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October 30, 2007

Happy

Up until six months ago, I drove into the parking lot unobstructed, a straight shot from the street into the designated space pausing (barely) for the speed bumps. Then one day the construction crew came. By day's end, they had erected a guard station complete with electricity. And within weeks, he became a permanent fixture.

Now? Now, I turn right from the main street and pause, waiting in line as the cars are allowed one by one past the guard station. Even though there isn't an actual gate, they pause. They pause because he greets them in his own unique way.

He's a stout, mid forties Latino man, garbed always in a white button down shirt and black Dockers. His smile starts from one ear, extending toward the other. It's genuine and warm. And he dances. It's how he waves to everyone who passes. With his smile and his goofy dance. He faces the palms of his hands out to the drivers that pass, his arms bent at the elbows, and he waves them back and forth in a windshield wiper motion as he bounces up and down to the rhythm. He does that to everyone that passes. Well, everyone but me and the other doctors. We are greeted with a salute--a full hand to the forehead-zeig-heil salute.

His cheerfulness is infectious. Patients frequently comment, "It's always wonderful to be greeted so cheerfully." "He's always so friendly." "It's unbelievable that he's always just that happy!"

One of my patients came in today, a woman with recurrent breast cancer. She's had a tough year. It's going to get worse. I sit with her for a long time. I always tell the girls to schedule her for thirty minute appointments. That way we can take care of the business, then spend some time allowing her to just chit chat or vent or more often than not, just cry because she doesn't allow herself to do it at home. Today, too commented on him: "He's so happy. He's always so happy. I don't know. Every time I drive in, I just want to punch him in the balls just to prove that it's not always so great."

I felt bad. I did. I felt bad because that's the same thing that goes through my head every morning as he smiles and waves and salutes. I just want to punch that fucker in the balls!

October 29, 2007

More

For the longest time, if I wanted to check out blog posts from years back, I'd have to go to the archives section on the left hand side of this page, go to the earliest month (and it would only go back like six months) and then just keep clicking the "previous" button for each month I wanted to skim back until I got to the month that included the post I wanted to find. Pain in the ass!

But I just noticed that there is a "more" button down in that archives section. And when I click it, I can see the entirety of my nearly four years' worth of bullshit archived by month. How cool. Although now that I think about it, I'm now not sure whether it's necessarily better that my BS is that much more easily accessible.

Anyway, for those days when too much shit is going on and you have nothing better to do, check out the archives. It's oodles of fun.

October 27, 2007

Week In Review '07.43

10/20 - Saturday was a little busy. I had to rush through my workout because Razor Burn was coming over. We had to set up a bank account for the new business. Afterwards, we grabbed a nice lunch, then headed to the Century City mall. He wanted to go shopping with me; it's one of the perks of being a straight guy with a good gay friend--having his own personal Carson Kressler, just not so femme...or blonde. BTW, if anyone wants to buy little old me a birthday present, there's an awesome black and white herringbone topcoat from Armani there. I'll love you forever...or maybe just long time. We finished off by grabbing a couple of mojitos and watching the Cal/UCLA game at Pink Taco. Yeah, football and Pink Taco. Maybe I am starting to slide a bit on the Kinsey scale. Well except for the part where I started flirting with the cute maitre d' until R.B.'s ex-girlfriend (a server there) told me he was 22. Eeew, I'm so one of those fags! R.B. dropped me off at 5 p.m. just in time for the next thing on the schedule.

October is the height of birthday season. Everybody and their mothers...although I guess it should read "everybody's mothers" had sex in February apparently. Saturday was Mercury's celebration. You can't really go wrong with a birthday at El Coyote with a bunch of friends. I tried to turn in early, but somehow got a little sidetracked.

10/21 - Besides the gym, I don't think I did anything. Not until 6:00 p.m. when I finally got a chance to spend some quality time catching up with The Greek at Hamburger Mary's.

10/22 - After work, we had a nice quiet family dinner at Vanessa's--just Vanessa, her husband, Virna, her fiancee and me and my...oh yeah, that's right.

