080630

Just when I think it's safe, I slip and fall. Music of Debussy, almost transparent blue eyes, stubbles of his unshaven face.... Suddenly memories come drowning me and I realize I ache no less.

I retract my timid wings once again.

080622

Friday.

Called in sick. I was suffering from heat exhaustion, but more importantly, a big disappointment with a bit of regret. I decided that a day off was in order despite the deadline. All morning I thoughts of things I wanted to do--go to the Aquarium of the Pacific or the zoo, have leisurely lunch in Laguna Beach, so on and so forth. In the end, I did absolutely nothing--just the thought of stepping out into that sweltering heat was enough to nauseate me all over again.

In the evening, I took a cold shower to cool down and put on my white linen dress before heading over to Corona del Mar. It was fourth night of the Baroque Music Festival to which I was the patron subscriber. The night's program included Torelli, Telemann, Bach, and a Swedish composer named Roman. Dr. Burton Karson's introduction was entertaining as they were all other nights, Elizabeth Blumenstock worked wonders on her 1660 Guarneri violin (still strung with sheep gut), and Timothy Landauer's Telemann was out of this world.

I was walking to my car after a stop at The Crow Bar for a drink when I saw a bright shooting star, through all the light pollution around and the moon's perigee. I tried not to think too much about its meaning. But it was too radiant and too splendid--it flamed into extinction over and over again inside my head.

Saturday.

I wore the same linen dress. Even at 7 in the morning, I didn't need a sweater to cover my bare back. I drove the freeway at 85 mph. It took 1 hour 10 minutes, door to door, to get to Beverly Hills. It included a stop at a gas station and a long drive-thru line for iced coffee.

AIA LA's Spring Tour took place exactly sixteen hours after the official start of summer. I needed that stimulus---I've been stuck in OC for too long, where clients and designers alike lack sophistication. Two designers from my company in attendance were obviously struck with awe. While having lunch at Paperfish by Clive Wilkinson Architects, they said that people at the company wonder if I will leave to come back to L.A. I just smiled and brushed off that comment. That was all I could do.

I took photos at Broad Contemporary Art Museum and stopped by the grocery store I used to frequent before heading back home.

Sunday.

Another very warm day. I took a nap and woke up at 3pm. The fifth and last of the Baroque Music Festival concert was to start at 4pm. I jumped in the shower knowing I would be late.

Following another magnificent concert was patron dinner reception. I sat next to an old lady who took much interest in me. As it were, I was the only non-silver haired patron in attendance and the only one of different race. She spoke to me extensively about her children and different cities where she used to live. She's seventy years old, she said, and of failing health. She wants to live fully before the inevitable, she said. At the end of the evening, I walked away with a promise that I will accompany her to a concert at Hollywood Bowl this summer.

On my way home, I listened to Deborah Voigt and Placido Domingo singing the finale of the second act of Tristan und Isolde over and over again. I drove through the dusk imagining the night the lovers were enveloped in.

080622 - Sunday morning

We finished two small bottles of sake and had moved onto a twelve year old Glenfiddich. We were unusually chatty--for us, at least. I do not recall how our conversation got there, but I found myself saying these words:

"If I had been born a man...."

Before I could finish the sentence, he chimed in.

"...you would have made many girls cry."

"What makes you say that?" I questioned in protest.

"Because only one person gets to be a free bird in a relationship," he replied.

I knew exactly what he meant without having to read through many lines in between. The surprise was in that he knew me that well. I changed the direction our conversation was headed.

"As I was saying, if I were born a man, I would have become a priest."

He gave me a look. That was enough to put me on a defense, citing differences between priests and nuns. But he, too, grew up a Catholic. I knew my argument was the losing one but stood by it nonetheless.

