Updates

Okay, I lied about going to bed and having no time to blog during finals week. I'm having too much fun right now (this will be my third post in the last hour), and I know I won't be able to sleep for another while anyway.

I was going through my old entrees and realized I went for a long while only blogging intermittently. As a result, there's no record of some major lifestyle changes I've made this past year. Most notably, I never mentioned I don't live at this condo anymore, which was in a really sketchy neighborhood on Chicago's west side. For those who don't know, there was a homeless shelter behind me at this place and once a week the Salvation Army truck would park beside my building and hand out food and drink.

Back in September my room mate was coming home at night when a thug on our street picked a fight with him. We shut ourselves indoors but the guy came back with reinforcements at 4 in the morning, jumped our gate, and pounded on the front door looking to jump my room mate. I've never had to call the police before that morning, but we grabbed our things when the officer came and got the hell out of there. A week later we started apartment hunting.

I have to say, a lot of good came out of that night. I live in a bigger, nicer place in much better neighborhood now, and just a ten minute walk from campus. There's actually businesses and restaurants around me, and a lot of my friends live within a few blocks from here. Actually, I feel this move had to happen in a way, like my life couldn't have become what it has without the move, and I can hardly remember living at the old condo. Even returning there from class last semester seems like a vague memory.

On the home front, my mother took her boyfriend to Thailand last month to meet my family and, I suppose, show him what he's getting himself into. Apparently he loved the trip, and my family loved him: even my grandmother, who we thought might have a few old-fashioned reservations about the guy, didn't object. He and my uncle became drinking buddies, my little cousin liked playing with him, and he can imagine living over there after retirement. He even refers to me as his "other son" now.

***

Something about blogging tonight and writing off the top of my head is really therapeutic. I should do it more often. Sometimes I hold back on strictly mundane blogging because I have the sense I should produce something "literary" all the time - that is, write personal essays, cultural critiques, and little articles, as if this were some sort of magazine. That's bullshit. I know hardly anyone's reading stuff like that, and for once it's nice not to think about structure, plot, narrative arc.

This blog is for me and I write for myself. I often lose sight of that.

HG Dreams

There's a common joke that HGTV is a gay man's ESPN. For me at least, it's entirely true - I watch marathons of it when I'm at my mom's place. They have the hottest hosts: David Bromstad is the gay community's obvious favorite, but I think Scott McGillivray is dreamy and has amazing hair. (By the way, Scott should model. There's really very few photos of him online. And if he released a sex tape, well, I'd bootleg it.)

Anyway, handsome, well-built men with power tools aren't what really draws gay men to HGTV. That's not what all of us are interested in. We also like interior decor. (lol)

No, seriously! I grew up in a house without any sense of design or style incorporated into it: all our furniture was bought more or less haphazardly, positioned in the same way, and nothing ever matched. Then, after my grandmother stopped living with us when I was in grade school, our house became one large, self-contained mess without anyone to tidy up. We're a bunch of packrats in my family, and none of us ever mastered the art of domestic living. As a result, clutter fills every nook and cranny of our house - boxes of junk, piles of books and papers, mazes of knick-knacks. It looks like a garage sale exploded in there.

When people came over in high school, I always told them my house was in the process of getting renovated to explain the mess. Remarkably, it took till senior year for someone to say, "Hey, how come your house always looks the same?" (lol)

So you'll forgive me if I watch HGTV to dream about stylish future homes I want to live in, or gaze hungrily at big, glossy pictures of fashionable houses online and in magazines. Like this shot from the famous, ultra-luxurious Oriental Hotel in Bangkok:


The people who designed the Oriental have my taste down to the last detail: traditional Thai furniture, artwork, accessories, and patterns meet Western elegance - not exactly modern, but not too stuffy either. Admittedly, this bedroom is a little over the top even for me, but I love the concept and presentation - the gold motif on red walls, the way the wood has a reddish tone in it that picks up the walls, the benches and triangular cushion used by old Thai aristocracy...(I'd probably place a TV there, lol) A little too much going on for a bedroom, perhaps, but it's sumptuous nevertheless.

