Alo-hah
So... now FOUR years since the last entry and I am again at a loss for how exactly to connect the last dot to the current one. Many things remain the same. Most do not. Another brother has died. Overdosed. Two years ago now and I'm still smoldering from the pain and from the complete lack of faith that this world has any purpose that might be called good. And, still reeling from the obvious truth that the family from wince I come can ever be anything but tragic. We may not be exclusively tragic. May also be interesting and maddening self-thwarting and god knows what. I think we have hidden talents and purposes, but those never seem to be the headlines and they never seem to surface at the right time. And I've given up trying to understand or hope and just live with the odd thing we are.
Anyhoosal... other changes... my roommate and LA family gay-triarch of eight years moved suddenly (or perhaps not so suddenly) to Portland. Or rather, he moved to Van Nuys, so that he could save money to move to San Francisco and then ended up in Portland. I was glad he moved on. Very happy for him. Felt it was the best thing for him. But, it did leave me a bit in the lurch. I could not find a suitable roommate and could not afford the place on my own. A bit of an ironic burn that he hadn't decided to move at a time when Doug and I were together. When we could have become roommates. There really was no one else. One friend. But... not a reliable one and certainly not an ideal living mate. But, off he went. And there I was. Newly dating one of the kindest men I've ever met. Wondering if it was reckless to consider moving in with him. Hesitating when he asked me. Interviewing potential new roommates. Considering moving back to Utah. Wondering what the fuck. A bit more trusting then, but still incredibly uncertain that the one obvious choice was the best one. Or even if it was a good one. Even when I agreed, I claimed it was temporary. Which, so far it hasn't been. I moved in to his lovely, but too small for two, rent controlled one bedroom apartment. And it was ... kind of great. The only real problem was the context and space for my yoga practice fell away. And the pleasure in eating and drinking and the using of eating and drinking to manage large, scary feelings increased. And it was fun. Is fun. It continues. Ah, but more. Nine months after moving in, the landlord served eviction notices to everyone in the building. We had 120 days to get the fuck out. Due to some smart, vigilant folks that lived in the building, that 120 days became a year. A year of meeting most Sundays with the other tenants to try and figure out if we could stop this landlord asshole from screwing everyone. The other Sundays and all the Saturdays were spent looking for a house to buy. A house for my nice guy to buy and for me to help pay the mortgage on. It was grueling and scary. The housing marking in Los Angeles is grueling and scary for anyone actually looking for a place to live - though not as much for those looking to make an investment or to get some of their money out of China and into the US. Grueling for anyone making less than $500,000 a year. We saw a lot of places. Hundreds. Most of them terrifying or small or okay, but snapped up by someone with cash who was willing to pay $50,000 above asking. This was a place and circumstance I had not come close to imagining. I was even second guessing whether or not me and the nice guy would even work out. Why was I doing this? But... we found a place. His doing-better friend lent him the money for the down payment. And after bidding on six places, we were in escrow. We actually got word we had the house during a trip to New York we had taken for my birthday. On my birthday, in fact, we had to go to the local branch and sign a bunch of papers. Or, rather, he did. My nice guy had to sign a bunch of papers. And he did and when we got back to the City of Angels we had a house to move in to. And we did. And its been ... kind of great. We also got a dog, Walt. And I love him so much I can't deal with it most days. But I have felt this love before, so its easier to manage this time.
So there we are now in Highland Park. A hot, up-n-coming neighborhood. Cast out due to being in a certain income bracket in one area of gentrification and now forced to be the face on the other side of of gentrification in a neighborhood under siege. Strange days. Strange and not boring.
Which leads me to why I felt compelled to make another post here. I am in Hawaii for the first time in my life. I have been cast in a non-union commercial for Hawaiian Airlines. No lines. Little pay. But, a quick trip to Polynesia on their dime. Three days off of the day job with little notice and I'm a bit worried a bit about that. But here I am. My nice guy thought of coming. I wanted him to. But, its just too short a trip and not worth the extra expense. So, I'm here. In Honolulu. It's beautiful. Crammed a bit with tourist nonsense. But still. Hawaii. And, oddly, I don't get it. I'm heavier than I've been in a while and I've all but given up on my acting career. But somehow I'm here. And here in the throes of my usual self doubt and social anxiousness and general distrust of ... everything. But here. Nudged somehow. An echoed whistle through a dusty sepia toned street called my acting career. A chance to put my performance mind to work. A bit of LA magic. A kooky story. A tiny adventure. A nothing/something miracle.
What could it mean?
Should it mean anything?
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