Archive for the ‘Arguments from a Dreamer.’ Category

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[A letter to a friend, on why he should attend Coachella 2010]

There’s something to be said about going to a good show. Dammit, okay there’s nothing like it. And I’m not just talking about the joy you feel when someone puts their finger up your ass while you crowd surf, as you give the band on stage a vigorous, “fuck yah” with your fists up in the air. No, that is a whole different joy on its own. I’m talking about that moment in time when the flood lights come down and you take a look around you and you are so fucking stoked that you are young… and beautiful… and surrounded by young… and beautiful people… who are equally as fucked up as you are on the ultimate drug cocktail. That feeling of freedom and youth is unlike anything else in the world. It’s better than any delicious steak, better than getting an A on your midterm, almost better than sex.

The truth of the matter is; I’ve had a very rough year. Believe you me, I’ve had my heart ripped out of my rib cage and smashed around by the most amazing man in the entire world… who just happened to bounce on my ass and leave me for dead. I’ve had to face childhood traumas left upon me by a deadbeat dad and fears of abandonment that have been further reinforced by being left by another deadbeat man whom I thought I was going to marry. And that isn’t the end of it. I’ve faced sexual advancements from bosses, an economical downturn that has forced me to be unemployed, and an excess of disappointments because my “experience and qualifications” just isn’t what they are looking for. I’ve lost the love of my life, I’ve lost my box in the city, but I haven’t lost my cahonies. Because all you really need to get back up at the end of the day is – a good friend… and the soundtrack to the soul.

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As grim as it may be, this year has also been the best fucking time of my fucking life. Because of this amazing man who left me for dead… he showed me that I’m alive. And that on my own, I can feel more alive than I have ever felt before (thanks, Babykins I love you, you bastard. And why the hell did you have to steal my dream and become “cool” now that we aren’t together anymore? Fuck, now I’m a single-dog-mom). And in finding my independence, I’ve been able to see the world through rose colored glasses – meeting incredible people from renowned world leaders like Pete Tong and Richard Branson, to the homeless guy on the block who takes my leftovers but never seems to recognize me. I’ve pushed myself to make my own dreams come true. No longer “our” dreams, but my own. And more importantly, I’m living my life on my terms. I don’t know where I’m going and I don’t know where I need to be. All I know is that I want to get there and I want to take the carpool lane.

In just about another month, Coachella is once again upon us. This three-day binge on sex, drugs, and dirty djs has always been the highlight of my entire year. But this one will be different. This Coachella is my baptism, a cleansing of all the negative passings by dancing it off into a bloody sweat under the sweltering dessert sun. I will once again surf the crowd with the anticipation of having my oil checked by a white dude dancing to techno with his shirt off. I will be wearing my Sunday hipster best, watching people’s faces melt as the flood lights come down. I will be doing loads of cocaine and ecstacy and smoke my brains out silly, which will all be washed down with loads of beer. I will have multiple eargasms listening to the best indie rock bands and dirty bass-line djs drop the pressure. Coachella will be religious.

And it is with this, friend, that I invite you to come along for the ride. I want to look over my shoulder and watch you shuffle your feet and sway your hips in unison to the songs that fill the night’s sky. With you, friend, riding along shot-gun to my journey to Coachella, I won’t be alone in the carpool lane to finding myself.
Thanks, bro.

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Most people want to be greeted each day with the sound of the ocean or a gentle breeze blowing through the woods. I, on the other hand, wake up to the sound of blaring sirens and garbage dump trucks. Sometimes I am woken by the clattering noise of glass beer bottles being thrown out by the bar downstairs or someone yelling obscenities like, “You Fat Old Hag”! There is something interestingly organic about living in a metropolitan city that can only be understood by its inhabitants. And for those living in downtown Los Angeles, it’s unlike any other place in the world. For better, or for worse.

I was talking to a friend of mine just the other day who was trying to convince me to move to San Francisco. Believe me when I say that I wouldn’t mind doing so at all. I would gladly pick up my things and park it somewhere among the hippies and techies of Northern Cali. Upon making his case for why I should make a move up there, his greatest claim to his substantial argument was that there was no culture in LA. My only response was, “Well, you have to find the culture”. He replied with, “Exactly”.

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This statement of his sat uneasy with me. I suddenly felt defensive about my concrete jungle and I didn’t know why. Perhaps because ridiculous shows like ‘The Hills’ has given people the impression that Los Angeles is all Hollywood – but it’s not. Take a stroll around Venice Beach and tell me there is no culture – vagabond artists, home to skateboarding, and just an overall plethora of off-the-wall characters. A far cry from Spencer and Heidi.

I am not a Los Angeles native and I actually didn’t want to move here at all. But I somehow found my little plot and fell in love with a grimy, newly gentrified city. I sat around wondering why I felt this way and it suddenly became as clear as the bright sunny skies of La-La land.

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Downtown Los Angeles used to be a wasteland. No one lived here aside from the seedy residents of skid row and raunchy, formidable streetwalkers. Gangs to the east, immigrants left and right. This was not a place anyone in their right mind would want to invest real estate into. Within the last decade or so, downtown LA has become a completely different place. Its skyline has changed with the development of incredible structures, as well as an extraordinary modernization of the original buildings. And I live in one of them. The building I live in is over a hundred years old and that may not seem like much to most of the world or this little country of ours. But for LA, that is ancient. Charlie Chaplin used to sit in the theatre that is 6 stories below me.