* * * * *

Of many of our childhood plays, one remained in my memory bank more vividly than others. There was a big mound of left over sand from construction at one corner of his yard. I would gather rocks and use them to reinforce the mound of sand. He would bring over a bucket of water to wash it all down. I knew my attempts were futile but refused to give up, gathering the sand and bringing more rocks to build a bigger, stronger mound. All he had to do, he knew, was to keep pouring water over it. We would be at it for a long time, neither of us relenting, until his mother called us back to the house for dinner.

* * * * *

I had on my white linen dress, a favorite of mine on those extremely hot summer days. I stood up from where I was sitting and looked down. There was a little red dot. On my dress. The dot grew and grew into a coagulating mess of my own blood.

* * * * *

It was early morning hours but my east facing bedroom was already filled with bright morning sunlight. I drifted in and out of sleep through his snores. It was a lazy Sunday morning.

080619

All day I thought about the couple next door. Their fight few weeks ago must have been a bad one. Now that he's left, the girl is in the process of moving out. This morning, I noticed that the little fabric wrapped ledge that used to perch on the window sill for Lucy, the cat, was gone.

I have a project with Friday deadline. But I left the office even before my usual time. I was tired.

"I know you're busy, but just one question...is it okay to stop caring?" I wrote, before putting the car in reverse gear. I pressed the send button.

She sent me back her response in two separate text messages.

"Whoa! That sounds loaded. My quick answer is..."

"NO. But are you talking work or love life?"

I replied, "Work. You know I have a love-less life.... Okay, I'll try a little more."

What I really meant to say, in lieu of "work," was "life." But I knew better than to bother her with that load of baggage before her forthcoming deadlines. And we both knew I only had myself to blame.

People call it quits all the time. I did to my own marriage. I did to an eighteen year old friendship. But I cannot to things I am expected to.

I opened a bottle of Lambrusco when I got home. I'm on the course of finishing it before this evening is over.

[travel] From Midwest, With Love - 2008

I

En route to Chicago.
The storm was going through the Midwest. My plane was fortunate to depart and land on time but many others, I later learned, were delayed or canceled. I know not when it started, but for some time now, prior to all my trips I pause and wonder if I would ever come back. So far I made it back each time. And I would always come back--until that one time when I won't.

II
Merchandise Mart, someone told me, has its own zip code. On floors 3, 10 and 11 are the manufacturers' showrooms. Booths were also set up on floors 7 and 8. Every single elevator was packed with people like sardines in a can. Feet were tired, shoulder grew heavy, all sensory inlets overloaded.

Even though it was my first time attending NeoCon, it was a disappointment. New products were few and far between. New innovations were more thinly scattered about. I know and understand the products and manufacturers enough to know that this year, everyone held back. Parties, too, were done at modest scales. Steelcase party only served one type of cocktail which tasted like melted Jolly Rancher with a teaspoon of vodka diluted in melting ice water. When asked if we could get vodka straight up, bartender refused. No parties were held at empty floor of Sears Tower. It was the sign of times.

III

I like Chicago. The city is eclectic, fun, and most importantly, full of life. It would not be a bad city to consider living in.

Of the Chicago I have seen so far, Frank Gehry's Jay Pritzker Pavilion was the most impressive (for its acoustics), Anish Kapoor's strangely (or not) Jeff Koons-like outdoor sculpture Cloud Gate was the most amusing, the subway was the most nostalgic. I spent time in good company, sharing great meals, good Scotch, and engaging conversations. Views from Sears and Hancock Towers kept me in prolonged moments of awe. But the best moments I had in The Windy City were the ones I spent alone wandering the streets, map in tow but never bothering to look at it, eating Polish sausage and sweet potato fries at a hole in a wall, finding wonderfully well stocked bookstore, and crossing the streets before the lights turned green like the locals do.

But even in the midst of city with glitz and charm and life, the first waking moments of every morning felt desolate. I looked over at the undisturbed pillows and sheets next to me. Only one person was in my mind. Even the change of pace and scenery couldn't help it.