This one's a bit more vanilla; probably more realistically imitated. I'd pick a darker wall color, though, and throw in some blue/navy blue pieces to off-set the cream and gold.



I could go on and on. I can't wait till the day I get my own place and can afford to do what I want with it. Of course, I'm probably going to be a starving artist/unemployed teacher for a long while yet...

So, to keep my fantasies alive in the meantime, I'll take a big dose of HGTV.

(And Scott McGillivray on the side, please.)

Any other HGTV fans? Are you Team David or Team Scott?

Christmas Update

I hope everyone had a nice holiday this week. May your family life be far less complicated than mine (see this post).




I got dressed up to meet my mom's boyfriend's family, but as it turns out only his daughter and little niece showed up. So, the pressure was off. I wore these striped pants I bought a year ago but had never worn before; they're rather "different" and I've always been too self-conscious to put them on. What do you think? They're really comfy!

Holiday Drear

Yesterday I decorated my first Christmas tree since I was a little kid. I actually can't remember the last time I did that - twelve, maybe ten years ago?

Left to ourselves my mom and I don't do anything for Christmas, but now that she's dating an American man we're slowly getting acquainted with his family's traditions. Yesterday they went out and bought an actual tree from a tree farm. I've never even seen a real Christmas tree up close.

I remarked to my mom that we stopped celebrating Christmas when I got older because no one would celebrate with us. "That's the difference between people who think you're important and the people who don't," she said, referring to my dad. "What did he ever want to do with us?"

My mom bought a bottle of champagne I'm supposed to present to her boyfriend as my gift to him. I'm not sure what I think about this. I don't feel the need to pretend I'm more affectionate towards him than I really am. As long as he's good to her, I'm satisfied.

All the same, her boyfriend considers me part of his family now. He even expects me at their party on Christmas Eve, even though my mom is working that night and won't be there herself. Great, just me and them. This may sound awful, but I don't really want to meet them.

To be honest, I'm not much for holiday cheer at all. The Grinch had my complete and utter sympathy...until he decided to return all those gifts to Whoville. There's just something about the fevered consumerism ("I have to shop!") and impossibly high spirits ("I have to smile!") that turns me off this time of year. How is it possible to maintain that kind of exuberance? But maybe, like my mom says, I've just never had anyone to celebrate with.

"This is the first time we've had family," she said. "Try to enjoy it. You might like it."

Total Eclipse...of the Heart

Everyone’s buzzing about today’s solar eclipse - apparently, the longest eclipse of the century.

In my astrological circles, people are cashing in their interpretations of the event. (See here and here.) “How’s the eclipse effecting you?” is the hot topic.

If I were to get into this discussion:

The eclipse fell within a degree of my natal Moon. They say transits to the Moon correlate with domestic issues, or matters concerning one’s mother. Today was the first time my mother and I have gone home together since she split up with my dad earlier this year, and since her and I both moved to the city. It wasn’t momentous. She grabbed a few more of her things, and I blogged. Dad wasn’t home.

She just called to relay this bit of news to me, though:

Mother: I just spoke with [a mutual friend] a bit ago, and guess what she told me? Apparently your father went to chat with her today. Said he knows I’m staying around [Town X] from checking my receipts - where I’m buying groceries, where I’m getting my nails done. He’s been snooping around again. I thought this craziness was over.

Eclipses occur at new moons, which are about new beginnings. But some of us have more trouble starting over than others…

Update:

The Moon also stirs our subconscious minds. I woke up this morning - or, half-woke - dreaming I heard my father’s voice. He doesn’t actually know where I’m living now: Mother and I figured we’d tell him after the mourning stage is complete, or else he’d be here all the time, pining away for reconcilement. Nevertheless, I lay in bed for while, trying to discern if the voice was real…

Imitating Art

"You and I have nothing that is ours," my mother said tonight as she drove us home from campus. Her eyes were fixed on the highway, but in the dark I knew she let a soft tear fall. "Remember it: as long as your father has a stake in things, that woman has a stake in it too. So I have to do this."

