was told by my boss that one of our staff was departing. This was not cause for concern, nor a sad occasion as this particular person is supremely incompetent when it comes to her job duties. This person - let's call her Incompetent - also happens to report to me...kinda (that's a story for another day).

I should preface the remainder of my story with the fact that my place of business runs itself like a ship that knows it's heading for an iceberg; there is urgency, but also a constant palpable sense of doom.

So Bossy decides that I should leave the comfort and luxury of my cube and sit at Incompetent's station once she departs to "get a better sense of how things work" in her world. I can honestly say that I have had a better sense of what she is supposed to do since before I joined the staff. My bellybutton lint can perform better at her job. When I demurred, Bossy decides that challenging me is the way to go.

At this point I should also point out that Bossy's boss, Crazy, who is quite likely bipolar, manic, deranged or some permutation of those three, likely put the idea of my moving to Incompetent's workstation, which also happens to be the reception area of the Titanic. Dealing with Crazy is like juggling live grenades; you never know when one of them is going to blow up in your face.

As a middle manager, I wondered how appropriate it would be for me to assume the role of a receptionist. Bossy explained that I was not being demoted, but rather I was being "offered an opportunity to learn," which is code for "here is a pig that I've sprayed with perfume - enjoy!"

When we each realized that the other was not going to budge, Bossy tells me that perhaps we ought not speak about this any longer since we were both in "moods," which of course means that he's run out of psychobabble and needs to regroup in order to sell me on this "opportunity." Also, calling a gay man "moody" is a lot like telling a woman that her PMS is getting in the way - it's just not terribly appropriate.

Tomorrow is sure to be a delight.

DESIRE VS. DESERVING

Yesterday, a television report got me to thinking about deserving. A mother was wailing about how her daughter had been shot and killed by police, saying that her daughter did not deserve to die. As more and more relatives, activists and members of the community were interviewed, they all seemed to echo the mother’s sentiment. None of them mentioned that the woman who was killed was threatening her own four year-old daughter, police and herself with a box cutter, which she managed to slash at several of them before being gunned down.

This incident, rife with controversy, got me thinking about who really deserves what. I play tennis all the time and when I manage to win I am constantly asking myself if I deserved to win. Record-setting lottery winners all seem to be living in trailers and unemployed, so they are viewed as deserving winners. Why? And where is the line between deserving and desire?

Did the box cutter-wielding woman desire the outcome she was met with? If not, what did she deserve? The more I think about the word, the more ambiguous it becomes. It’s like using the “f” word; fair. Fairness has no tangible measure, much like deserving, which is what lead me to think of desire.

If I desire to win more than my opponent, is that what ultimately makes me win? Does this all somehow link back to my hated book/concept/cult of the moment, The Secret? How can I test my theories? I intend on further investigating.

BIENVENU A MI BLOG

Yeah, I don't know French from a hole in the ground, but the point I am trying to convey is, welcome to my new & improved blog.

While I don't proclaim to know everything, if you'd like to believe that I do, I will not stop you. I do know the difference between right and wrong, though I may not always choose the correct one.

Regardless, or irregardless, depending on how much of an education you've had, I am here to inform, entertain and occasionally provoke thought. Now if you'll excuse me, I must go and permanently silence my neighbor as her incessant giggling is no longer amusing at half-past midnight.

Ta!

FUN WITH MANIPULATION!

I don't condone manipulation, per se, nor do I think that two wrongs make a right. However, the internet is rife with inaccuacies, and I, for one, am not going to lose sleep over helping to point out the foibles of dirty Republicans.

BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR

Today I discovered that what you cannot see can hurt you. I had a job interview for a position that I am very interested in, but I was Googled! Apparently, when one Googles yours truly, they come upon my other blog, which I am no longer going to link to here with the hopes that I can speak more freely without fears of reprisals.

This is not to say that I am going to suffer because of that other blog, but it remains to be seen whether or not it keeps me from earning this new position.

My obsession. 

Would You Like a Side of Liver Failure With That?

Tonight, after treating myself and a friend to a fine meal at Burger King, we treated ourselves to a documentary on the state of our fatness; Super Size Me.

Within the first few moments of this film, I wanted to hurl. The premise of this doco is that the filmmaker, Morgan Spurlock, is to go on a diet of nothing but McDonald’s for 30 days, eating all three meals each day at the aforementioned dining establishment.

The impetus for Spurlock’s experiment is the lawsuit filed in 2002 by two teenage girls against McDonald’s, which alleged that eating their food made these two girls obese against their will. The question posed by Spurlock is, where does personal responsibility end and corporate responsibility begin?

First, Spurlock undergoes testing by three physicians and a dietician. All conclude that he is in excellent health, and is the ideal weight and body mass for his height and age.

Interspersed between vignettes of his gastronomic undertaking are questions posed with regard to corporate greed, marketing to children, education’s responsibility and assorted general silliness to lend levity to the seriousness of Spurlock’s quest.

Like anything, you have to draw your own conclusions from Super Size Me. Sorry folks, you’re going to have to use that lump of goo between your shoulders for this one. McDonald’s conclusion was to yank all super-sized items from their menu and add a “healthy” adult happy meal. Of course, your level of horror and/or disbelief might have a direct link to the size of your waist, judging by the stark obesity statistics presented.

I’m certainly not going to turn vegan after viewing this film, nor will I swear off fast food forever. Those of you who know me know that I don’t have the kinds of problems addressed in this film - but I’m also not the target. I might have a bit of a skewed perspective since I am thin – I have even been accused of being “the thinnest person in any room you walk into, unless the aforementioned room contains Lara Flynn Boyle.”

That being said, I also grew up knowing the four food groups, realizing that french fries do not constitute a vegetable, nor does ketchup, though Ronald Reagan would have us believe otherwise. My mother taught me about balanced nutrition, as did my schools; elementary, middle and high. Super Size Me posits that our children today are not getting that same education, nor are they getting any exercise whatsoever. Corporate greed is giving way to school districts selling out their lunch programs to the lowest bidder, and the meals being provided are not balanced nor are they teaching kids good eating habits, thereby setting them up for a life of poorly informed choices and, quite likely, obesity.

I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating until you finally get it through your fat heads: knowledge is power. Common sense should dictate that three meals each day at McDonald’s, or any fast food restaurant, is hazardous both to your health and to your waistline.

Sadly, we seem to be experiencing a drought of common sense (one need look no further than our president), so to supplant it, we must actually learn what is good for us and what isn’t. If you don’t know what’s good for you, read a book. If you can’t read, ask someone whom you trust. If you can’t find someone, drop me a line – I’m actually quite intelligent, despite the rumors. If all else fails, kill yourself – it’s just not worth the public humiliation…not to mention the high cholesterol, liver failure and sexual dysfunction – among other things - that come with obesity.

In all seriousness, Dr. Atkins is not the end-all be-all to our growing problem in this country. There are no quick fixes. Morgan Spurlock gained 25 pounds and seven percent body fat in just 30 days. It took him almost one year to lose the weight he gained during the course of the film.

Just imagine if we treated the obese in this country with the same overt contempt with which we treat smokers.

Now put down the Super Mega Gulp and go to the gym, tubby.

Apparently, Google has deemed GWB a "miserable failure". Look for yourself. Type "miserable failure" into Google and see what the #1 result is.