IV

Onekama, Michigan, is a six hour drive from Chicago. Thank god for my iPod and the bountiful greenery around that kept me company. I listened to John Adams' Naive and Sentimental Music and a lot of Schubert driving up (days later, on my way back was a Mozart fest, including Le Nozze di Figaro in entirety). Around the little town of Holland, dull but persistent pain troubled my right shoulder. I knew rain was on the way.

V

She gave me the same room I had stayed in before. First thing I did in the room was to get down on the floor and look under the dresser. There, plugged on the outlet, was the adapter plug I accidentally left there ten months ago. I reached under to retrieve it. Some things have a way of getting lost, then finding a way back. Like a dozen treasured photos of my childhood that I had once lost. Like this adapter plug. People, too, have a way of coming back. Sometimes.

The storm came the next night. It sent a poor standard white poodle in a frenzied panic attack. Me--well, I loved it. It felt like summer. By bedtime, the storm was hitting hard. I went to sleep, listening both to threatening thunder outside and Beethoven's Pathetique. The storm caused power failure that lasted all next day. A little inconvenience was well worth one spectacular night of summer thunderstorm.

Last time I was in Onekama, I wasn't sure if I could ever come back. But here I was again, less than a year later. I sensed a certain melancholy here that I did not feel here before. Nothing had changed at Rosegate. What changed was me.

VI
Soon after the plane left O'Hare, I found myself enshrouded in so many thoughts. And like I did in Ojai listening to Dawn Upshaw singing Alban Berg's Die Nachtigall, I tilted my head back and closed my eyes. But when one single drop of tear escaped through the corner of my eye, the flood gate was open. I let them come as they are.

[travel] The Polar Opposites of Midwest

Day 1, Sunday: Chicago. Stormy Weather
Vacating the apartment and place of work for an entire week involves a significant amount of preparation. After two hours of restless sleep, I headed to the airport. I recognized faces of half of the passengers on the plane. They were all headed to Chicago to attend NeoCon. So was I.

Upon landing at O'Hare airport I learned that severe Midwest storm kept many flights delayed and canceled some others. My coworkers came in late, and my boss's flight was canceled. That was fine--I didn't feel like meeting up with them for a drink that night anyway.

That evening my sponsor and I went to dine with style at Room 21. The decor was eclectic, bold and colorful. We started with beef carpaccio, then I had tomato bisque and seared scallops with salad, all prepared to perfection. But the warm cardamom doughnuts with chocolate and raspberry sauces...if food heaven exists, it is inside that subtle cardamom flavor of piping hot doughnut, freshly deep fried to order, with a drizzle of the perfectly dark, yet not overpowering, chocolate sauce that is neither too thick or too thin. And the meal was capped with 18 year old Macallen, before and after dinner. This is a close--very close--second to my favorite meal of all time, at The Restaurant at Getty.

Menu at Room 21

Afterwards we got together with couple other vendors and went to The Bar at Peninsula Hotel. More scotch there. I never made it to Allsteel party at Apple store. It was raining when we left.

Day 2, Monday: Chicago. Crazy NeoCon Day

Merchandise Mart--a whole zip code of a building

Knoll hosted breakfast at Aria Restaurant at Four Seasons for Orange County designers. I ordered crab cake eggs benedict while others ordered homemade granola and yogurt. I said I was embarrassed for my choice of menu, but really, I wasn't. After breakfast we took a cab to Merchandise Mart, that obnoxiously big building which I was told has its own zip code. After a walk through of 11th floor showrooms, I headed over to Joey Shimoda luncheon symposium hosted by Steelcase. He spoke in depth about the design process of new Steelcase showroom at the Mart. I walked away with my creative charge fueled up.

The Knolls

It wasn't until mid-afternoon that I met up with AK and her nephew. We hung out at Steelcase party which only served one type of cocktail that tasted like melted Jolly Rancher with half a teaspoon of vodka diluted in melting ice water. Ugh.

