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Los Angeles, California
I am 47 and thriving in Southern California. One day at a time.
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Wednesday, September 8, 2010


i never thought i would draw parallels between myself and michael jackson.

but truth is stranger than fiction...

tonight, with my IPOD on shuffle, one of the classics "wanna be startin' somethin' " kicked in. irresistible...

[omg, i am labeling songs as "classics" now. SIGH.]

as i cranked up the volume and bopped around the kitchen washing dishes, i hearkened back to a particularly triumphant moment last summer.

my sister-in-law (you might as well drop the "in law"...she IS my sister) and family were staying in a hotel in glendale, visiting so-cal/us after building houses for the needy in northern mexico.

[yes, these are the folks all kids should have as role models]

my pinch hitter, 80's music-partner-in-crime, s, ("officially" my bro.-in-law) were debating where rhianna sampled her hit, "don't stop the music" from, as it played as background music to our sushi dinner.

{my designated hitter for all things 80's, l, lives in toronto}

[mmmmmmmm. sushi.]

beyond a shadow of a doubt i KNEW it was MJ. dudes, do not challenge me. i am master of all things 80's. seminal years.

so when we returned to the hotel, post-dinner, s. found MJ on the internet and blasted him throughout the hotel room...

it was just one of those moments. ya know, one of those that makes life worth living.

as i gyrated around the suite, transfixed by the beat, my niece, 6, and nephew, 11, looked upon their auntie hen with a healthy mixture of awe and disgust. but i, i was transported back to age 15. with my newly shorn crop, as hubby affectionately referred to as "peter pan" (so sexy), the chorus kicked in, and i felt young, healthy, beautiful and fearless...

"Ma Ma Se,
Ma Ma Sa, Ma Ma Coo Sa
Ma Ma Se, Ma Ma Sa,
Ma Ma Coo Sa"...

victory was mine.

but life, she ain't so black and white (to appropriately quote another MJ smash).

what a breeze life would be if all things were black or white. but it isn't.

it comes in shades of grey.

perhaps it began the other night. my soul brother, t, of the dead organs (trust me, we laugh over this), were pontificating upon the merits of having children. he has one. i have none. not dogma. children.

again, i digress...

but as i wonder from time to time, "am i missing something by not having children?", in the most evolved and impressively balanced of fashions, he pointed out the obvious.

it's great. but, it's not.

and i amended. [fluffed?] yes. there are trade offs to everything.

["it's black, it's white"]

nope, MJ. it's grey. it's gray. 'tis yin/yang.

one cannot exist without the other. but we all exist somewhere in the middle.

back in '99, i felt the need to revisit the-ghosts-of-high-school-fairy-tales-past and went to see my ex's mum. she was an amazing force in my life at the worst time in my life. suffering from end stage renal failure, and with my guy far away in a cherry-picking land called indonesia, she welcomed me, heart and soul, into their home. with videos and compassion, she embraced me and my situation without judgment. just love.

so, in '99, when she inquired as to whether or not i had considered chinese herbs as an alternative to my immunosuppressives, my heart sank but a little.

for i understood that the gravity of my health is something most people will never understand.

["Don't it always seem to go, that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone"...]

but, this is where i get a bit nutty.

if YOU want to supplement immunosuppressives with chinese herbs, go right ahead. i am not going to fuck with the formula. i love guinea pigs, but i don't want to be one.

there's a sphere in which i exist that thankfully most people will never experience. the tedious agony of lethargy. the monotony of popping pills. and the limits against which i simultaneously fight and try to accept.

but my major frustrations lie within the aesthetic.

look, i'm a pro.

i know how to look good if the need arises. but it doesn't mean i feel good.

it means i WANT to feel good.

much like MJ, presumptions are drawn based on what i look like.

with his clothing, lifestyle and plastic surgery choices, tabloids fed fodder to the masses, insinuating his imbalance and ridiculousness.

i'm no rock star. but it seems to me that gossip is sooooo much more interesting than the truth.

and the truth is probably that MJ was a lonely, isolated, undisputed genius, surrounded by "yes" men, and found escape with drugs.

it's an old story, but a sad one.

but i get it.

when you find something in all the loneliness that works, you use it.

when you already feel destroyed, what is left to destroy? just enjoy.

but, of course, that only works for so long. and in MJ's case, not long enough...

so as i nervously take an ambien, heath ledger style, to try and conquer my insomnia, i am aware.

aware this is not a dress rehearsal. this life is not a pretty picture. it's moody, maudlin and dark. but, it's also shimmering, silver and translucent.

shades of grey.

and, thankfully, grey looks just fabulous with my strawberry blond locks...

so, i'll take this grey life.

because like the MJ documentary that left me so melancholy, yet uplifted...THIS IS IT.

this is it.

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