Behold, A Bald-Headed Goat Appears!

What does it mean when twice in one week I've dreamed that I get turned into a goat by a sorceress? And I don't mean G.O.A.T. -- as in LL Cool J's Greatest of all Time, either.

If the goat thing doesn't sound bad enough to you, let me tell you, after my great goat transformation, the sorceress hitches me to her cart and drags me to her lair. She then turns me back into myself and shaves all my hair off my head with her magic razor. Wherever this razor touches your skin, hair will never grow there again. -- Why not be useful and run that thing over my legs? But nooo, it's an evil sorceress so it's the hair on my head.

Then here are several agonizing moments where I'm forced to look in a mirror. Madame le Sorceress cackles and then sets me loose in a forest, telling me that I will never see my true love again because he only desires girls with at least half an inch of hair.

I'm sobbing and running through the forest when suddenly a whole crew of folks emerges from behind trees to throw rocks at me and chant, "You used to be nappy, now ya bald-headed!

Yeah, would you like to dream this craziness twice in one week? You see how it's disturbed me so much that out of all the things I could write about, I'm blogging about being a bald-headed former goat.

See, this is why insomnia really isn't so bad. If I'm not sleeping, I'm not dreaming such completely insane stuff!

Do any of you do dream interpretation? What does my bald-headed goat madness mean?

When Disaster Strikes

It feels like there have been too many disasters lately, doesn't it? Fires in Florida, the Cyclone in Myanmar, tornadoes all over the place, and now, the earthquake in Sichuan Province.

Last night I was chatting online with my dear friend Joanna about the awful disaster in Sichuan Province. I know Joanna because while I was living in Guangzhou, Joanna was studying in Beijing. We met while we were both traveling in Guanxi Province. I can't remember where exactly, because I tend to have an awful memory (which means I can't lie because I simply can't remember long-term what I've said). But, I do recall saying to myself when I first saw her in the little "motel" I was staying at, "Hey, there's somebody who looks like me, in China!"

Anyway, we lost touch a few years ago but, thankfully, Joanna found me through this blog and now we also keep in touch on Facebook. So, last night we were chatting online, and of course, given our experience in China and what's happened there, we got to talking about construction, rampant non-compliance with building codes, and the experience of living in a cinder block building just like the ones that have crumpled under the impact of a 7.9 earthquake.

When I first went to China I had no idea that such huge earthquakes could happen there. Then I learned all about the big quake of 1976 that killed hundreds of thousands. Some Chinese people feel it also predicted the death of Chairman Mao. All psychic or superstitious speculations aside (and there are already some interesting ones about this quake), I seriously don't know what I would have done if one had happened when I was there.

But of course, my mind immediately turns to my current home, Los Angeles, the place I know very well has earthquakes all the time. Folks are even saying what happened in Sichuan Province could be a worst case scenario for us. And if the ground isn't shaking, as you know, we have wildfires too.

I don't have a real disaster plan in place in case something happens, which is totally inexcusable because, unlike China being about to send 50,000 troops to the aid of people in Sichuan Province, are there even 50,000 soldiers around here that are able to be mobilized within 24 hours to help? Think about Hurricane Katrina before you answer that question.

A couple of weeks ago, I got an email from a woman named Amanda and she asked me to be a part of the State of California's emergency preparedness pilot program. Of course, I agreed. I was supposed to be sitting down with my family to do our disaster plan and I've been putting it off. Gosh, I feel like I better hustle and get on it! The first step is to assess your family's risk.

You really should click on that link because, gosh, you can think you have no risk but then when you find yourself answering "no" to some of the questions, well... you need to make a plan.

So, I'm going to make a plan with the family tonight. I think all this going down is a "sign" of some sort. I'll let you know how my plan turns out. What about you? Are you going to make a plan too?

Your Big, Cellulite Covered Booty

I know you have cellulite on your booty.

Even if you are a resident of Los Angeles and best friends with a plastic surgeon, I know you have some ripples and dimples somewhere on that big ole booty of yours. What I don't know is whether or not someone is coming to take a picture of your booty.

You see, I was at the grocery store waaay too late last night, and the covers of the magazines in the checkout aisle were totally harassing me. Why do I have to walk past the checkout line at a grocery store, where, mind you, I am buying FOOD, and see pretty much every magazine cover discussing who's too fat, who's too thin, and how to lose 10-20 even 50 pounds while still eating white sugar, flour and a boatload of salt? Why?

