Mexican's and their food

So I woke up at 4:45 in the morning with a stomachache. I was dreaming that I was working at the restaurant, carrying a bunch of plates. I look down at the plates I was carrying and they suddenly turned into a collaged image of dirty plates made out of oddly sized triangles. In sepia. My mouth watered, my stomach churned and I thought “don’t throw up. You’re asleep. No, really, don’t you dare throw up. Just walk it out girl! Walk it out. That’s right, that’s right, you’ve eaten some weird shit in your life, just stay asleep and work. It. Out. You’ve got a long ass day tomorrow and….” I was awake. the thought of getting up and writing crossed my mind. “are you out of your mind?! It’s 4:56 am!” I tossed in bed. My mouth watered and my stomach churned. I sighed, got out of bed and reluctantly made some tea. peppermint tea. Now I have to wait for the tea to brew and cool down a bit so I can drink it. I guess I’ll write.

Mom would’ve made me chamomile or 7 blossoms tea- what does that even mean? 7 blossoms? It makes me think of concubines running around in the flowery midst of cherry blossom petals. Giggling in super high pitched voices saying “hehehehe so sorry, so sorry” yeah, so sorry you got a stomach ache bitch! And now you have to drink some stupid tea that reminds you of concubines. I shouldn’t have had that pizza.

My stupid stomach always gets me in trouble; it runs in the family. I remember when my mom got cancer the first time. They took out her colon and somehow the doctor rewired her insides so that she didn’t have one of those little baggies that some people who have their colons removed use to go to the bathroom. The doctors were like “you have to be very careful with what you eat.” A few weeks after the surgery, she was back to eating hardcore tacos, burritos, tortas and tamales. We’re from Mexico. She was like “I guess I’m recovered because my appetite is back!” To this day if she gets a migraine she’ll stop eating. But as soon as I see her reach into the fridge for something, I’ll know she’s doing better… much better.

Mexican people and their food I tell you. I used to watch a lot of tv when I was a kid. One of my memories from my early years of marathon television watching is a commercial the government used to air, I guess to educate people but it said something along the lines of “ooooh, we’re Mexican and have amaaaaaazing foood! Look at this sauce, it’s not just a sauce! It takes three days to make! And not only does it take three days to make, but it was originally made by nuns! And not only was it originally made by nuns, but it has chocolate in it! THAT’S RIGHT! CHOCOLATE!” my 7 year old mouth watered as they showed pictures of pestles and mortars with tomatoes and peppers. I begged my grandmother to make the nun-invented sauce and she did. And I was in heaven. And I was still 7. And I pictured my grandmother dressed as a nun making this sauce. Decades later I found out that all grandma did was open a jar of paste and added water to make that delicious sauce. I tried to do it myself once but it turned out awful. I guess I didn’t inherit the nun-like ability to open jars my grandmother had, but I did get the ability to eat everything that comes my way.

Grandma could cook, man. In a way that grandmas only can. And as a product of her cooking, I got to see many things that, well, I really didn’t want to see. I remember one time, I must have been 8, we were at the family’s ranch- and by we I mean me and all 20 members of my extended family- along with chickens, gees, horses, corn, and an apple tree that tried very hard to give fruit but never quite succeeded. As it’s bound to happen when groups of people get together- hunger came and for some reason no one packed any food. And we were in the middle of a dessert with a barren apple tree, so we were like “fuck.” The adults looked at us kids and said, “kids, go catch a chicken.” And we did. We ran around for like an hour, 12 kids, trying to catch one chicken. We weren’t very smart.

When we finally caught the chicken, we brought it to my uncle, who very patiently tied it’s legs, grabbed it by the head, and proceeded to whirl it around until it’s neck broke and he was left with the chicken’s head in his hand and it’s body was on the floor. He must have not tied that poor chicken’s legs tight enough because the headless chicken’s body started running around, flapping it’s wings and sprouting rivers of chicken blood EVERYWHERE. I puked.