10/23 - Nothing really, except I did come home to find, mixed in with the bills, credit card offers and sundry other junk, three very sweet, hand-written birthday cards. In the age of e-mails, text messaging, and cell phones, there is something much more meaningful about the tactile pleasure of holding cardstock in your hands and reading ink rather than pixels. So thanks, and you know who you are.

10/24 - Honestly, by the actual day, I was frankly birthdayed out. I didn't want another drug rep to bring lunch (especially since it would force me to have to be nice and pretend to listen to their sales pitches for longer than I otherwise would have). I wanted to go out with friends without having them feel as though they were obligated to pay.

But then when I woke up to the sound of an incoming text from Guido "Happy birthday fuckface", then several other texts and e-mails and phone calls and blog comments, I gotta admit, it was actually nice.

I tried to get through work as quickly as I could, even scheduling bogus patients in the last hour and a half of my schedule so I could leave early, but no such luck. Over the last few weeks, I think my patient load has gone up trememdously and, coupled with the ungodly number of walk in patients, I've been on the verge of quitting every day. Today was no exception. I barely got done on time to get to the dinner Virna and Vanessa had planned.

I rushed down the freeway to get to Santa Monica, finally arriving at the Huntley Hotel, taking the elevator to the top floor, then set foot in the Penthouse thirty minutes later than scheduled. I got there just in time to catch the sunset, which by the way is amazing during L.A. fire season. I think God burned the place down just so I could have a spectacular sunset on my birthday. Thanks God!

Virna and Vanessa had planned an intimate gathering for hors d'oeurves and cocktails; it was perfect. And I got to bed at a decent time.

10/26 - Half day. Went to my parents' who then took me out for a birthday dinner. Toasted with Boone's Farm. Really.

10/27 - I hate drug rep dinners. Hate them. They're stuffy. They're boring. And often despite the fact that they host them at the best restaurants around, the time and the company (social company, that is) is not worth the cuisine. However, several months ago, one of the reps propositioned me: "Look we have a lot of money in our account. We want to take you out. You tell us where. You tell us when. We'll even pay you on top of picking up the tab for dinner. And we don't really have to talk business."

How could I turn that down. So, on paper they hired me as a guest speaker for the evening, and even though the evening was titled "Mixed Dyslipidemia", I approached the topic by way of conversation about South Park and Drawn Together. The audience, comprised of my sister, her orthopedist fiance, Dr. Faux, and a friend who is a Ph.D. thoroughly enjoyed my lecture...and my choice of venue.

By the way, if you ever eat at Crustacean, have a Koi martini and order up the Fruits de Mer--a lovely combination of clams, shrimp and lobster on a bed of their world famous garlic noodles.

October 26, 2007

Mama

I love her. I do. And unconditionally. But sometimes. Well, sometimes I just don't know. I think somehow, something got kind of fucked up. Cause really, the woman is at heart a four hundred pound Appalachian woman with four teeth, six mumus and one pair of shoes which happen to be pink, fuzzy, and sports bunny rabbit ears...all of that trapped in the body of a rather cultured Filipino, female physician.

This week was a perfect example. She called me on my birthday, but since I was working, got my voicemail instead. Honestly, sometimes I let it go to voicemail. It isn't so much that I screen her calls. It's that I enjoy the messages so much even though they're essentially always the same. Also I want to see if she ever figures it out. But so far, it hasn't happened:

"...*background noise background noise background noise (seriously for at least five seconds, at least)* Oh hey, Ban. *pause pause, yup still pausing* Ban! Are you dere? Yes, she has missed the bus on the phenomenon known as voicemail and still thinks that people can hear you as you leave messages like on the old audio cassette-based answering machines BA-an! Are you dere? It's Mama. *pause* Pick up da phone. *I swear I'm not ripping off Margaret Cho. She always leaves this message.* OKcallmebye. *as though all of a sudden she's got an emergency and needs to hang up.*

My sisters and I save her messages and play them back to each other whenever we get together. It makes us laugh.