And clearly it was a slow news week at the National Enquirer because they did one of their covers similar to this one, spotlighting which stars have cellulite.

Hint to the Enquirer: ALL OF THEM have it. Every single last female celebrity has cellulite. Even if they have starved themselves down to crack-head levels, they probably still have some cellulite. No matter how much you try to get those ripples sucked out and smoothed and whatever the heck else, 99% of women are going to have cellulite. It's called being human.

Instead, the Enquirer brings poor Mischa Barton to tears by running a photo of her 22 year-old booty, complete with ripples and dimples. Now, I'm sure on the one hand Mischa's loving the free press because she hasn't had anything going on since the OC went off TV. In fact, I'll bet you asked yourself, "Who the heck is Mischa Barton?" Yeah, me too. Never watched the show and I don't think she's "hot" by any stretch of the imagination. But now Mischa's got an interview with OK! Magazine about how unfair the Enquirer was. OK! asked Mischa profound questions like, "Are you self-conscious about your body?" -- to which Mischa said, "No," because she comes from a European family. (Whatever that means!)

No, what Mischa should have done is told the Enquirer that she's actually part black and the black community is a lot more accepting of having some booty. Then she could have pointed out that studies are showing having a big booty is nice and healthy and helps prevent diabetes. Granted, the study was only done on lab mice, and any health benefits of the big booty can and will be negated by the spare tire you're carrying around across your belly, but still!

Mischa should've also asked the Enquirer why they don't take more pictures of men and their guts and man-boobs. Seen photos of Tobey Maguire when he's not shooting a Spiderman movie? Uh huh, I don't think so!

Think about all the sitcom husbands with their toothpick-sized wives. It's like we're supposed to believe the wife isn't sitting around eating high fructose corn syrup laced food too. I'm supposed to think the wife only breathes in the aroma of the Doritos and doesn't ever eat one. Whatever.

And next time you see Jack Black in a movie playing the fat goof ball, ask yourself, would Jack Black ever get a job in Hollywood if he was a woman? If you said yes, let me tell you, you're wrong because if ever there was a candidate for the Jillian Michael's 30-Day Shred DVD, it's Jack. (Did it for the 3rd time this morning. Yes We Can!)

But women? Who do we have? Jennifer Hudson, Camryn Manheim or that one girl from High School Musical -- gosh, her name escapes me at the moment but it's not the one that's dating Zac Efron and had the naked pictures of herself floating around. No it's definitely not naked picture girl because nobody wants a naked picture of a "big girl" unless they are, ahem, into that sort of thing.

I know, it's not going to change anytime soon because a million people will pay money for that copy of the Enquirer and all the other magazines that try to sell how amazing your life will be if you don't have cellulite and you get a whole lot skinnier.

Look to Mariah Carey if you need proof that the skinny does not equal an amazing life. The magazines showed us photos of Mariah Carey's transformation from a size 8 (me) to a size 2 (what I'm apparently supposed to want to be). Well, Mariah got skinny and went and married Nick Cannon so clearly, being thinner does not equal having a lick of sense!

Anyway, I hope you and your big, cellulite covered booty have a great day. Just no "switching" when you walk, mmkay?

Yo' Mama!

Happy Mother's Day to all you mothers out there! Are you having a great day? I am and it's all because of my sons. Clearly, I wouldn't be a mommy without my little boys, "O" and "T". Yesterday I had one of those moments where I realized that I really am a mom. I mean, who else but a mom hangs out at a park for hours at a time because their kid's have sporting events?

My baby "O" (on the left with the popsicle-blue lips) is on a baseball team and he had team pictures yesterday from 11-12:30 and a game at 2. Of course, after the game, the boys wanted to play on the jungle gyms so I set up shop on the grass. I was supposed to be reading my book, Michael Chabon's "Gentlemen of the Road", but I ended up spending a lot of time watching my sons play and thinking about how good and sweet they are.

They were making me laugh so hard because every so often, they'd run over and say, "You know we're going to Disneyland tomorrow for Mother's Day, right?"