After my mom and one of my aunts took the chicken, hung it upside down to drain all the blood and plucked it’s feathers they handed it to my grandmother. By then, one of my uncles had started a fire, and grandma cooked the chicken. I guess she found some tomatoes or something and made some stew or something. I don’t know, I checked out after the blood spouting headless chicken part. It was a cousin’s birthday so someone had baked a cake- why there was cake but no actual food is still beyond me. That chicken fed everyone. It was like we were in bible times and grandma was Jesus, doling out bread and fish that never ran out, but instead of bread and fish it was freshly killed chicken stew.

somebody get me a wagon i wanna get on it!

'tis 5 am and i have rehearsal at 9... 45. i woke up with a strange feeling. i don't know what it's called, but it felt like my sheets were sticking to me, i was over heating, my stomach was about to explode and i was slowly sinking through the mattress. i could've sworn i heard a little voice waaaaaaay out into the distance screaming "water me!" it might have been my dehydrated body, i don't know. after fighting that odd sinking, sticking feeling i decided to get up and drink some water, empty my stomach and do it all without fully waking up so that i could fall back asleep. needless to say, i failed. 

i began to think of the night's conversation, how it involved catching up with an old, dear friend. we talked about exes, life, artistic fulfillment, finances, careers and love. what else do you ever talk about, really? all over a table full, and i mean FUUULLL  of yummy food and good conversationalists, or at least listeners. at one point she said "you're always getting involved in a million projects that don't pay anything" to which i replied, "they're starting to pay a little more." a statement that is true, but for some reason, leaves me with an odd feeling. she said "things seem to really be happening for you" and i felt even weirder. i'm wondering, is this really going to happen? am i actually climbing a latter that will lead me somewhere in the tear of performance artists? i mean, this shit doesn't happen. you only read about it: "so and so saw me in this and decided to cast me in such and such and now i'm getting my oscar." it's a fairy tale. 

i was speaking with my mother and she said "you're going to go places, but you need to keep your feet on the ground." what does that involve i wonder? i suppose never becoming a diva and always keeping your head on your shoulders (a term equally as vague but for some reason decrypting enough for the sentence's purpose). i also suppose it means staying away from drugs and alcohol- something i've failed to do. perhaps it means thanking everyone you work with and always acknowledging that every experience is a learning experience, no matter how old and wise you get. 

so i'm making a checklist: 

stay sober

don't be a diva

thank everyone

learn from everyone

be kind and helpful 

is this really the key to success? 

back to dinner. i'm getting paid more and working with people that know a lot more than i do. and i swear to god the following words just blurted out of my mouth "and here i am drinking my life away on a work night" to which my friend replied "we all do it." suddenly memories of peer-pressure-filled teenage years come flooding to my mind. is this what makes the difference between successful individuals and people who give up their calling? a certain deviance from the "everyone is doing it" norm? i'm suddenly reluctant to be successful. i like drinking. i like drug-ing. is there a balance? i wonder. 

for now, i'll get on a wagon. it should do me ok. maybe two? three weeks? save some money and keep my body watered. what a concept! 

prop eight-ing

Maybe it hasn’t hit me yet. I’m probably thinking “tomorrow I’ll wake up and there will be an appeal” or “there’s no reason to be upset, you didn’t loose anything, you didn’t have anything.” It’s true. We’re not losing anything that we had. I couldn’t get married three years ago, and I still can’t; I suppose what’s troublesome is the outright denial. Prior to the past few years, marriage wasn’t an option. We, the community, would only think about the day when the discussion of this right was a possibility. That day came and people spoke their minds. People voted and we were sent back to square one.

 

My question is, who are these people? Are they our teachers? Our doctors? Our day care providers? The people we trust will influence our lives in a positive manner? I guess my question is “how does this happen?” How is it that someone can say “you are not right, your existence is not right. But mine is.” What baffles me is much of this finger pointing comes from religious views, Christian based views. If a belief system that is meant to teach love and acceptance is the primary backer of segregation and discrimination, does it loose it’s validity? Does the entire belief system become a fallacy?

