February 2005 Entries

February 27, 2005

Y The Other Brian Kant Read

Pop culture and I are apparently not on speaking terms. I called Homer this evening and he said he was on his way to an Oscar® party. "The Oscars® are today!?" I had no idea, which is odd because for the past many years I've had a ritual of watching them and calling my friend Karla during the commercials to kvetch about them. She'll be disappointed I wasn't there to answer the phone.

It really shouldn't be a surprise I didn't know. My TV is rarely on. I only follow two shows. Other than that, it's only ever on for Netflix rentals.

I'm starting to wonder what else I've been missing. Is Anthony Edwards still on ER? What is the current ratio of Law and Orders to CSIs?

My television watching is becoming even more sporadic now because our set is dying a slow and lingering death. The picture tube is going bad so every now and then the screen fades to black and doesn't come back. The first time this happened I was watching an episode of OZ and the fade coincided with a fade during the show. It took me a few minutes to realize it wasn't suppose to be that way. "That's funny. They had a blackout in Em City, but no one's talking about it."

I wonder what it would be like to just not have a TV. It's not like a really need it. I might actually do some...oh I don't know...reading which is suppose to be...you know...Good for You™. I haven't read a book since I started taking the anti-depressants last year. Once I did, my mind felt weirdly carbonated and I had a hard time focusing on anything. I couldn't get through a magazine article or a long blog post. Forget about a book. Even though I've been off them for almost six months, my attention span hasn't been the same.

Of course that hasn't stopped me from buying books like I do read them. I have a ton of books just waiting to have the bindings cracked. They sit piled in four tall stacks on the floor next to my night stand. (Note to self: buy a book shelf!)

I think I'll be back to reading soon though. The other night I was feeling a bit restless and picked up my copy of Augusten Burrough's Magical Thinking from one of the stacks. I thumbed through it. Read the table of contents, the acknowledgements, the dedication page. You know...everything but the actual fucking book. But that's progress...right?

 

February 21, 2005

Passion

Last week, a man I met while volunteering at the community center died. His name was Gordon. I wasn't extremely close to Gordon, but we had mutual friends so I saw him periodically on social occasions and a few holidays.

To be honest, I usually kept a certain amount of distance from him. From the first time I met Gordon, it was apparent he was a button pusher so I kept him at arm's length to prevent him from pushing mine. I think there may have been a certain amount of amusement for him because of this. While in New York for Cheryl and Micheale's wedding, we out-of-towners spent a day together exploring the city. During that day I constantly deflected his attempts to goat me. One after another. At one point I had to laugh to myself because man! he was certainly persistent.

Gordon's death was an accident and very unexpected. For the last week, I've watched myself and my friends walk around in a sort of fog. "I can't believe this happened. It just doesn't seem real," has been said more than once. Over the years, as a group, we've all dealt with death. Kooka's father. Cheryl's mother. For those times we did what friends do. We comforted and supported the best we could but there were limits. Those deaths were within their families. Cheryl lives in New York. Kooka's father was buried in Israel. There was only so much we could do.

But this death was within our family. I remember that being said a lot during Cheryl and Micheale's wedding...that it was important that not only their birth families were there to witness the ceremony, but however very important it was to have the family we chose and built to be there as well.

People flew in for the service and we were all there to show support for Gordon's partner. Flanked by Gordon's family and his own, I think he was genuinely touched to see us all there.

I'm not sure if Gordon had made arrangements for what he wanted in case of his death. His service seemed to be very much who he was, very spiritual, sort of new agey and filled with moments of laughter. It was called a "Celebration of Life" service and it was truly that. I think we all learned things about Gordon we didn't know that night. Isn't it said that that's usually how it is? We learn more about someone when they die that when they were living.

During the service, the minister officiating asked us to close our eyes and envision one quality about Gordon that stood out to us. One quality that made him Gordon to us. I knew right away what it was for me.

His passion.

When Gordon believe in something, an idea, a cause, whatever...he went for it with both barrels loaded. He never did anything half-assed. When Micheale was moving to New York to be with Cheryl, Gordon called me about her going-away party. He wanted to know what I had in mind. Anyone who knows me knows I am not a party planner. A few years ago, I had a potluck for my birthday. A friend of mine was concerned that I wasn't assigning dishes to be brought. "What if you end up with twenty bags of chips?" she said. "Then we will have twenty bags of chips."

I had a similar attitude about this event as well. Gordon, of course, had other ideas. After many questions about the food (what where we having, who was bringing what, should we order a cake) I finally said, "Gordon? Would you like to plan the food for the party?" He replied, "well...only if you want me to."

Oy.

A couple weeks later, after receiving many instructions from the master planner, we had a lovely Mexican feast for Micheale's last Saturday in Arizona. It was a very nice evening and a wonderful send off for our dear friend.

Gordon's passion lead him to the community center where I met him. He fiercely believed in community service. He was one of the chairs for the library committee while I ran one of the phone teams. Gordon felt very strongly about the preservation and care for the Center's library, an archive of gay and lesbian literature and history. Eventually the Center closed its doors, however Gordon's commitment didn't end. He worked very hard to ensure the collection was sustained eventually working with the Phoenix Library and a research library at ASU where the archive exists and is kept together today.