I think they were hoping they could break me down to the point that I'd cave in and say, "That's a great idea! Let's go see Mickey!" But nope, instead I got up this morning, ended my TV abstinence by watching Meet the Press and then did a Jillian Michaels workout DVD. The DVD is called "30 Day Shred". Apparently, if I do it every day for the next 30 days, I'm gonna look shredded! I'm inclined to believe it, especially since I'm now having a hard time even typing because I'm so sore.

Hands down, the funniest moment of the morning came right after I'd finished working out and was putting my free weights back under the couch. There was a loud knock on my front door and even though I was a hot sweaty mess, I had to answer it because my husband had stepped out for a minute to go buy some milk. So, I answer and there's this hot guy standing there with something wrapped in some brown paper.

He says, "These flowers are for you," and holds them out to me.

I'm sooo stupid that I thought this guy was giving me flowers from him!

I actually said, "Are these from you?" -- to which he confusedly replied, "No, I'm just giving them to you."

It took a second for me to realize that he worked for a florist and was merely delivering the flowers. In my defense, I had just done a workout that promised to make me shredded so I think my brain partially shut off because of the pain vibrating through my quadriceps.

While this guy is standing there holding this bunch of flowers out to my dumb self, here comes my husband bounding up the steps with yet another bouquet of flowers and a huge balloon that says, "Queen for a Day!" on it. Uh huh, going to go get a carton of milk, yeah, right. He comes and stands next to the delivery guy too and is all, "These are for you," while looking at the man like, "Who the hell are you and why are you here?'

Never in my life have I been presented with two bunches of flowers at once! Wowzer! So, I took the package from the delivery guy, unwrapped the brown paper and saw that it was a huge bunch of ranunculus! Ranunculus are my absolute favorite flower in the whole world and these ones, as you can see from the picture above, are absolutely GORGEOUS!

My husband looked a little deflated as he stood there with his bunch of yellow, purple and white daisies. "Who are those from?"

I should've replied, "From my other baby daddy," but instead I opened the card to reveal that they're from my awesome sister! Love her! And, now I'm feeling like I'm "all that" because I got two bunches of flowers in one day!

I know there are those who hate Mother's Day. They say, "It's just a commercial holiday. People should honor their mother's every day." There's no denying that is true. But still, it's nice to see my little boys shyly presenting me with the pictures and poems they made at school and I got two bunches of flowers!

Sooo, if you haven't already connected with your mother today, the clock is ticking! Even if you all don't get along and you're still in therapy from your traumatic childhood, give your mom a ring. As a friend told me, one day your mom won't be there and you'll wish you could tell her you love her just once more. Separate the behavior from the person and just reach out because hey, she did carry you for 10 months and that is no small commitment.

Anyway, my eldest just asked me, "Aren't you going to go get your nails done or something?" Yes I am, and some waxing too! See ya!

Happy Birthday Dave Gahan!

It's way after midnight in LA and I just looked at the date, May 9th.

May 9th? Oh my goodness, that means it's Dave Gahan's birthday! WHOO HOO! Another excuse to go Depeche Mode crazy on a Friday!!! Love it!

If you've never been here before, let me bring you up to speed:

1) I'm a huge Depeche Mode fan. How huge? Well... I have a Depeche Mode poster on the inside of my front door. How's that?

2) Dave Gahan is the lead singer of Depeche Mode and today's his birthday! He's 46! Happy Birthday, Dave! (like he's reading this blog, right?)

3) If you don't know who Depeche Mode is, I feel bad for you. Really, really bad.

In honor of one of the best front men in rock, let's take a fun little trip down memory lane. How about a little listen to "Photographic" from their very first album, "Speak and Spell"? It's not their first single but it's the first song DM ever recorded together.

This particular performance of "Photographic" is from when Dave was just 18 years old and Depeche Mode was just starting out on their journey to being the Best. Band. Ever. And in case you're confused, Dave's the very innocent and shy-looking young man with brown hair:



It's sooo cute, it makes my heart melt!

Fast forward 25 years to April 30, 2006. I got to hear them perform "Photographic" at their show in Vegas!!! You can read all about that adventure right here if you want! I was like three rows from the stage going NUTS when they played it and it was a total surprise to hear it because it's not a song that gets played a whole lot. It was cute to see them go back to their pure synthesizer roots.

There is some Vegas footage on YouTube but it's not that great, so instead, here's footage from a show in Berlin. I really like this footage because you can see how much fun Dave is having performing, especially between the 1:16 and 2:29 marks:



Yeah, rock it out, birthday boy! Bright lights! Dark room! Love it!

