Today's revelation: I'm not as independent as I thought

I've always considered myself pretty independent, and certainly my friends think so as well. Today, precipitated by having to say goodbye to my brother and his family (who are moving to San Diego), I realized that I have actually never lived apart from my family. This was a shock to me. I talk to others who see their families all the time and I think it's amazing, but the truth is that I'm one of those people. I went to college on the east coast, and was within 1/2 hour of my father's family. While I didn't know them really, they were still family and I had somewhere to go if I so chose. When I left for a year, I went to the Philippines to live with my family there. And here, my father is only 1/2 hour away, my aunt is not even 4 miles from my house, and my brother is (was) also a short bike/bus/car trip away. And I see them all at least once a month if not more often than that.

I have to make many revisions to my picture of myself it seems.

Just returned from the US Conference on AIDS. I always get emotional at these conferences. Some of it is happiness at seeing the work that's happening around the country. Much of it is frustration or anger at the ever-diminishing funds, exhaustion at having to explain basic things over and over, despondency at seeing the interconnectedness of all poverty-related issues and not knowing how to extract us from this downward spiral. Then there's awe at the power and passion of the people who do this work... this last almost makes me cry. I get so worked up listening to these people speak, hearing how much they care, feeling the pain behind their anger, the love behind their jokes. It's a rejuvenating and depressing thing to attend an AIDS conference. Not in ways that I think people outside the industry would guess at. But there's a certain level of community here, and I belong to it in a way.

One plenary speaker asked people who had been working in the AIDS field for over 10 years to stand, and I had to stand with a few hundred others. And the people (mostly youth) at my table applauded. Applauded me. It was a little overwhelming to think about doing this for that long. I also know that I have not been front-line for that long... that I did not have the strength of many of the others who were standing. Not to diminish my own work -- Just to demonstrate the amazement that I have for so many who are in this field. This is exhausting work. It's not just work on a disease; it's social justice work. It's about combatting all kinds of discrimination, dealing with a hostile administration, finding ways to get people basic things like education and health care and housing. It's amazing that so many of us -- so many who might be unlikely to be allies -- would do this for so long.

I think of myself as somewhat (or very) scattered. But there are ways in which I show my staying power.

OK, I'm a big fan of Legos. In fact I nearly drove off the road when I saw a sign for "Legoland" -- see, I'd never heard of Legoland before. I just saw the sign on the side of the freeway when I was driving to San Diego, and cut across 4 lanes of traffic to get off at the next exit, pull up to the parking attendant and ask (rather excitedly) "What IS Legoland?!" I then ran around there for a little while and was insanely impressed by the model builders there.

I also am a big fan of the internet (duh!), significantly because I have a fascination with obsessionists and they're out in abundance online. Lego obsessionists do, of course, have a number of websites, primarily ones which feature their own models. Today, I may have seen the best of all these, LegoDeath: a museum of horrors.

Another consultant just sent this "poverty tour" to me. It's really striking. Go visit.

This is fabulous. Paul told me a about this intelligent robot making a break for it. Paul feels a certain compassion for robots. They do a lot of our work and we don't even say thanks, sometimes even forgetting about them. They're out there, rolling inside volcanoes, spinning through space and crawling along ocean floors, diligently gathering information for us and we don't even remember their names...

I decided to refrain from the 9/11 reflections. Enjoyed the media analysis on various sites, perused the onion and salon. Mostly decided that I needed to do more of the save-the-world stuff (a.k.a. nonprofit work) I'm engaging in daily and then wind up the day with a long conversational dinner with close friends.

Just finished an amazing book that I had never heard anything about, which I picked up on a whim after reading the first page. I love it when that happens. "Kissing In Manhatten" by David Schickler. It's his first novel. He creates beautiful screwed-up achingly lonely characters who somehow meet up in configurations that work for only them. That might be enough, but his writing style matches the precise and unpredictable nature of their lives. It's such a joy just to read how he hears words.

Sample:

The guests arrived at midnight. It was only a Tuesday, and not even Christmas yet, but spirits were high. Like Patrick most of the men had packed themselves into suits, and they swept into the apartment bearing bottles of Old Grand-dad for their host. James sat on the couch, nursing the same beer he'd held for an hour, watching the cast of the next two weeks take shape. There was Henry Shaker, who worked at FAO Schwarz and who had one giant, united eyebrow. Wrapped in a white scarf that he refused to remove was Tony DiPreschetto, the suprisingly down-to-earth cellist, and with him was Jeremy Jax, a crabby actor. Two Iranian gentlement sat beside James on the couch. They ate Toblerone chocolate and wouldn't reveal their names.

And that first page?

Donna didn't want to meet Checkers. It didn't seem right.

"Checkers? What kind of a name for a man is Checkers?"

"He's strange," admitted Lee.

Lee and Donna sold Manhattan real estate. They were in their early thirties. They shared an office on Bleecker Street.

"Checkers." Donna tried it on her tongue. "Checkers. Checkers."

"He's attractive," said Lee.

"Checkers is a name for a dog. Or a henchman." Donna stared at her computer screen. Listed on it were SoHo prices.

"He's strange but attractive," said Lee.

"A henchman in a movie." Donna wore a suit and important shoes. "Not a nemesis. Not suave like that. Just a henchman."

See? I had no choice.

oh just checked out The Asian Pacific American Toy Chest, which I found through the angry asian man's blog (thanks, k, for that lead). So so brilliant! I have to add a list of the toys that I've always wished were made!

something else that you MUST see: Beatbox: A Raparetta. Brilliant, innovative, energetic, & a good message. Uses a turntablist, a couple of seriously talented beatboxers and b-boys and girls to create theater. love love loved it. Only up in Oakland for 2 more Wednesdays and that's it.

I have to post something to diffuse my last 2 complain-y posts, so here's a list of random things that give me joy:

1) salty sour foods
2) 4-way stoplights where you can cross the street on a diagonal
3) wrapping gifts
4) Baz Luhrmann's use of the coca-cola sign in all productions
5) pop-up books
6) smooth skin
7) strong coffee
8) feeling windburned from sailing
9) drift diving
10) finding out that people read this

[rant deleted]

Just heard that the other unit in this townhouse complex just rented out for $500/month cheaper than what we're paying. I think it's time to go talk to the landlords and maybe renegotiate this lease.

It's before midnight and I feel tired. Maybe from talking to my roommate. I think I'll actually go to sleep early tonight. Feels ridiculous to sleep, but I think I'm going to do it anyway. Goodnight.