A couple years ago, I participated in a community protest against an organization that endorses reparative therapy for homosexuals. Even after all the volunteering I did for the GLBT community center here, that day was the first time I ever felt like there was a community here in Phoenix. It was amazing the number of people that turned out for it, all working together for one common goal, the greater good.

At his memorial I remembered, it all started because of Gordon. One man made a huge impact simply by the force of his passion. I'd say that's pretty incredible.

 

February 18, 2005

Happy Birthday EVillMom!

Make a Wish!

"Men are what their mothers made them."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Happy Birthday Sandy! Thank you for making your son such a lovely, warm person.

Best Wishes,
The Other Brian

 

February 14, 2005

Mediterranean Chicken Stew

I made this tasty dish Sunday evening. I started with a recipe in a magazine but eventually just started adding what I wanted in it. Also, I'm not really good at following recipes, so the amounts, unless in a can or bag, kind of vary. Adjust depending on the amount you want to make.

1 - 2 pounds boneless, skinless chicken breast, cut into chunks
olive oil
garlic, minced
1 bag of prewashed baby spinach
1 - 2 cans ground tomatoes (1 would be fine, but I wanted to eat this for my lunches so I threw in more)
1 can chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1 can artichoke hearts
chopped, pitted Kalamata olives
salt and pepper

Cook chicken in a little of the oil. Once done, put aside.

Heat some oil in a pot and cook the minced garlic. Add the spinach. Let it cook or wilt or whatever the cooking term is.

Add the tomatoes, chickpeas and artichoke hearts. Let it cook, stirring occasionally. Stir in the chicken. Add the olives. Season to taste.

Serve nice and hot. I sprinkled a little feta on top. Very yummy. Enjoy.

 

February 09, 2005

Come And Knock On Our Door...

Yesterday our landlord left us a message to let us know they processed The Roommate's boyfriend's application and he has been approved to move in. It was a strange message they left. In it they said "We approve of him and your relationship." (Uh...gee thanks, I guess.) They are kind of weird like that.

To celebrate we ordered a ton of chinese food and watched TV. I recently joined NetFlix so we are going to have an Oz - Season 3 palooza at Casa de los Tres all week. (Or should it be Casa de los Cuatro since there is The Cat.)

Mmm...sesame chicken and Chris Meloni. I ask you, "what else do you need?"

In other news, my back is getting better but still nowhere near normal. It's going to take some time. I'm more mobile than I was but still crooked looking and have huge bouts of pain. Bleah. I'm trying to navigate it as much as possible without the aid of pain killers. I may wax romantic about those little blue pills in posts on this blog, but in truth, I hate taking them and am ever cautious about feeling like a need them. There have been way too many addicts in my family. I don't need to join there ranks.

My current back woes have postponed my plans to purchase a bicycle. I love my neighborhood but realize I drive my car way too much around it. It's kind of pathetic really. And lazy. Plus, I live near a gorgeous park with great biking trails. And it's good exercise and blah blah blah, you know. Hopefully, I'll be cleared for activity other than walking like an old man and buckling over with spasms soon.

But enough about me. If you haven't already, go wish the Zenchick a happy birthday.

PS - Don't really come knock on my door; I won't answer. I'm kind of weird like that.

 

February 04, 2005

Vicodin-Inspired Haikus

the pain is so sharp
little blue pills will help me
time to slur my speech

they make my skin itch
with their pain-killing goodness
it's so hard to pee

i feel loopy but
can not operate heavy
machinery now

pain meds and the phone
kind of like drunk dialing but
with much more giggling

 

February 02, 2005

Can I Just Ctrl+Z This Week? Please!?

To quote Bart Simpson, "I didn't think it was possible, but this both sucks and blows." That's my week so far. Sunday, I was doing housework and while in the kitchen, reaching for something, I felt a sharp pull in my lower back. Soon after I was walking around like a little, old, hunched over man.

Heed my lesson all: Housework can kill. Don't do it.

But ever so the trooper, I've been at work regardless. Partly because I have no PTO yet, but mostly because we have a bunch a crap to do on the first of the month. I mean it was ridiculous the amount of stuff that all had to happen on Feb. 1. and I have to wonder "why?" But whatever...I'm not paid to think, I'm paid to do my job so there I was, in pain, plugging away at my workload.

Because it's uncomfortable to sit, stand, walk, lie down, and pretty much everything else, I was a little less than my usual chipper self. Apparently it was noticeable. "You're grumpy," IMed the graphics designer. I didn't want to be, but at that point, didn't care.

This afternoon, I was able to go to a chiropractor for an initial adjustment and tests. When I got back I had some lovely emails market urgent with that soothing red exclamation point. Apparently I fucked up in a big way the day before during the Hell Day at work. I profusely apologized and corrected the problem immediately, but I have to wonder if there will be any ramifications.

I won't bore you with the other details of how this week has sucked ("Too late," you say.) but needless to say I can't WAIT for the weekend. Besides the reprieve from the daily crap-fest and pain, a certain Martha Stewart-loving archeologist is coming to town to paint the town Persimmon. Of course that means I need to get some house cleaning done first.

Ouch!