So in honor of Dave's birthday, I hope you go and do something to celebrate it being such a beautiful day today. You're alive and you've been blessed with another day! Use it wisely!

Badly Behaved Children

Sometimes I get a little annoyed when folks go on and on about how shocked they are that my sons are so well-behaved. The typical comment goes something like this:

"I just can't BELIEVE how good your kids are! I mean, look at them! They are just so well-behaved, it's AMAZING!!!"

Those are the moments I want to ask in return, "Why can't you believe it? Because they're black and male? Do you think all black males are heathens who can't behave? Hmm???"

But that would be me reading into the situation a little too much, even if I do sometimes think that racial dynamics are a part of the shocked response to their good behavior. I never ever do the, "Oh, but you should see how they bad they are when they're at home," thing. Instead, I verbally agree with the person, especially when my boys are in earshot. "Yes, they are very well-behaved. They are such good, polite boys."

We talk about the proper way to behave a whole lot in my house. Plus, I was a teacher, a teacher that did not play around and accept anything less than excellent behavior. Kids learn how to behave if you teach them how to and reward them for being good. To me, it's the essence of vanity to think you can go somewhere and be rude or disrespectful.

My seven year-old just started taking Kung Fu lessons at a place a couple of miles from my house. My husband took him to the first two lessons but I wanted to go so I took him last night. There are six other boys in the class and five of them are really badly behaved. My husband had warned me about how bad they are, but I still wasn't fully prepared for how they were talking back to the Sifu. These boys are a little older, maybe 6th graders, so the Sifu was giving them sets of push ups to do as punishment for being disrespectful. It really didn't seem like these boys cared all that much because they were doing dozens of push ups.

I saw my son watching these boys and then he'd look over at me to gauge my reaction to this. I kept shaking my head at him and giving him the "eye".

I started having flashbacks to something that happened when I was at a middle school basketball game. This girl in my class named Eleanor called her mom a bitch in front of everybody. What did Eleanor's mom do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She just stood there and said, "Oh, Eleanor, don't talk like that, honey!"

And what did Eleanor do with that? "Well you are a bitch! And I hate you! I wish you weren't even here."

My mouth was totally hanging open and I remember my mom just looked at me with this look that said, "If you ever do something like that, I will kill you."

The parents of these boys at Kung Fu last night were sitting right there watching their sons misbehaving. I think they saw my mom's look on my face. But them? One mom actually had the nerve to laugh and say, "They just come in here with so much energy, don't they?" They were totally being Eleanor's mom.

I made sure to talk with my son after the class about it all. I told him how I liked how respectful he was, how carefully he followed directions and how he thanked the Sifu after class. Then I took him to Robek's to get a smoothie treat. He asked me why I thought the other boys were bad and I told him it's because their parents let them act like that.

Later on, I got to thinking about how every single one of those misbehaving boys are white. After I got home I was talking on the phone with a girlfriend of mine and I told her about these boys. I started joking with her, "What they need is a black mom to set them straight because black moms don't play that."

Total stereotype, I know, but I think there is a grain of truth that certain cultures, particularly black folks, don't look kindly on their children misbehaving in public. And if your mom or dad is there, that's a definite no-no. It's not regarded as cute or funny and there's the cultural legacy that misbehaving in public can get you killed. Google Emmett Till's story if you're not sure what I mean by that.

Clearly, I know from teaching that black and Latino kids can and do misbehave in public. But again, I never saw it go down while the parents were sitting right there. I had students who would talk much smack, they'd be all, "Call my momma, I don't care!" Then when I'd call mom and get her to come up to the school, the tears and apologies would start big time and they'd never be a problem again.

The flip side of this is that while some of this cultural stuff is true, it also gives rise to, like I said, stereotypes. White parents are nice, but passive wimps, and black parents are mean and will beat your ass if you even look at them wrong, (especially if they're from the Caribbean).

Now, I don't beat my children at all. I do the modern version of discipline, which clearly, parents of all colors do: explain the rules, enforce the rules and reward and punish accordingly. I'm curious though, what do you all think about all this? What do you think about culturally different ways that people raise their kids or discipline them? In your experience, what do you see happen?

Sharing Secrets?

From time to time I find myself thinking about what I would write about in this space if this blog was totally anonymous.