 

I’m not trying to sound accusatory; I’m trying to understand. Where do all these opposing views come from? What are they rooted in? How are they still alive? Is it fear? Because if people are afraid of going to hell, there are worse things going on that will send you directly there… if it even exists.

 

I’m not mad. I’m sorry. I feel sorry for those people who are holding on to an ideal that is unreasonable and quite damaging. For the people that are blinded by the way a human being interprets text. For the people that can’t see how much their ignorance is hurting innocent people who only want to live their lives.

 

How does this happen? How do you deny someone the right to seek happiness? 

6 am music

though i'm a fan of blogging, doing it at random and somewhat ridiculously early hours in the morning is getting kind of old. honestly. insomnia= not a friend. 

26 going on 30

i was at rehearsal the other day when someone asked my age. "26" i replied. my response was followed by gasps and an array of "you're so young" and "what a baby" garnished with a single  "you come of as more mature". i was amused... i think. 

though i'm fully aware that i'm the youngest person in the group (both age wise and professionally), i thought that being over the age of 25 automatically granted you an avoid-all-humorous-yet-possibly-offensive-age-remarks card. apparently it doesn't. then i heard whom i think is the oldest dancer in the group say "i'm so glad i'm out of my twenties" which was followed by a chorus of "amen!" and "say here! say here!" he went on to say "i spent my twenties getting over my teens, my thirties figuring my self out and now i'm glad i finally made it to my forties. don't get me wrong, great things happened in my twenties and thirties, but i would not re-live them for all the money in the world". someone else said, "i was always told, 'you'll love your thirties' but now that i'm almost done with them i can't wait to get to my forties". 

i couldn't help to feel a strong sense of pessimism stemming from my elder coworkers. 

i began to think of my 25th birthday. i was in NYC, alone with one friend. the second the clock turned midnight, i felt a change happen. i left the realm of my early twenties and ventured into the realm of adulthood. from 25 to 26 not much change, then things started clicking into place. finances became a bit clearer, parties, dinners, dates became quite fancier. suddenly instead of getting tanked at a dive, i get tanked at the opening night gala of the san francisco ballet (and dive bars). 

i remember having a conversation revolved around the way people changed over the years with a friend. we both agreed that we're in completely different places than we were at 21- and we thanked god for it. there are things that i remain unable to shake off- like the insecurities brought by my first love and that undying love for fruit loops and watermelon blow pops. are we meant to shake off our past and move forward? though they seem innocent, blow pops and fruit loops can lead to diabetes, just the way that relationship hang ups can lead to chronic relationship disfunctionaltitis.

i remember when i was younger, i used to be able to get out of bed and tackle an 18 hr day with three hours of sleep under my belt. it wasn't a big deal, "i'll sleep when i'm dead" i'd say. as time passed i became less able to tackle difficult tasks like sleeplessness. i became unable to function and eventually gave in and forced my self to make time to sleep. the exact same thing happened with relationships. i'm suddenly more careful- trying not to like the person instead of going balls to the wall and being completely honest. i've discovered the realm of "taking things slow" which is still unclear to me. 

what is there to be careful about? as we get older, do our emotional needs increase as well as our physical ones? so i need 8 hours of sleep a night. does that equate to 2 sleep overs a week in relationship talk? if everything else in life seems to be settling into place, why this aspect is more confusing than ever is way beyond me. maybe i'll figure this out in my thirties. 