But it was the day after my birthday that really made me wonder. They took me out for dinner then, since I already had plans on the actual day of my birthday (I know I'm a shitty son). Afterwards, we went back to their home, and when I walked into the kitchen, I saw them. Sitting on top of the fridge. Lined up neatly like little soldiers with the labels turned to face forward. She seemed somehow proud of her collection.

"What the hell are those?" I asked her.

"I got them on sale." Her eyes gleamed and smiled. And she lowered her voice in responding, as though she wanted to keep her conquest a secret to unwelcome ears. She was so excited!

"On sale? They're not expensive!"

"They were only twenty-seven cents each! The sales girl was so surprised. I only got two. But when I went back the next day, there were only six bottles left! So I got them all!"

"So you hoarded them because they were twenty-seven cents each."

"They're usually $2.50 a bottle!"

And she was right. I guess twenty-seven cents is a steal for a 750 ml bottle of anything. So we took out some wine glasses and toasted to my birthday with one of her twenty-seven cent bottles of mango flavored Boone's Farm.

But I really do love her...even though her beverage of choice is featured on a website called Bum Wine.

October 24, 2007

Fire Hazard

In lieu of an actual post, check out this asshole.

October 23, 2007

SPAM

"You eat dogs!"

Out of nowhere. There was no preceding conversation. Just "You eat dogs!" The accusation hit me like a heavyweight right hook, landing squarely on the jaw.

"My dad says you eat dogs."

We'd only been in North Carolina a few weeks. And I'd only been at Butner-Stem Elementary School a few days. But I had been around long enough to know that Scotty Vance was one of the popular kids in my second grade class. And Scotty's dad had told him that I ate dogs.

Things were weird in Butner-Stem. I wasn't the smart one anymore. They all knew how to look up words in the big book. We were never taught that in L.A. And they were doing something called multiplication tables. I had barely learned subtraction. So no, I wasn't the smart one any more.

And I noticed something else. All the kids were either black or white. I was neither. And I could tell they all knew that too. I mean I guess it was good that I wasn't black. Apparently you weren't supposed to help them. Like the time a few months later when my best friend Rhett Plyler and I went to the grocery store with his mom, and we were running around and at one point ran into and pushed over a black woman's grocery cart. We started to place the items back into the cart until Rhett's mom yelled angrily, "Y'all leave that where it is!" But I wasn't white either; the other kids didn't really talk to me too much then.

I eat dog?

I was so floored by the accusation. I had no idea what to say or do. I just stood there frozen, accepting it and trying to fight back tears. I think it was the first time in my life that I felt like I didn't belong, that I didn't fit in, that I was weird and somehow defective. It wouldn't be the last.

I went home that night, apparently more sullen than usual because my mom and dad asked me what was wrong. I said nothing as we sat at the dinner table, my dad placing the meal in the center. I felt my cheeks get flushed. The pressure began to build in my eyes with tears that strained to fall. "What is that?" I fairly cried out, pointing to the main course.

"You know what it is. You like it. You eat it all the time."

"But what is it? What is SPAM?"

"What do you mean? It's...it's meat!"

Somehow, the answer sufficed. Somehow, the fact that "meat" registered as "not dog" consoled me. No, we didn't eat dog, I thought. Just SPAM.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, I became once again the smart one. I caught up, even though as the school hopeful for spelling bee champ I fucked up by spelling "city" with an "s".

I also gained some amount of popularity, winning over some very good friends including Scotty before moving back to California.

Then it started all over again. Honestly it still does--that desperate need to feel a sense of belonging, of feeling awkward, of feeling like you're on the outside looking in. It happens for any number of reasons. I'm not sure that that ever goes away. It kinda sucks.

And no. It turns out I've never eaten dog. But since my childhood, I've never again eaten SPAM. I think because even now I'm not so sure there isn't maybe a little Pekinese in there.

October 22, 2007

Surprise!