I mean, yesterday I wrote a post that contained 40 tidbits of information about me. More than 40 if you're good at reading between the lines. But none of those things are actually what I was thinking about most of all. Truth is, I spent 99% of yesterday thinking about one particular thing and it sure as heck had, shocker of all shockers, nothing to do with Depeche Mode!

The question that lingers is would I have told you what I was really thinking about if this blog was anonymous?

Secrets are a sticky area for me because I know what the burden of keeping rather unhealthy ones feels like. We all have our secrets, the thoughts that are closest to our hearts, and how much to share is a really fine line. What to reveal, what to conceal?

I guess it depends on how we grew up, what we're culturally comfortable with, and what the repercussions of saying certain things are. And if this blog was anonymous, I could say, "Today I'm thinking about _____," or, "Today _____ happened and I felt _____ about it," and no one I know who reads this would have hurt feelings or would be shocked or calling me up saying anything.

Because I don't do that I often feel like I'm keeping secrets from you all, being less than honest. But do you even have, as a reader of this space, the right to know? That was clearly a rhetorical question since clearly, you don't, but you know what I mean.

On the other hand, no, there is no need to put everything out on front street. Everything doesn't have to be reality TV where sometimes I'm thinking, you could've kept that to yourself and I'd seriously be just fine.

This must be part of the reason folks go to therapy. I can see the appeal of paying money to have an objective listener, someone to tell all the things I'm really thinking about. Or, if this blog was anonymous, I could just put it all out there. Then instead of the therapist surreptitiously writing it down on their nice, yellow legal pad, you, the reader could be the one to comment, "Um, you're crazy!"

What about you? Where do you draw the line on what to share on your blog? (or in life if you're one of the five people in the world who don't have a blog yet) Have you ever regretted sharing a secret or secret thought on your blog?

10 x 4 = Cinco de Mayo

Happy Cinco de Mayo everybody!

I know the popular misconception is that everyone who's Latino in Los Angeles comes from Mexico, and so folks should be out in the streets partying hardy. But in my neighborhood, half the people are from El Salvador -- totally different country -- and they could care less about a holiday celebrating a 19th century Mexican battle.

BUT since it's a day for celebration, let's start out the morning with a little "Yes We Can", courtesy of House Music United.



I have no idea what's up with the place-setting video. I didn't make it. But can I just say that records like this are exactly why I like Europeans. No Americans these days are gonna throw an Obama speech over a tech-house beat, and we INVENTED house music! Instead we get will.i.am's folksy version, which is all very touching and inspiring, but when I need to get myself going in the morning, this is SO much better.

Disclaimer: If you hate house music and hate Barack Obama because he's an uppity negro and you think his wife will be blasting "Computer Love" from the White House, sorry! Wrong blog for you!

Yeah, let me push "replay" on that clip. I really need to hear that again. Yes we can! Wake up, that is! I will have you know that I did not go to sleep last night at all. I spent my evening getting caught up tweaking a little something I wrote a couple of months ago and then working on another short story I've been absolutely obsessed with. However, I'm feeling a little wired even though I haven't slept. It must be the sheer emotional adrenaline of what I was writing.

That means it's perfect timing for me to swagger jack this meme from Madame hot-blogger herself, 1969! Get ready, because you're gonna learn a whole bunch about me that you had no idea you ever wanted to know. And if you don't want to know, stop reading now and call it a day, m'kay?

Ten things I really liked when I was a teenager that I don’t much care for now:
1) Baked chicken: Vegetarianism sort of lured me away and soured my relationship with chicken. Gosh, I feel so guilty. I've been cheating with tofu all these years.
2) Horse racing: I think Eight Belles death on Saturday at the Kentucky Derby really put the nail in the coffin. But I used to be crazy for the ponies. I even wanted to be a female jockey at one point.
3) Leftovers: I never ate them when I lived in China and that soured me on them forever. I feel like throwing up if I have to eat them.
4) Blue eyeshadow: I really thought I was fly in that light blue. Gosh, it was an '80s thing.
5) Pancakes and fries eaten at the same time: Too much starch and I like for my clothes to fit.
6) Shorts: I just think they're for kids, not for grown women with two kids of their own.
7) Vanity Fair: The book, not the magazine. I recently tried to reread it and it just irritated me. I kept yelling, "Get to the point!" Waay too long!
8) W Magazine: My mom subscribed and I used to love it. I recently bought the issue with Keira Knightley on the cover. Bored to tears by the wack fashions and the lack of diversity in the models.
9) MTV: Too many Tila Tequila shows and not enough actual music. I'm not feeling it and haven't for a long time.
10) Popular radio stations: Same 10 songs playing over and over again and their morning shows? What in the world are they talking about? Radio has definitely changed for the worse -- or am I just getting old?

