Moving On Up

Two days after I left San Francisco in July, George sealed the deal on a new condo. Now that she's signed her life away and is a homeowner, I've been anxiously awaiting a first hand view of things. My mom flew up a few weeks ago to help George decorate and organize. I know cousins, half-Persian cousins, and other such people have been drafted to help George move and settle in. The new place is very nice, much bigger than I imagined, and much sunnier. The rooms are laid out very nicely and there is a large balcony that overlooks the tops of many buildings. After a fitful night on the couch (the new carpet is too nice to sleep on), here are some of my observations -- with photos.

Upgrades:

• Fresh flowers greet your arrival
• An office nook for studying and laptopping, with printer
• Walk in closet that fits two people, but probably not three
• In-unit washer and dryer (I'm most excited about this)
• A doorman, who is a little too vigilant
• The kitchen is now real kitchen sized
• Dining room table for the two of us and two friends; taking reservations now
• New faux antique wood entertainment stand that has cool latches
• Bathroom has a marble sink area and is larger than a glorified port-a-potty
• The view is infinitely nicer, from brick wall to cityscape and ocean view
• There are now separate pillows for laying on and decoration. Do not confuse them.
• An iPhone is permanently docked to the sound system
• Walking distance to a boba shop (but I haven't gone yet)
• The bedroom is definitely wide enough for two beds, or a roomy bunk

Signs my mom has been here:

• A stack of hand towels in the bathroom, compete with wooden bowl to deposit used towels
• Dryer sheets hung strategically around the closets to keep them fresh
• George made me put a bedsheet down on the couch before I slept
• All the stuff I left here has been boxed and put into plastic tubs
• Everything is impeccably organized, there are no stray bags or piles of stuff anywhere

Downgrades:

• Sirens at night, lots of sirens. There must be a fire department nearby.
• My TV channel favorites are no longer programmed in
• My 24/7 donut shop is now 1.33 miles away
• I have no idea where the car is parked

Forget Me Not

For some reason I'm seeing a lot of (extra) "What I remember about 9/11" posts, articles, and snippets this year. There's been relatively few similar outpourings and reflections on Obama's recent announcement that the war was officially over. Maybe because it's not? I didn't pay much attention to either event because the new football season is upon us.

In the stories of 9/11 though, there always seems to be a bit of one-upmanship quality to how close you were, or who you knew that barely escaped, or who you knew that actually passed away. Well, not so much the latter. But when talking about the World Trade Center, there's an immediate need to tell your story after someone shares their experience. Somehow I don't think that's what "You'll never forget the day..."is actually about. You're supposed to remember the event because it's historic/shocking, not regurgitate it annually. Next year is the tenth anniversay of 9/11, maybe I should go stand where I was standing ten years ago.

But what would be the point exactly?

A friend that grew up with a lot of my other friends committed suicide a few weeks ago. He jumped. Cleanly, simply, and with no note or message. I don't think a lot of us have been to funerals for our friends before. The memorial service was held at the same place we had the ceremony for my dad. Beforehand, as the crowd gathered, the priest kind of ambled around, reading over what people had written on the guestbook / surfboard, whistling a cheerful tune. My friend and I both wanted to punch him.

The ceremony itself was similar to a wedding. Slideshow, speeches, some tears. Everyone was encouraged to make the slow walk over to the grave site, trailing the hearse by a few yards. The distance was only about two hundred yards so it felt absurd and my friend and I stayed behind. The family members were each given a white dove to release. The priest said that they would be flying off to heaven along with our friend's spirit. He neglected to point out that this was symbolic. After all, the pigeons would be arcing back around for the next customer.

Funerals aren't good places to grieve; or feel.

Saul Williams

i don't trust the man

that i am becoming

he seems too much

and seldom is

i see men

very little

yet they seem

in all i hear

Working Title

This one goes out to my friend Desiree, who started a new blog about turning thirty, which she will be in a few weeks. Adding to her semi-panic is the fact that she'll be in two weddings the week of her birthday. If this doesn't sound like the high concept for a romantic comedy, you don't watch enough trashy movies. I'm not sure what her movie should be called but Des' blog is titled Exclusively Des. In a purely non-coincidental move, the sequel to EC will feature a girl named "Desiree."

"As a man I'm entitled to a certain idea in my head of the kind of woman I want to be with, and -- poof! -- I'm a romantic. As a woman in her 30s, S has a certain kind of idea in her head of the kind of man she wants, and -- voila! -- she's unreasonable.
...
Perhaps S needs to 'put herself out there' more, as she's often told. Perhaps when push comes to shove she'll have to online date, or pick up some hobby that puts her in contact with different people, or learn how to animate yarn into a handsome prince. I really have no idea. All I know is she's great and she's single and, for the most part, she's happy. We all get lonely. People in couples are not immune. Some would argue there's nothing worse than being lonely in another person's company. Ask anyone who's ever dated someone they didn't really love or spent time on a New York subway.

The next time someone asks S why she's single, I hope she responds, 'Because I haven't been lobotomized yet, you miserable bastard.'"
-It's okay to be single in your thirties...unless you're a girl (June 2010)

The Donkey Express

A mental to-do for the past week has been to clean out my email inbox. Don't be confused, it's not like I have a ton of them in there. Some people get hundreds or even thousands. I get the occasional fan mail, a few personal correspondences, lots of fantasy or blog related stuff, random "you have to see this forwards," and a boatload of notifications from Google Groups, dating sites, newsletters, and digests. I was also lying about the fan mail. I haven't received one of those in awhile.

One friend wrote me a beautiful email asking for my opinion about her opinion on marriage (that she sent to someone else). It was the type of out of the blue email I love to get. And it made me feel all gushy inside to receive it. But then I took six days to respond, even though when you shoot out a "wish you were here" email you expect a response in a timely manner. I totally know that. So six days is ridiculous. And then there were a few thank you emails I had piled up. Just simple plain "thank you's" for things people have done or opportunities they granted me. Those sat around too.

Then there are the worst transgressions of all. An email that has been sitting in my inbox since December and two from February. Let me remind you it's mid-August right now. They haven't been archived or hidden, they've been right there but I've just never responded. And they are quality emails too. Which people put some thought into. Like we were dialoguing. They literally sat in my inbox because they deserved the proper time committment for a quality reply but then I seemed to have never found the time. Or the mood? Or something. But that's just rude, by anyone's standards, and I've never been that person before. In my prior life I was an excellent email responder.

Now they pile up and I experience a feeling I rarely get: guilt. It's like we were having a conversation, I say "hold that thought" and excuse myself to go to the bathroom, and then return six to eight months later. Well tonight I knocked them all out -- save the one from December -- and felt like I accomplished something. With profuse apologies and the gift of hopefully well received MP3s, I cleared the deck of digital guilt and can now move on. I'm back to on-time email responses. Because I don't want to be that guy. That guy with six emails lagging in the queue. That's pathetic and I want no part of it.