Inside-Outside

Really, guys, you couldn't afford linear diffuser?

A close encounter with a column

For dinner, I managed to tag along with AK and her sponsors to David Burke's Primehouse. I ordered 55-day aged ribeye for entree. But as good as the dinner was (with a four-digit price tag to go along), it did not leave much impression on me. Maybe it was the wine--it started giving me a headache. After a brief stop at Signature Lounge on top of Hancock Tower to finally meet my coworkers for a drink, I headed home to sleep.

View from Signature Lounge, Hancock Tower

Day 3, Tuesday: Chicago. Why did I wear my maryjanes?

I always claimed that my maryjanes were the most comfortable pair of shoes I own. After all, I am able to wear them hiking up the hill of Hollywood Bowl with no problem. But I guess to walk around in it all day is a different story, even with extra silicon padding I slipped in underneath.

After tour of more showrooms in the morning, AK, her nephew and I decided to do some sightseeing. So after lunch we headed to Millennium Park where, coincidentally, Chicago Symphony Orchestra was rehearsing at Frank Gehry designed pavilion. We sat for awhile to listen before goofing around the awfully Jeff Koons reminiscent Cloud Gate by Anish Kapoor.

A simpler, outdoor version of WDCH

I'm in there somewhere as a dot

Then off to Sears Tower we went. This time, we took the train instead of a cab. Staring out towards the tracks, I thought of an old dream I had.

54th and Wabash

From Sears Tower

We went from Sears Tower to Hancock Tower to join AK's sponsors for drinks. I bid them farewell as they headed off to dinner. As much as I loved their company, I needed some "me" time. Alone. I tossed the maryjanes and changed into flats before hitting the streets. I went to a hole-in-a-wall for some spicy Polish sausage and sweet potato fries. I went to a bookstore and bought H. Hesse's Pictor's Metamorphosis. Being completely alone in a city that I do not know--priceless.
Day 4, Wednesday: Chicago/Michigan. The Drive.
Never have I learned to sleep on the middle of the bed. This day was no exception and I woke up staring at the undisturbed pillows and sheets next to me. Only one person was in my mind.
In the afternoon I picked up my rental car, a Chevrolet Cobalt with 780 miles on it. No power windows. Getting through all those toll gates gave me enough exercise on my left arm for the day. Through Illinois and Indiana I drove, and up Michigan along the lake. I managed to find a classical music station on the radio. As my luck would have it, it was a pledge week. After an hour of that, I tried listening to Conrad's Heart of Darkness (on Classic Tales Podcast). But the view was too pretty, atmosphere too pleasant, for such sullen telling of a story. Instead, I listened to John Adams' Naive and Sentimental Music and a lot of Schubert. By the time I reached Holland, MI, my shoulder was sending painful signals of rain to come.

Driving Michigan

It was quarter after 8, EST, by the time I reached Onekama. GU and her niece E welcomed me. After dinner and walk to the pier and dessert (in that exact sequence), we played few games of Pente, a Greek game similar to Connect Four, except with five.
I was given the room I stayed in last year. I wouldn't have wanted to have it any other way. Back then I accidentally left my phone adapter on the plug under the dresser. I looked under--it was still there. There was no need for it any more with my new phone, but I gladly retrieved it. But as I unpacked I realized that I left the camera battery charger at the hotel. You gain some, you lose some. Oh well.
Last time I was in Onekama, I left thinking I may never come back. But I was here once again, less than a year later. I sensed a certain melancholy this time that I did not feel here before. Nothing had changed at Rosegate--what changed was me.

Day 5, Thursday: Michigan. Real Storm Begins.

We took a late morning walk to wood carving artist's studio. Otherwise it was a laid back, uneventful day.