Ten things I didn’t like when I was a teenager but I really like them now:
1) Talk radio: I love KNX 1070 out here in LA but I used to fight with my Dad over Chicago's very own, WGN.
2) Walking: Walking is the kiss of death for a teenager but now I'm all for it.
3) Television cop dramas: You would never have caught me watching a Hill Street Blues type show as some teen Now I love Law & Order. (Except I haven't watched TV for two weeks now.)
4) Exercise: We've come a long way from the days of Jane Fonda-type pure aerobics. Thank goodness.
5) Martial arts movies: I've been a Jet Li fan for 15 years now. And Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon is still a masterpiece by any definition.
6) Ice cream: Three cheers for Breyer's Triple Chocolate.
7) Diet Coke: I'm with you on this one, 1969. But I'm being lured away by Coke Zero.
8) Art Museums: Now that I know the history and the stories behind the paintings, I like going.
9) Shopping: 80's clothes were kind of ugly and didn't look too good on me. Plus, if we were going shopping, chances are my mom was getting something, not me. Not fun.
10) Myself: Yeah, I wasn't too crazy about myself as a teenager. Thank goodness I outgrew that.

Ten things I've never liked and probably never will:
1) Snobby people: If you have to keep repeating where you got your little JD/MBA from, how "good" your hair is, or who your daddy is, guess what, you've pretty much guaranteed that I'm going to HATE you. I could stop this list right here with this one because I will HATE you, do you hear me, H-A-T-E you.
2) Being Broke: Been there, done that. I'll never be money hungry but being hungry because I have no ducats is not something I care to repeat.
3) Big cars: Bad for the environment and I don't know how to parallel park them.
4) Alcohol: I can't stand the smell of beer. Drunk folks tend to get on my nerves, and drunk drivers deserve the slammer.
5) Drama: Especially the sort where people ask me for advice, don't take it and then come crying when their life gets all jacked up.
6) Mediocrity: Come hard with it or don't come at all. If you did your best, fine. But don't tell me you didn't really try or didn't really care what the end result was.
7) Brian McKnight, Wesley Snipes, Tom Cruise, Justin Timberlake and Rush Limbaugh: They all make me sick. Just go away.
8) Greasy Southern Food: Hello! Vegetables can be made without butter and I don't want to eat fried eggs you made with a jar of drippings.
9) Self help books: I have a total mental block against them.
10) Scary movies: I'm still traumatized by watching "Secret Window" and "The Grudge" with my sister two years ago. I seriously can't deal with scary movies.


Ten things I’ve always really liked and very likely always will:
1) My kids: I love them more than anything on this planet.
2) Depeche Mode: In case you didn't know, they're the best band in the world. They just need to hurry up with the new record. Pretty please with a cherry on top?
3) Writing: Ah yes, the reason I did not go to bed last night and the reason I blog.
4) Dracula: The novel, as in Bram Stoker's Dracula. Mina Harker is one of my alter-egos.
5) Orlando Bloom: Is this the wrong time to talk about my unopened Legolas doll?
6) Shoes: I have a particular "thing" for red high heels and I really want some black stilettos with metal heels.
7) Driving a stick shift: I can be a little bit of a control freak and a stick shift helps with that. I'm good at it too. Alas, my current car is not a stick because my husband can't drive one.
8) Traveling: I will go anywhere you want to go. I really like to travel!
9) Jane Austen: Austen's novels are still so fresh and relevant. They're social commentary and soap opera all wrapped into one.
9) Tea: I will drink pretty much any tea that you offer me, not just my beloved chai. I like it plain or with a little milk in it and two sugar cubes.
10: Thai Food: I'm so spoiled because I live right on the edge of Thai Town and in delivery distance of one of the best Thai restaurants in LA.

Whew, I'm tagging some of you...later. I think I need to recover from this post.