The end of the work day could not have come soon enough. Later, I spoke with Dr. Faux and my sister Virna, both in shock about the number of patients I had seen that day. He had seen seventeen; she, twenty. I saw thirty. So when the last patient left, I peeled outta that office parking lot like a three day old sunburn.

But I was ready for the weekend. I called Dr. Faux to commiserate. He was on the other line with his dad, and cut off the conversation abruptly. I called my sister Vanessa to see if she wanted to go out for a run. "Got shit to do. Sorry." I called Dutch. He and Fishering were just taking it easy that night. It was OK.

Razor Burn and Guido had weeks ago told me to keep Friday night open. They were taking me out for dinner. But it wasn't until 8:30. Yeah, I didn't know why they wanted to eat so late, but whatever. If people tell you they're taking you out for dinner, you don't question.

I just did random shit to kill time until 8:30. Honestly, by 7:30 the events of the week caught up with me. I was fucking tired. If I took a nap, I was done for. Maybe I should cancel, I thought. I really should have. I wasn't feeling up for a late dinner, really. But, like always, I can't say no to friends.

They were punctual, and as soon as I set foot in the car, I was back in gear. As we headed towards the Sunset strip, Razor Burn teased me, "You want to know the best idea...EVER? Guido, tell him." He told me. It has to do with out New Year's Eve plans. And I can't say. Not until after the deed is done cause it's sort of illegal. But it is the best idea EVER!

That's how the evening started. With the best idea EVER. Then we talked about going to Skybar after dinner. I tried to call Dutch again, knowing that he has connections there. No luck. Bastard wasn't picking up his phone. Didn't matter, we had arrived at Blowfish Sushi anyway. Blowfish Sushi, right? Where else. It is for my Straights what O-Bar is for my Gays.

So the three of us walk in. It didn't occur to me that we had just bypassed the maitre d' without asking for a table. We just headed for the bar. And then I thought what a weird coincidence. I just tried to call Dutch and there he was next to Fishering. And then I saw everyone--Vanessa, Virna, Dr. Faux, Mercury, Dirty Sanchez. Sunshine and his wife showed up a little late. But the evening was great. Fantastic sushi and mojitos at one of my favorite restaurants shared with the absolute best people in the entire fucking world. It was beautiful.

What was even more impressive was the effort that Guido had put into pulling it off. Weeks before at the Arsenal, he had asked to borrow my phone, then disappeared with it for a long time, copying phone numbers and guessing which friends to invite. There were apparently reservation problems and changes of venue that he had to coordinate at the last minute. It was a pretty impressive effort I must say.

Most everyone went home at 10:30 or 11:00, leaving me alone with the Straights. We ended up doing the way too L.A. thing of having drinks and dancing at Sky Bar.

I couldn't have asked for a better surprise party. But the best part is that what I loved most about the evening was something I have every day--the best people in the world to call my friends.

Aww warm, schmaltzy fuzzy.

October 20, 2007

Week in Review '07.42

10/13 - I had way too much to drink the night before. Way too much. So Saturday was a bust. I spent the whole day just farting around on the computer--no volleyball, no gym, no errands. Until that evening. After all the previous nights with the Straights, it was nice to spend some time with my Gays. Dutch, Fishering and I went to a housewarming party. I called it an early night.

10/14 - Again, no gym. Instead, Sucker wanted to go kayaking. He lives right in Marina del Rey, so it's convenient. We drove out to the marina at 10:00. At that time when the air is still a little brisk and the sun makes everything that cool morning blue, it was perfect. And to see the marina, with all the dock slips and the yachts with their masts towering overhead, to see it from the vantage point of being in the water itself, it was awesome!

We finished up by noon, giving me enough time to shower, change and get up to the Sherman Oaks Galleria where I had lunch with Sunshine, his wife, Guido and Razor Burn to talk some business. I was given my brand new business card, bitches! It's going to happen soon...I think.