Wally-meister

Zoe-berger

GU's sister, brother-in-law, and mother arrived by dinner time. We had excellent dinner (maybe I should instead call it supper) of grilled pork tenderloin, grilled peach and goat cheese salad with balsamic syrup, creamy polenta, and homemade blueberry cobbler. Sitting at the porch to another round of Pente, rain started coming. With each minute it fell harder, winds growing stronger. In the distant skies we saw lightening which sent poor Zoey an anxiety attack.

Thunderstorm

I loved the thunderstorm. It felt like summer. By bedtime, the storm was hitting hard. I went to sleep, listening both to threatening thunders outside and Beethoven's Pathetique.

Day 6, Friday: Michigan. Back to the Basics.

The thunderstorm of night before knocked out power in the middle of the night. Plumbing was shut, too. Life really had to go back to the basics.

The weather was clearing up. 6-7 possible inches of rain was had in one night. 31 highway was closed from Manistee south because a bridge got washed up. The whole town of Manistee was in disarray after the storm.

It was a lazy day with walks to the beach along Lake Michigan, more games of Pente at the dock, and a nap.

Washed up deer carcass

Despite the lack of power and water, we still managed to eat like kings. Most everything was prepared on the gas grill. Grilled flank steak, blanched asparagus, sliced heirloom tomatoes, and choices of desserts. After dinner GU, E and I went for a walk along the channel and out to the pier to see the sunset. At 9:30PM, the sun was still peeking out from the clouds, albeit close to the horizon. The power was back on when we came back home.

9:10 PM, EST

9:32 PM, EST

Day 7, Saturday: Michigan. Journey Back Home.
In the wee hours of the morning (2:22AM to be exact), I woke up from my sleep. I looked over at the empty twin bed next to mine. For a long time I could not fall back asleep.

The farewell was emotional. Neither of us showed it, though. GU packed me lunch to go like a mother would, wrapping each slice of sandwich individually, done so it would easily peel even while driving.

Because of the road closures along the stretch of highway I was supposed to have taken, I took a detour per GU's instructions. It was an hour detour which I made in 45 minutes. I did not stop all the way to Chicago except to fill up the gas. It was a 6 1/2 hour drive. I created a mini Mozart fest, with complete listening of Le Nozze di Figaro, Symphony No. 40, and Piano Concerto No. 20, among others. How would I ever travel without my 80GB iPod?

Soon after the plane took off, I found myself enshrouded in so many thoughts. And like I did in Ojai listening to Dawn Upshaw singing Alban Berg's Die Nachtigall, I tilted my head back and closed my eyes. But when one single drop of tear escaped through the corner of my eye, the flood gate was open. I...didn't hold back.

080612

Michigan.
I have only a few moments on the net. Not that I could not be on it longer, but that I'd rather not be. It is pouring rain with some serious thunder and lightening--this actually feels like a summer, and I love it.
I catch up on some other blog reading. The OC Register's music critic called me a name--Orange Countian. But I'm still an Angeleno by heart, damn it!

Just a mid-cap of my trip.
Chicago--crazy. Probably deformed my feet for good, but a lot of fun and, most importantly, great food. The drive up to Michigan was good. Not what I expected, but good. Lots of dead animals along the road. And I thank god for GPS. But my right shoulder hurts by the time I reach Holland, MI--it is a fail-proof indicator of rain to come.

I get to Onekama, and it is like I never left it. What is it about this place? I do not know. But I am certainly glad to be back.

Ojai

Friday evening.
My friend and I found our seats next to Tim Mangan of OC Register who apparently mistook us to be a "young couple," of which we are neither. Francois Narboni's El Gran Masturbador was awful. It seriously had me thinking that whatever he was smoking when he wrote it, he should never share it. But it was okay--I only cared for Chaplin's Modern Times anyway, which turned out to be enjoyable.
Saturday morning.
We stole a listen of Dawn Upshaw and Gilbert Kalish from the bleachers at the tennis court. During Alban Berg's Die Nachtigall, I closed my eyes and tilted my head back. But a single tear escaped from the side of my right eye and ran down my cheek to neck then further down inside my shirt.