Behind the Wall

Yesterday afternoon I came home and, despite the aches in my knee, I couldn't stop myself from heading back out to take a very slow stroll around the neighborhood with my sons. However, almost immediately my walk was cut short, not because of knee pain but because I was absolutely shocked by what was going on across the street.

For as long as I've lived in my neighborhood, one of the houses diagonally across from me has been completely obscured. The house being set far back from the sidewalk and being built into a down slope, strategically placed trees and an extremely high cinder block wall have all ensured that for the nine years I've lived here I've never actually seen the entire property. I've only seen part of one corner.

The cinder block wall was painted a gentle shade of light green and was, almost year-round, covered with a flowering vine. It blended in beautifully with the rest of the neighborhood's scenery, so much so that it was easy to forget that a wall was even there and that something might exist beyond it.

Sometimes though I've wondered what was behind the wall. The secluded nature has caused me to imagine the property as the neighborhood version of "The Secret Garden". I've pictured two worn and weary lovers escaping the cares of the day, quaintly holding hands while sitting on a shaded bench. There's a peaceful silence in their secret garden, the noise of the city magically unable to cross the green-painted concrete barrier and the aroma of honeysuckle wafting through the breeze.

But when I stepped outside yesterday and looked across the street, I saw that this magical wall was completely gone. The entire thing had been knocked down, a yawning space left in its wake. Four workers with sledgehammers were quickly breaking up the few remaining pieces of green rubble and loading it onto a junkyard truck.

My eyes immediately moved past the workers to the house behind them. Revealed at last was the mythical place that has been obscured all these years, a rather quaint one-story craftsman cottage. And the romantic yard of my imagination? It has a neglected air to it with some ill-kept grass. The honeysuckle bush and shaded bench from my imagination were both absent.

But my jaw dropped when I saw a small sliver of blue rippling in the sunlight. Unbelievably, a small, oval shaped sunken swimming pool is in the front yard.

It was too much for me to process all at once, so I stood and gaped at the spectacle in front of me. My sons began to excitedly chatter with each other about how they were going to go and swim in the pool.

I immediately thought that somebody better have plans to put up a new wall or fence so that the neighborhood kids don't drown themselves. Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of my neighbors who lives down the street walking my way. She's lived in this neighborhood for at least 25 years and has seen more changes then I have.

"Someone must've bought it," she said as she approached, her face wrinkled with disdain. "It must be house flippers. Who else would tear down that wall?"

I nodded my head in agreement, disappointed that indeed, some thoughtless newbies would tear down such a neighborhood fixture. Then I figured that perhaps the new owners don't want as much privacy. So many of the newer residents of my neighborhood seem to voyeuristically forgo curtains over their front windows, as if they enjoy being seen and admired from the street.

And then a wave of guilt washed over me. I hadn't even noticed the property was for sale, and moreso I'd never even seen the previous owners. "Who used to live there?" I asked. "I never saw anybody coming in or out."

"No, you wouldn't have," she replied. "It was a much older gay couple and both of them were very ill for the past few years. AIDS, you know. One of them died a few years ago. The other must've either finally died or had to move."

I wasn't expecting her to share such an unhappy and tragic story. Sometimes it seems like we never hear anymore about people in the States dying from AIDS related complications. It's like we're all lulled into believing folks can live a normal life with the right medication. We no longer really talk as a society about the pain and suffering of AIDS. And so I could only murmur inadequately about how horrible it was.

My seven year-old son chimed in with an innocent, "What's AIDS, mommy?"

Our neighbor leaned down to pinch his cheek. "It's a disease that you'll never get if you take care of yourself."

"But do you get it from swimming pools?" he asked. I told him no and gave him the "eye" to shush his curiosity.

My neighbor continued. "They used to throw wonderful parties when I first moved here..." Her voice trailed off and I could see she was being taken back in time, perhaps remembering sitting around that pool, chatting with them. "But then one of them cheated, got HIV, gave it to the other. You know how it goes."

"They stayed together?" I asked. Such an incredulous thought seems against human nature. I couldn't imagine doing such a thing. I'd be too angry, too bitter to wake up and be civilized around someone who is the cause of my mortality, all the while knowing that sooner or later the medication wouldn't be enough for either of us.

She nodded sadly. "Yeah, but they pretty much cut themselves off from everybody after that."

