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.