Wednesday, April 20, 2011

What Happens When You Take 3 Weeks to Write A Post

I think that when you write a blog, the "Title" box should be below the entry. I mean, many times I want to blog but I don't know what direction the entry is going to take--I'd rather sit down and let my fingers become one with the keyboard and just let my thoughts flow forth in all their random glory. And then see if there is anything meaningful in it. [EDIT: You can now see from the title why this opening paragraph makes sense to me]

Which many times there isn't, but people who care about me seem to still appreciate reading my words to feel comfort that I'm still indeed, alive, and not a false internet persona being perpetuated by disturbed trolls working under the guise that I'm important enough to convince the world that I'm still alive.

(I am still alive.)

What has been going on otherwise? Well, my boyfriend and I have had two very very different and very awesome weekends.

A few weekends ago we stayed in LA and did very domestic things--shopping, cleaning, cooking dinner together and just being a couple. It was very nice because we've been together for 15 months now and we still just enjoy each others company.

Then Easter weekend, while I was still at work, I started getting communiqué's from all sides--texts, IM's facebook pokes--about Wil having a great idea he wanted to share with me.


And somehow, I found myself released from work early, at about 3:30pm, to rush home (Wil had already spent much of the day tidying the apartment so we wouldn't leave a mess for our roommates) and pack for the 5 hour drive to Las Vegas.

It was so crazy to realize that we are both successful enough before 30 that we can just randomly decide to go to Vegas and have a weekend there. Wil got us an amazing room with the most fantastic view of the Bellagio fountains, and we spent our day relaxing in the room, eating McDonalds and Todd English in the same day.

Oh, and we went to the spa, used the dry sauna, the steam room, and the hot tub, and then Wil sprung for a couples massage... it was incredible.

We must have looked so cute because on the drive home, we passed a red convertible with four cute gay guys in it. They looked at us (it was clear we were gay and a couple by our HRC and No on Prop 8 Bumper sticker) and smiled, and kept looking. It was fun.

The humorous thing was that we lost sight of them outside of Vegas but when we got into LA, they had caught up to us and waved again. ;)

It took me weeks to write this entry. Perhaps I need to realize that blogging is something timely and topical and that I should try not to put off my updates so often.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Ciclavia 2 and other thoughts

I haven't blogged in a long time, and perhaps it's because my standards got too high. Perhaps I felt like I had to write really well to make people want to read.

But in reality, I don't need to write well. The writing is merely an exercise for getting my jumbled thoughts straightened out it my head.

You see, I used to journal. Yes, it's dorky. Yes, Doug Funnie was the last character on TV I remember doing it. However, I journaled most of my life. Especially the hard times. That's what journals are for I think. Helping you cope through the hard times that inevitably rear their heads.

Yesterday I brought Wil out for CicLAvia 2, the second CicLAvia event in Los Angeles history. I attended the first one and I tell you there was a palpable peace and joy in the air that day. Wil, being from Holland, knows first hand how amazing bike transportation can be, and I was thrilled to show him a side of Los Angeles that sparkled--thousands of people riding together for fun, being courteous and peaceful.

When we got there, he was initially concerned about the festival-like atmosphere at Heliotrope and Melrose. We had to get off our bikes and walk through the crowd.

But his excitement rose when we started down Heliotrope--suddenly the sounds of busy LA faded and the air filled with whirring bicycle tires, laughing people, and thousands of smiles. It was amazing.

Being the second time this ever happened, I expected it to be bigger, but it was easily 3-4 times bigger. Articles I've read this morning claim "130,000" which means either the numbers for cicLAvia 1 were grossly over estimated, or the new estimate is about 170,000 short. If CicLAvia 1 had 100,000 people as claimed, then there were easily 300,000 this time. I personally brought 3 new people, and almost everyone I know brought 3 new people, so... you do the math. This paragraph is long enough.

We rode all the way to Hollenbeck park, enjoyed a Coca-Cola (with real sugar in a glass bottle!) and headed toward little Tokyo to enjoy Shabu-Shabu house.

We go to the Shabu Shabu House almost every weekend. The owner recognizes us and always is so friendly--he even gave me a delightful dose of manzai humor. It went like this:

Him: You bike here?
Me: (Observing that we usually have to wait 45 minutes to eat and but we were seated immediately) Yes! The event is going to get bigger so you will have more business!
Him: Oh No! (Complete with genuine concerned look)

Yeah, I thought it was pretty hilarious too.

Anyway, we ate quickly and got back on the route. But immediately there was more tension--there were more people being snide and talking about others around them. On girl even remarked that she felt on edge the whole time because it was so crowded.

As I dived west on 6th, I spotted a Bank of America, and I'd been meaning to get some cash. So I announced to Wil that I was going to stop. So I moved towards the middle and went to flip a u-turn.

That's when I cut off a cyclist going very fast. He was apparently passing me on the right and I turned in front of him. He hit my back tire and flew over the handlebars, landing in the street. I ran over and asked if he was alright, and profusely apologizing. He yelled at me that "Sorry isn't going to fix my shoulder".

I felt so ashamed and embarrassed. The cops made us exchange information, and he was generally a pretty good sport considering he had dislocated his shoulder. He joked that he was going to have to go to Prada to get a new suit (because his arm was now longer from being dislocated)

Anyway, my back tire rim was warped, so I was able to ride slowly to the next ride line station and hop on the train. I was silent and on the brink of tears most of the time. Wil knows me well enough to not try to talk about it, so we rode almost all the way home in silence. I felt so ashamed and embarrassed.

Spent most of the day after that feeling guilty, like a fool, for causing someone else in-advertant bodily harm. It took me a lot of time to relax and start forgiving myself. Even now I feel so embarrassed I don't want to ride anymore.

But then I remember the words that he actually said before he climbed into the ambulance: "Don't stop riding because of me". Because he wasn't mad at me and didn't hate me. He hated the pain he was in and that I'd been a bit careless, but he didn't want me to get afraid to get on my bike because of something like this.

So I am glad he said that. I pray that he will be understanding and will not sue me.

Anyway, CicLAvia is already to crowded on its current route. We've gotta have more room to fit all the people!