We watched the workers for a few more minutes, chatted a bit more and then parted. I didn't feel like going for a walk anymore after that. I had too many visions in my head of two 40 or 50 something year-old men dying in that house. I pictured them sitting inside, holding onto the last precious moments of life, looking out on that swimming pool and remembering the days of their youth, the days of their innocence.

By dusk, a hideous wooden fence was in place, hurriedly erected by the four workers. It's not as tall as the wall it replaced so more of the house is visible. These new owners, however long they stay, will certainly make the house their own, erasing the memories, erasing the pain those walls have surely seen.

I can only hope they don't meet the same tragic fate.

Why Phillipe Copeland is a Genius

Who'd have thought a post on my serious challenges with anger management would evolve into such a great conversation about so many other issues?

I really appreciated this comment left yesterday by Phillipe Copeland from Baha'i Thought. He really shifted the lens through which I was seeing the conversation and took it to a whole other level. Clearly, we can see why he's a genius. Phillipe says:

"The Sean Bell thing is tragic on so many levels, not just for him but for the police officers as well. What do I mean? We have a society that is grossly unjust but very clever at keeping things that way. One way is to create a class of folks, most of whom come from working class and poor backgrounds themselves to "police" other poor and working class people. Meanwhile people with ridiculous amounts of wealth go on accumulating it all the while being protected by the sons and daughters of people less well off, both domestically (the police) and internationally (the military). The wheel just keeps turning and Sean Bells keep ending up dead, while the cops get attacked reinforcing their lack of consciousness of their own exploitation further fueling the process. I think part of what must happen is rather than attacking the police is to engage in a critical dialog that will assist at least some of them to wake up to their location in the social hierarchy so that they could start to work towards changing that. Otherwise you essentially have the same old game which is working class and poor folks divided against each other so that they cannot effectively unite for a better society. Just a thought."

You see why I read his blog? You see why he's getting a Ph.D.? Thanks for keeping it real, Phillipe.

Frozen Peas and My Knee

I'm sitting around with a bag of frozen peas on my left kneecap. Clearly the end of the world is upon us.

One of the consequences of last Thursday's lengthy, rage-induced run is that I've killed my knee. It began bothering me a bit on Friday, and of course the solution my dumb self came up with was to keep on moving. It's like the Daft Punk sample of Kanye West's "Stronger" turned on in my brain and all I could think of was:

"Work it harder
Make it better
Do it faster
Makes us stronger"

How much harder, better, faster, stronger? Since Thursday, I've jogged twice more, done step aerobics and sweated my way through a Violet Zaki DVD that makes you do about 7,943 squats and lunges. Stupid, stupid, stupid! (Picture me banging my head on a concrete wall.)

Last night I woke up twice because the pain was bothering me. I took some Advil and, unfortunately, it didn't make a bit of difference. I spent most of today limping around the neighborhood looking bitter and geriatric. I mean, it took me half an hour to walk to pick up my sons from school today because every time I put more than a little weight on my left leg, bolts of pain shot through my knee.

On the way home after school, my youngest refused to walk up our hill. He claimed that his legs didn't work and so I needed to carry him. Of course I wanted to know who the heck was going to carry me since one of my legs actually seemed like it didn't work for real.

Guess which one of us ended up getting a piggyback ride???

To distract myself from the pain of hauling a 32 pound child up the hill on my back, I attempted to think about what an awesome hair day I was having. And then I remembered that that wasn't actually true since my hair was sort of resembling a rats nest.

Sooo, I came home, called my sister and complained about how I'm getting old and my body is falling apart. Seriously, I never had aches and pains like this back in the day. She was pretty sympathetic although she thinks I just need new running shoes.

I responded by launching into a complete pity-party about how my knee's jacked up but I'll never know for sure since 1) I don't even have a doctor, 2) I only went to the doctor when I was pregnant and 3) I haven't been to a doctor since my six-week checkup after my four year-old was born -- and what's wrong with me psychologically that I never go to the doctor? I told her how I'd even taken a bath in Epsom Salts just like an old lady.

She says, "Well my trainer at the gym says you 're not supposed to put heat on knee aches. You're supposed to ice it."

"Ice it?" I was skeptical. I thought heat makes things feel better.

"Yeah," she said. "Put a bag of peas on it. Heat is what old people put on their bodies to make themselves feel better."

And that, my dear friends, is the tale of how a bag of frozen peas came to be resting on my knee.