Saturday afternoon.
I was second in line to get my copy of the book signed by Alex Ross. I drove back home ecstatic.

Saturday evening.
Back home, I'm packing for my week long vacation. Going away thinking that I may never come back--it has become a habitual thought of mine before a trip.

080605

Shall I speak of jealousy?
Really, shall I speak of all my maddening moments thinking about an old muslin dress?
And would you let me speak about young Werther whose untimely death was an easier choice than mine?

Would you hear me out?


Would you care...?

[dream] Seriously, I hate that shade of green

It was a dreary subterranean corridor of an old building where I was walking. Pools of cool fluorescent lights were distributed at irregular intervals. Corridor was dim otherwise. I was wearing my black dress with pearls around my neck. With each step my stilettos made clicking sound against the concrete floor.

He walked hurriedly from behind to catch up with me. When he did, he grabbed my arm and pulled me into a janitor's closet where in claustrophobia and unflattering light he stole a kiss. But I was too cool and collected. I felt nothing--except antipathy against his green plaid shirt, a shirt I had never seen him wear before. I turned to leave as he pulled me back. Promise me, he said. My face was frozen solid as were my eyes and tongue.

Oh, how fragile is love...!

080602

Sunday morning.

I was still feverish when I woke up to a ruckus from my next door neighbors. It was an apparent fight between the couple. The girl locked the guy out. The guy went on banging the door while cursing liberally. The girl opened the door, crying. After a short while, the guy walked out with a duffle bag which I presumed to contain his belongings. I couldn't care less what the fight was about. But I was worried for their cat, Lucy. I wondered if Lucy was hiding under the bed.

I stayed lying on my sofa wrapped in fleece blanket. Just the thought of lifting the blanket off to walk over to the bedroom gave me chills. And I watched tennis on television even though I could not really see the ball due to poor reception. Better that than infomercials, I thought.

What r u doing? he text'ed. I could have ignored it. But I didn't. By mid-afternoon, he was over at my apartment.

We had very early dinner and finished an entire bottle of Lambrusco. He said he's going to Chicago for a week. A job interview? I asked. He nodded. He would be arriving in Chicago the day I would be leaving.

Later, as we lay on my bed with his arms around me, he asked,

"Why do you want to keep moving away? Why don't you just stay here?"

"Speak for yourself," I said, "you're the one going to a job interview in Chicago".

"But the job is not in Chicago. It could be in San Francisco, Pittsburgh, anywhere, but I'm really after the job in Irvine," he answered.

"Really?" I questioned. Then we both fell silent for a while.

"Then should we live together if you get that job in Irvine?" I asked. I wasn't serious. I just wanted to put him on the edge.

But what I got back was unhesitating and enthusiastic, "sure."

"Really?" I questioned, again, then started playing along.

"Just don't expect me to cook. We'll go out to eat on the days I have to cook," he said.

"Then you pay rent, I'll take care of all the household stuff."

He agreed.

"Well, we would still need our own space, so at least two bedrooms...."

"Can we get a dog?" I asked.

"Depends on how big a place we get," he replied.
Oh, he's serious about this, I thought.

"But you know, your mother could decide to visit you and we'd be busted," I said. Then added, "if my mother doesn't bust us first--she's closer by."
I thought about my father, then his brother, then his wife, then her brother, then his son who was lying next to me. I certainly did not want to create havoc in all our families in between.

We did not speak of the matter afterwards. We just fell asleep tangled in each other's arms. And I dreamt. I dreamt that I was standing at the edge of a cliff late at night, looking out into the midnight blue of the sky and the ocean. Full moon rose from the west, its shine almost blinding to my eyes, then quickly set on the east. The night was enveloped in the comforting darkness again.

In the morning we left my apartment together. He gave me a little hug.

"I'll call you," he said.

I nodded. "Drive carefully."

I got in my car and headed to work. Another same old goddamn week was starting.