I'm BAAAAACCCCCKKK

I will write more in the coming days... so many family stories... so little time...

Eric

Jr. High on Life

Before middle schools, there were Junior High Schools. My Jr. High, Helms, ran just 7th and 8th grade. Just long enough to get used to the school, then off to "real" high school. My entire sixth grade year I worried about what to expect once I moved up to seventh grade... Would I get beaten up? Would I be cool? Would I have to shower after PE!?

The summer before seventh grade, our parents were invited to take us to the school for an orientation tour. I couldn't wait to finally see the inside of the school that I had wondered about my entire 12 year life. It was right across the street from the El Portal Shopping Center and from the PE fields I had a perfect view of my beloved Mervyn's Department Store ("When I get my own place, I'm definitely buying my towels there! The prices are great but the quality is really there, you know?"). Things were going to be different at Helms. And, they had a soda machine -ON CAMPUS. In elementary school, it was white or chocolate milk only. Lactose-intolerant? Tough. Drink from the fountain. Jr. High would not only open my mind, but offer me a plethora of adult experiences. Soda, Mervyn's, 7-11, my favorite pet store "Wet-Pets"... I had arrived.

The morning of the tour I was excited and worried sick. I hoped to GOD the other kids were also with their mothers... What if this was the first test to see who was cool? What if the other mothers just dropped their kids off in front and wrote them off as adults? What if my mom told the staff about my bed-wetting until 11? What if I had to shower after the tour!? I was nauseated with an excited dread I'd come to know over the next 10 years of my life.

Mrs. Green was a heavy-set monster who ran the tour. She was also the campus security matron and terrifyingly in control. As it turned out, the other kids had come with their parents and to all of our relief, the parents were separated from the students right off so we could explore the campus. Mrs. Green explained the hallways and how the classrooms were numbered. She showed us the cafeteria and the line-up procedures, where to sit, where to buy peanut butter infused Rice Krispy treats ("That makes 'em healthy") and lastly, the soda machine!!!!! I could NOT wait.

Soda was my passion and it was not allowed at my elementary school. That one could purchase say, a Pepsi... well it had a certain aire of sophistication that I was yearning for. I was already planning on carrying three dollars in quarters, and that was just for the first day of school. Also, Mrs. Green informed us that due to budget cuts, towels would not be provided for showering and thus, showering after PE was optional. Hallelujah! Not a single person would EVER shower at Helms again. And that was fine by me.

The first day of school I purposely took a long path to class just in order to pass the soda machine. I know it seems bizarre but this was literally the most exciting thing about being in Jr. High (to me). Drinking a Pepsi at school, having a pimple, getting braces: these are the things that would make me a man... Unfortunately, the day before school started, the soda machine was removed. Instead, students would be able to purchase a Hawaiian Punch fruit drink at the Rice Krispy cart. I guess some Richmond Unified School District genius assumed that the word, "fruit" made Hawaiian Punch remotely nutritious. In reality, said beverage is no more nutritive than the red hummingbird sugar water people hang outside for the birds. I was crushed. Hawaiian Punched in the gut.

For the next two years I ate the only junk food available to me on campus: Peanut Butter laden Rice Krispy treats and sickeningly sweet Hawaiian Punch. It is sweet in a kind of way that leaves you with a raspy sore throat. I complained DAILY as I purchased and then inhaled the paired "goodies". Yes... I bought them... daily. It was a sacrifice, but I was a young and needed the sugar. My 7th grade year was filled with other disappointments but overall it was a success and I met my best friend Matt with whom I went to college and was post graduate roommates with. As for the soda machine, the school lost a considerable amount of money with it's removal so it was brought back to campus...the year I started high school. Luckily for my pancreas, Richmond High had MANY vending machines, all stocked with sugary crap.

Dinner, Downtown...

Last night my partner Jon and I ate downtown at a cool barbecue "joint". Spring Street Smoke House is Located in the Chinatown area of downtown Los Angeles. It's cheap, fast and GOOD. A roll of paper towels at every table!? A loaf of white bread still in it's plastic bag!? Help yourself! It's effective and practical. Former caterers opened this place and serve their BBQ favorites ("Add two side for 2 bucks!). It was Dee-Lish.

Driving along Broadway we cut over and parked up the block ("There's Phillipe's!") and headed down the street. I was immediately drawn to the old signs in this area, some in Chinese, some in Spanish, some trilingual. Most of them were older than me yet still calling customers to long forgotten businesses...

I think of my parents when I see old signs from this era. Signs from when they would have been in their 30's. My age. I think of their adult lives that I will never understand. I think of their unhappiness, commitment and loneliness and hope there was more to their marriage than what I saw. I think there must have been a time when they were happy and fun and in love. I don't remember that at all really but I'm sure when they were in love, they'd go to some downtown, to some restaurant somewhere and have a nice barbecue dinner... with two sides... for two dollars.