She paused to wipe her cheek before resuming. "What have I gained from him? Nothing. Only losses, like with that plot of land. I never thought one day the deed would say her name. All along your father said he had changed it to his. And why should I allow this?"
I didn't say anything in return but sat watching the streetlights pass by. The whole situation - the divorce, the rivalry between wives - reminded me of the first scene in Four Reigns, a modern classic in Thai. All of a sudden, the novel's opening lines began to imitate life:

"Their ferryboat was turning into the river Chao Phraya when Phloi's mother said to her, 'Pay attention to what I'm saying, Phloi. When the time comes for you to take a husband, make sure you find one with a single heart. Keep away from the great lover who must have many wives about him, or you will suffer like your mother.' A short pause followed before the advice was concluded. 'And you must never become any man's minor wife. Never. Do you hear?'
Phloi heard and, duty done, peered out from under the awning at life on the Chao Phraya...Stealing a glance at Mother, she said nothing. This was the first time Phloi had traveled so far from home. Her mother told her they were never going back there...that they had left it forever..."

A great TV production of the novel; after a long title sequence, the scene starts at 3:25.

Zeus and Hera

Zeus comes into my room looking dejected.

"Your mother's getting ready to leave," he says. "She's already started packing."

I don't know what to say, so I ask, "She's already home from work?"

"Not yet, but her luggage is out. She's started packing her things."

I shake my head lightly and stare at the computer screen. "I don't know anything," I say. "Nothing at all." And this, for the most part, is true. I know that Hera intends to leave. Zeus knows it too. But I also know the condo won't be ready until June - the only fact I leave out - so I can't say why she's packing now or where she intends to go in the meantime, if anywhere.

Zeus turns and starts walking slowly out of my room. "I know," he says, "but I thought she told you about it. I thought you would know."

It kills me when he says that. Not that I think I'm really withholding anything significant from him. In fact, I'm not even sure if I really know anything he doesn't know, except for maybe the condo's address and the lease date. But what gets me is that he probably thinks I'm scheming with Hera behind his back. "Scheming" may be too strong a word, but it's not entirely false. I feel like I'm betraying him, and that's not entirely false either.

***

Hera's been sleeping in my room for the past couple of days now. She's refusing to share the bedroom with Zeus, which means I've been temporarily evicted from my bed. At first she was going to lay a blanket on my floor and sleep there, but what kind of son would I be if I had let that happen?

She said she didn't want to trouble me, but I insisted she take the bed. It was only proper, I said, but I thought to myself, "This whole situation is trouble for me."

So, I've been coming home every night and sleeping on the sofa in the living room. After the first night Hera asked me why I didn't share the bed with her or at least sleep on the floor in my room. I asked her what the difference was.

"I feel bad," she said. I told her that, if she's concerned with my comfort, the living room is the best choice by far, not having to fight for space with her in my little twin bed (never mind the awkwardness!), or lie on the floor. Now she comes straight up to my room after getting home from work, and when I'm ready to sleep I crash downstairs. But I understand why she does this, and I guess I wouldn't have it another way. No one will say I let my mother sleep on the floor while I took the bed.

As for already packing her things, Hera doesn't know what Zeus is talking about. "I just organized a few things," she said. "That room is so cluttered. He's jumping to conclusions again."

***

"Don't you feel sorry for your dad?" my friends asked me the other day. "You don't seem like it."

I feel sorry for Zeus, but at the same time can't say Hera is unjustified in what she's doing. And when it comes to which parent I'm closer to, without a doubt it's Hera. Growing up, my image of Zeus was as a poor-tempered man, given to throwing tantrums that shook the house and using coarse language in his tirades. It was always Hera I could look to growing up, never him. If Zeus has been acting mild and meek, it's only been quite recently, and especially since all this started going on. But, all the same, I'm a soft-hearted guy, and it pains me to see Zeus mope around looking sad and dejected. He speaks softly now, nothing like his former self, and tags the polite particle after everything he says. But what can I do when Hera's mind is made up? It was sort of established long ago that I was "Hera's child," and he himself contributed to this way of things.

***

I refer to them as "Zeus" and "Hera," but these are not mere pseudonyms. One is the philandering, short-tempered husband; the other is the mistreated and supremely stubborn wife. And I, for my part, am caught in between.