Its’ residents can almost seem to be a cliché: mid-twenty and early-thirty year-old, single artist types – writers and photographers and designers and actors. Most don’t work or work for themselves, hustling for the next paying gig. Everyone sleeps in till lunch because no one really has a regularly scheduled 9 to 5 job. They dream during the day and live at night. Perhaps these people are attracted to downtown because they are just like the city themselves – a little rough around the edges, but have the foundation for greatness.

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I guess the entire point of this is that cities like New York, Paris, Rome, and even San Francisco GIVE it to you. These cities are established with its’ own distinctive culture and its populace is given everything the city has to offer. For the inhabitants of downtown Los Angeles, we live on a blank canvas. It is having its own coming of age story and we are in the midst of its most tender years. Instead of adapting to the city you move to, downtown LA conforms to you. This city is whatever you want it to be and whatever you make of it. It takes a certain soul to find your place in a city that gives you nothing but has everything to offer.

I’ve fallen in love with this canvas and have painted my own story, found MY bar, and etched my name on the sidewalk. I may not live here forever, or even for much longer… but I have had a real love affair with LA. And what makes this even better, she loves me back.

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Photo Credits: an amazing Ex-Boyfriend, who showed me how to fall in love with a city – Miles Jason Casupanan.


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Call me a dreamer, but I really do believe in the constitution. I believe that our forefathers brought forth on this country, a constitution that works for the people, by the people. And I’m not just talking about gun-bearing, jesus camp republican-Americans. I’m talking about all of us.

Let’s talk about the Second Amendment to the United States Constitution. This is the part of the United States Bill of Rights that protects an individual’s right to keep and bear arms from infringement by the federal government. Many think this works solely in the interest of certain groups of people, but there is a second part to this amendment that tends to be overlooked: “If a well regulated militia be the most natural defence of a free country, it ought certainly to be under the regulation and at the disposal of that body which is constituted the guardian of the national security….”

The guys who wrote our consitution knew what they were doing. I mean seriously… more than 200 years later, the constiution is just as relevant as it was in 1787. Of course, there have been updates but the fundamental value of this legal document still upholds our country today. Not only do we have the right to bear arms, we have the right to come together with a well regulated militia to overthrow a tyrranical government. I know it all sounds like a bunch of big government jargon, but think about it! If the government is oppressing you from your fundamental right of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, we have the ability as citizens of this country to band together to fight for our rights. Perhaps like our right to marry whomever we choose?

There was once a time when African-Americans were not able to attend the same schools as whites. The constitution worked for them in Brown v. the Board of Education. Women were once not allowed to make choices about their own bodies. The constitution worked for them in Roe v. Wade. Gay marriage is illegal. When will the constiution work for them?

Call me a dreamer, but I believe that that day is coming. People don’t realize that we are witnessing an incredible movement in Human Rights… American Civil Rights! Just a few months ago, I saw it myself. I was living in Noe Valley in San Francisco and drove my Prius down Castro to meet with my friends, Adam and Danika. There were protests everywhere. Rallys. People dressed up in fur, leather, and lace to show their support of legalizing gay marriage.

We may not see it in the news everyday, but there is a fight going on out there. People are fighting for their civil liberties that a “tyrannical” government is keeping from them. But I believe in the constitution. I believe that there will be a day when men and men, or women and women, or human and robot can come together in marital union without scorn or tyrrany. I believe in the constitution.


PhotobucketPublished in: The Hollywood Weekly as “I am a Believer”.

I am a believer. I believe there is a thing called, Love. The kind of love you see in movies and hear about in songs. The kind of love that overtakes your body and mind and soul. That disgusting kind of love that makes people on the outside cringe at your happiness. That love when everything is in slow motion with a great song playing in the background that leads to happily ever after. A love that consumes you and makes you become a pirate to travel across seas, climb the cliffs of insanity, battle a Spaniard in a sword fight, wrestle a giant and win in a battle of wits by developing an immunity to iocane powder… all in the name of love.

Maybe I’m not really a believer… maybe I’m a dreamer because it’s only real in fairytales and doesn’t exist at all (The divorce rate in America stands at 41% average and goes up demographically to 75% among surgeons and police officers). Every time I’ve thought I was in love I reached out and realized I was holding on to nothing at all and then I’m left wondering… why didn’t I see it before? Was I wishing so bad for this kind of love that I made myself think it was real? Have I really become one of those dumb girls? It was my mistake for setting myself up for failure when in actuality… he didn’t love you that way. Will my real Wesley ever come for me? Will he know where to find me? (My apartment is right on Pine in the LBC). What if I’m left waiting forever and I never get my happily ever after? What if I never get to ride off in the sunset on a white horse with my prince… and our Spaniard and giant by our sides?

And what if love finds me and I’m too afraid now to take it. What if Wesley appears before me as the Dread Pirate Roberts and I’ve been spoken for by Prince Humperdink. And now I am too dumb and blind to see true love staring right at me… fighting for me… battling rodents of unusual size, facing torture in the pits of despair… and I’m just too dumb to even know what love really is. Will I ever be able to get away from this fear of hurt and pain to take a leap of faith and hope that he doesn’t let me fall? How do you let someone take your heart and trust that they won’t break it when you already know what it can feel like? How do you ever find that courage again?

I’m sure the wicked witch of the west was once just a nice girl who just had her heart broken one too many times. I mean… a girl can only take so much heartache before she becomes evil. Misery wants company so she can be my friend. We can go shopping and be bitter against the world and lash out at happy people because they are happy and we are not. I’ve always thought green looked good on me.

“True Love has never been a snap” – The Princess Bride.



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