S'mores!

Yesterday during my fifth period class, my student Hasmik returned from the restroom and pronounced Los Feliz was on fire. I ran out of my classroom and sure enough, POOF. Smoke everywhere. I could see it was just north of Los Feliz Boulevard and already HUGE. There were helicopters everywhere. It was INSANELY close. One more hour and we could go home... sigh.

Traffic was a mess of course ("Thanks a LOT fire!") so after school I decided to head home via Silver Lake (the actual reservoir, not the new "cool" area where you can have an old Mercedes converted to run on french-fry oil while you grab a 3 piece across the street at Pollo Loco)... I always listen to NPR on the way home as I like to just decompress and zone out. An interview with Bjork? Perfect. I used to really love Bjork, then I kind of hated her, then I... HOLY SHIT! From the actual "Lake" I had the PERFECT spot to watch Griffith Park incinerate. I pulled over and stared at the growing, breathtakingly beautiful flames.

Fire has always lulled me into a self-indulgent daze. With Bjork droning on about her collaboration with Timbaland, I started thinking of my early LA days in Los Feliz. I met my partner Jon in the Fall of 1997. We were both in relationships with other people and met while he's was working out of his other office up in San Francisco. Jon's a banking lawyer and would work in the Bay Area a few times each month. As it's a small gay world, we kept meeting up. After a few months, things sort of clicked and I came down to visit him. By Sunday, we knew we wanted to be together so I broke up with my partner and he did the same. Something I'm proud of? No. Something I regret? Absolutely not. He's the love of my life and I am the love of his.

I can still remember the unusual torrential rains that January weekend. Exploring the incredible architecture of Los Feliz, driving through Griffith Park, stalking Jon's new neighbor Madonna... it was all too good to be true. After 6 months of commuting between LA and San Francisco, I moved down full-time and became an all too common "Accidental Angeleno". I hated LA pretty quickly thereafter. I was always lost, had no sense of the city and missed my life. I ached to go "home" to the Bay Area. My only solace- my beloved Astro Diner on Fletcher. I'm a soup man, plain and simple. I eat soup everyday if possible and they have it. Spinach Meatball, Split Pea (had that today in fact), Tortilla, the de rigeur Vegetable... all good and all soupy.

After a few years even the soup lost its appeal and Jon agreed to move to San Francisco and head up a new division within his bank. He did this for me. I was back up north all of two months when I realized I had somehow become an Angeleno along the way. I secretly missed Southern California but never said a word. Since Jon had to work in both cities from time to time, we took an apartment near his office in Downtown LA. He'd use it when working down here and I could come down to see my friends.

Downtown had not really been discovered yet and there were no lofts or cool conversions. Just LOTS of rats and lots of crack deals. The building was incredible though. We had one of the three penthouses of the grand central market building at 3rd and Broadway. Before us, Nicholas Cage had all three penthouses knocked together and would throw some pretty amazing parties from what I hear. The caterers had to sign privacy agreements but as we all know, they ALWAYS blab. Thank god. Let's just say people wore a LOT of latex clothing there...

One weekend down in LA, we were having dinner at Houston's in Pasadena. The beans were spilled: I wanted to come back to LA. Like a Perry Mason courtroom drama, it all came out. Jon also wanted to come back, ("Yeah...um... I HATE San Francisco...") and within a few months we were back, living in our dream house in Mt. Washington. A fully restored 1912 Craftsman "Society Bungalow" on 7/10 of an acre.

LA is EVERY cliche' you see in bad teen movies from the 80's (think Valley Girl). Vapid, self-important, pretentious. I love it. It's also chocked full o' wildlife and nature and trees... Watching Griffith Park being destroyed, I dreamily thought to myself, "I love LA". And I do. Bjork? I'm on the fence.

You Can Ring My Bell...

Shortly after I moved down to Los Angeles my mother's car was stolen. It was a 1984 Cutlass Supreme in "money green". Her dream car. She bought it after my dad died and was determined to have a brand new car that would not break down on her like the previous used cars she'd had. Also, it was a major source of cheering up! When the police found it ("Well, thank God"), it had been abandoned for whatever reason and was just three blocks from the house. Luckily, it was intact and in fairly good condition. It needed some minor work with the ignition and steering column, but my brother George is a mechanic and was able to fix it quickly.