"you know i don't mean it like that" (1 am music)

i remember when i first moved to san francisco. i was 18, leaving a close-ish-knit family circle that revolved around family dinners and religion. still uncomfortable with my english speaking skills, i graduated high school, came out and convinced my self that san francisco was the right move for me- the promised land for newly initiated gay men. 

i had just become aware of the term "that' so gay" when i left LA nearly 8 years ago- i was a late bloomer. the negativity engraved within that statement can be described as unmeasurable. it didn't take me long to figure that out. though i understood the negative connotations implied by "that's so gay" i was a bit confused. i kept thinking, "i'm not that" meaning, i'm not dumb, poor of quality nor a bad idea. perhaps my community is? 

i will admit, there are things that are "gay". 

wearing rainbow feather boas during pride weekend: yup, pretty gay. 

singing along to la cage aux folles: quite gay.

rocking out by your self to gloria gaynor's "i will survive" in your underwear: well, yes, quite gay.

come to think of it, all of the things that i've mentioned are things SOME gay people do, not all. and even if we all did these activities, are they so wrong? i'm curious to know what's wrong with them. 

i've often tried to explain the inner upheaval that happens whenever i hear such phrase. some say that you have to be one to name one- meaning; you have to be gay to call another gay man a "fag" or to label something as "gay" (i.e. "that's gay"). what a silly double standard, right? if a word is to be banned, it should be banned in it's entirety, not just in certain social circles. finally, after years of analyzing and contemplating why some people get away with using offensive language with the "i don't mean it like that" excuse, i've come to the realization that no straight man has been hurt or humiliated by the word "faggot" the same way a gay man has. 

it's been hard to not take it personal throughout the years. it could be very easy to reverse the roles and replace gay with something that is personal to the individual using it. saying "that's so fat!" as my newly appointed offender with a weight problem stuffs his/her face with a super burrito seems, not comparable but equally as offensive. 

i keep thinking, "i must be the bigger person" and "they've told me they don't really mean it like that" but even if it's not meant like "that", the fact of the matter is that offensive words are still being used. 

what a difference a drink makes.

i've always though of my self as a person who is determined, usually set on what he wants and works hard to achieve it. follows rules quite well (or at least tries to). i have a rule of not shitting where you eat. it's simple, blunt and not very easy to follow. in several instances i've managed to put my emotions on the line to stick to this rule. just like in several occasions i've managed to fuck this up. 

i recall once, after a long drunken night, i spent the night with someone i was in a show with. for some reason it escalated to a near full blown relationship and i felt like, well, shit. the situation resolved to an incredible tension back stage, and an incredibly fake relationship on stage- not a professional situation to be involved in. 

i have been in some show-derived relationships that survived the production's run. they usually dissolve as we begin to know each other outside of a show, out of character. 

i will admit, not every breakage of this rule has been futile. one of the relationships i've learned the most from derived from a "showmance" as i've recently learned to label these intensely charged relationships. we were together for two and a half years, vacationed together, met the parents, lived together, the works. 

a few nights ago, after a shot of robitusin and three vodka drinks, a couple of cast-mates and i hit the castro. you know trouble is coming when three young, single, horny, drunk gay men hit the castro. one thing lead to another and i'm kissing a cast-mate.  

reluctant to part take in another possibly fatal case of "shomance", we decided to have that night be knows as "the night when we got tanked"- it was pretty evident that it was not to be repeated. i preface the following questions not out of infatuation but out of situational thinking. i begin to question, is it ever ok to break your own rules? under what circumstances does something become more than momentary infatuation? naturally, by momentary i mean week, even month long moments. 

on what might seem like an entirely unrelated topic, i have a slight fear of missing out on life, experiences, knowledge. i suppose this is why i will most likely try everything once. i'll speak to strangers and listen to their life stories in order to live vicariously through them. though this vicarious lifestyle, i've managed to re-live pre television times, the chilean military coup of 1973 and even some of the hardships of homelessness (to name a few). when you date someone, you not only learn about a person and his experiences but you also learn about their way of thinking, dealing and even feeling. in essence, your learn to see things in ways you didn't see before. 

i usually don't have a plan of what i'm going to write when i start a blog. there's a general idea, like "showmance" but the final outcome always manages to surprise me. i suppose it's due to the soul searching process of finding the right words to express what one means. after reading, and re reading, this entry (especially the previous paragraph), i'm beginning to think that, for a person who craves life experience, i'm certainly not as open as i should be. this is not to say that i'm considering starting to date people i work with, but perhaps i should be open to the idea of considering it.