It's all part of the plan. We have a plan. Months ago, while sitting at dinner at the Falcon, Guido, Razor Burn and I set two goals. The first was Summer of Fun. Mission one, accomplished. The second goal was Big Things. We said it all the time, "Big things, baby. Big things."

That's what it has been about. The business is about to launch. Now the new project, buying a home. Individually, we can't really get shit. Actually we can get shit, but that's what it would be--shit. Collectively, what can we get? Big things.

After lunch, we checked out a compound (yes it is officially described as a compound, not a home). I like the sound of that. In a crowded bar: "Guido, I'm gettin' tired. I'll meet you back at the compound." Anyway, we checked out the compound. Four bedrooms (really five). A movie room with a projection screen that comes down via remote control from the ceiling. A billiard room (yes, it sounds like I could be living in the Clue house--"Van fucked Mr. Body in the billiard room with a candlestick...er condom"). A pool. Two waterfalls. Two fire pits. One koi pond. And a shitload of character.

We saw one other house that day...not so much, then convened at Tommy Ray's to formulate our plan of attack over mojitos.

10/15 - After work, met up again with Razor Burn and Guido for dinner at Lala's, but had to leave early for my 8:30 date with Steel Blue. Man that was a good date.

10/16 - Apparently, not such a good date. I called him on the way home, then went home a little down. Eh, whatevah.

10/17 - On call. I didn't get paged. Not once. At 2:00, I thought something might have been wrong, so I called the exchange: "Hey, it's Dr. V. I just wanted to make sure you had the right number." What the fuck was I doing? Still, didn't get a single call. We call that a no hitter. Love no hitters.

10/18 - Half day. Worked out. Met up with Dutch and Fishering and others at O-Bar. It was a Thursday. What else?

10/19 - It was another Friday. Hit me like a ton of bricks. As soon as I sat down and logged into my schedule, my jaw dropped at the whopping list of twenty-six patients on the docket. What the fuck? All day I worked three rooms simultaneously, running from one to the other like a chicken with its head cut off. As I evaluated the vertigo patient in one room, the nurse was drawing blood on the diabetic in the other as the gastroenteritis patient rested with a bag of IV fluids running in the third. On top of all that, I was on the phone returning patient phone calls, trying to get a hospital bed for a patient with severe flank tenderness and a white blood cell count of 21 with no improvement after antibiotics. Besides that, I had to deal with schmoozing with the drug reps, refilling medications, reviewing labs and writing letters. To top it all off, I had four walk-in patients.

By 4:30, I was exhausted. So when my nurse got a phone call from a patient asking for antibiotics without being seen, I had had it. "Tell him I don't give antibiotics without first evaluating a patient."

He wants to come in.

"Tell him I don't have any openings right now, but the Urgent Care is open in an hour, they can treat his upper respiratory infection."

He says you're his doctor, and he wants to see you.

"What did I say?"

He says you're his doctor, and if he walks in you WILL see him.

"Tell him if he walks in today, I will see him. Then I will ask for him to find another doctor for any future issues."

I had had it. The day was long. I was fucking tired. I just wanted to go home. But I had made plans with Guido and Razor Burn for dinner at 8:30. I thought about cancelling. Sometimes, though, my inability to say no (to friends, that is) pays off.

I'll post details of Friday night soon.

October 18, 2007

Topless

This is genius.

Addictions

I don't have an addictive personality. I've done pot a couple of times; I don't get it. Alcohol? Oh, I can drink like a mother fucker. I was the ringer in my fraternity. You know, Asian guy can't drink, right? Wrong. But still, I don't need it. I can go days or weeks without if I wanted. It's just that I don't really want to. But I could. Absolutely. So, no I don't have an addictive personality.

At least that's what I've told myself. Except that for the last few days, I have definitely been exhibiting addictive personality behavior. Every free second, I am updating my profile or checking out friends or uploading pictures or picking out music or...well any number of things. Seriously, it's fucking addictive. One of those internet social networking thingies.

Oh, that and America's Most Smartest Model...my favorite new show.