My favorite part of this episode was my mom's reaction to her car being stolen in the first place. She'd had recently gone on Prozac after MANY years of cajoling ("That's a MIND CONTROL DRUG!"). They apparently had JUST kicked in. She was upset but took the theft in stride and was prepared to get a new car with the insurance money if necessary ("What else can you do?"). When the police came to her door to notify her that it had been found, they described its location, its general condition and reluctantly that some of the thief's possessions had been left in the car; a comb, some food wrappers...a crack pipe...!!

Without missing a beat, my mother cut off the officer and said, "Oh no, that's mine." My mom had a great sense of humor and could deliver a deadpanned line like nobody else. I inherited this trait as my friends can attest. The cops were DUMBFOUNDED and awkwardly exchanged confused glances as my mom held her ground somberly and unblinkingly. Much to their relief, she eventually started laughing and explained that she was joking. She thanked them profusely and had her car back later that day.

As it turned out, my mom's car was a highly coveted car for people into "low-riders", hence the theft. She originally custom ordered it with all the "bells and whistles" including high end spoke rims so it practically WAS an unwitting low-rider from the beginning! Just add some dingle-ball upholstery trim, hydrolic lifts and hit 23rd street to cruise... Horale Homegirl! Si MON! She was asked on a weekly basis is she wanted to sell it. She always declined.

When my mother died last year I thought about her sense of humor often. Cleaning out her house, preparing it to be sold, my sister Terry and I laughed every day as we found things from our childhood, shared memories of growing up on Bush Avenue and remembered our mother. We cried a lot too, but only when we were alone and only in private. There are five kids in my family. There's drug addiction, hurt feelings, distance, love and animosity as is in most I assume. As I learned last year, death compounds these issues. It draws you closer, drives deeper wedges, teaches you a lot about the people in your life and most profoundly, it teaches you about yourself. Dealing with the aftermath of my mother's death was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I learned SO much about myself and for that, I am profoundly grateful.

Enough Said...

The Lure of Velour...

The first velour shirt I ever owned was from Mervyn's Department Store in San Pablo, California. Soft in a way I had not yet experienced, the shirt called to me like a beautiful, deadly syren. I begged my mother to buy it for me. It was $21.00, a fortune in 1980. Finally, she acquiesced and agreed to buy it as I bounced around the clothing racks. As we approached the register station in "Young Men's" she told me NOT tell my father how much it cost. I swore "to God".

Excited, I was already planning my school picture wearing the shirt. The V-neck reminded me of the comfortable, futuristic uniforms worn by the Robinson family on the Lost in Space reruns I would watch each day at 5 o'clock. People told me I looked like Will Robinson so I HAD to have the shirt. Right? As for the hair, I'd make a trip quick to my older sister Terry's work. She'd recently moved from the Lady Bug Salon to Wild Hair! It would have to be something new and it would HAVE to make a statement.

The v-neck in the fifth grade photo would be SUCH a hit (in my planning and orchestration) that I would of course need to repeat it the next year for my sixth grade photo. I was so excited I was planning TWO years of photos at once. More begging at Mervyn's, ANOTHER trip to Wild Hair, another amazing school picture... IN the meantime though, I had to focus on grade 5. I had a responsibility to a) look good and b) push the fashion boundaries. I was, after all, 10.

Nell Carter's HIT sitcom, "Gimme a Break!" was HUGE (to me). Joey Lawrence was added to the cast as the girls grew older and ratings dropped. Adorable, loved, cutting-edge even, Mr. Lawrence had the best muffin top hair cut in the business, hands-down. Ratings were up and I had to have that haircut. I showed my sister the TV show, "THAT'S what I want!" and she made arrangements to have me come in for a wash and cut.

Excited, I plopped in Terry's chair and expectantly looked at her reflection in the mirror. One of her eyes was droopy. She looked exactly like Stevie Nicks when this happened. "You know what would look great?" she asked in almost slow motion. "Eggplant... or... peach colored... highlights..." (my sister took a lot of Qualudes back then). My smile faded and I began to worry. "I think mom would get mad," I whispered. She accepted this and began the "process".

I loved to go to my sister's work for my haircuts. They seemed professional and luxurious. She ALWAYS used Jhirmack shampoo ("GOD, it smells great!") and worked with VERY cool people including some gay guys who laughed all the time. The whole staff doted on me and I loved it. "He likes sauteed mushrooms!? The kid's got class!" Purrrrrrrr. I felt like a grown-up there. My new haircut would leave them all in approving gasps. The problem? I was coming off a year of layered, feathered, 4th grade hair. A muffin-cut requires a LOT of hair. A lot of thick hair which I do not have. As best she could, my sister cut my hair into the general shape of my desired look. Instead of Joey Lawrence though, I looked more like an inbred serial killer with a bowl cut... There were gasps alright, but they only came from me.

By Halloween, I'd have to make some changes....