Chicago is a beautiful city. I usually find it annoying when people personify cities because it sounds so awfully pretentious. Who gives a damn what you think of a city? They’re manifestations of society, not actual people.

But oh, how in 3 days, I’ve fallen in love with Chicago.</irony>

I’ve been incredibly busy for the past 3 months. I’ve been living from day to day, going from one side of the bay to the other in the van, traveling for work, and then of course spending much needed time for important family things. There is no time to think. And that’s how it will be until Memorial Day. At least I hope it is.I didn’t have any time to think about the trip to Chicago when it was planned. I’ve traveled more in the past 4 months than I have in the previous 20 years. I really didn’t care to think about it. I didn’t even check out yelp or guides beforehand and merely backed starting at 11PM on Saturday night.When Tina called me on Sunday morning that she wasn’t going to make it anymore I slightly sighed, dreading the usual never-get-sleep-working-my-ass-off-frustrated-gluttony-with-heavy-food-and-boozing-it-up work trip.On Sunday, my plane landed and it was PERFECT outside. It was warmer than San Francisco and without any of the rain that weather.com made me expect. I didn’t need that jacked or hooded jacket or regular rain hat that I usually take with me. In fact, a t-shirt, flip-flops, and shorts would have sufficed. Upon touchdown I called Jenn and Jerry. They already had dinner plans for the evening. Someone else did the thinking and travel planning? I’m in! *cough*Brie*cough.*

I was running late for dinner and they were going to enjoy the fancy joint they chose without me. Screw that. I checked in at the hotel, dropped off my bag and ran out to a cab that taxi’d me over to Lincoln mother fucking park in Chicago.What struck me from the airport and in downtown first of all was that Chicago was big, large, like New York or Las Vegas. Yet, somehow it was slow and easy like San Francisco or maybe even San Jose or even slower like gilroy. They were clean and presentable, looked somehow brand spanking new like the bellagio in vegas, but old and made of stone. LOTR much?

In Lincoln Park we had Tapas. I was late, remember? I missed out on all of the goodies that everone else was enjoying and further more missed out on the SANGRIA. The waiter had to add a chair to an already crowded table and failed to give me a napkin or utencils. Screw that crap, I was going to enjoy my dinner. I ordered skirt steak and calamari and pulled off a placesetting off another table (after stealing, and then losing, Jessie’s fork). And damn that shit was good. Oh, did I mention that we were all sitting outside in a comfortable 75 degree clear black sky evening under strung lights? Great!

We settled the evening with a quick 12 (6?) pack of beer from Mini’s which was the original place we were supposed to go to but ended up not being impressed. Eh, they have this shit at conventions.

Bracing ourselves for a long day the next day we headed back to the hotel. I too, was tired and had to adjust to timezones so I just headed into the hotel. The Monaco’s marble lobby leads past a gorgeous detailed lobby. Ok, maybe no so impressive compared to say, the Bellagio, but it sure wasn’t the Holiday Inn. The room had to ginormous windows with enclaves built in with cushions so you could sit in them… and the ceiling was high and spacious. Curtains covered the windows that overlooked the Chicago river and a gorgeous view. This was nothing like hotel stays in New York. It was way too big for my tastes but I wasn’t going to complain. Oh, and there were 2 queen beds in there that I really didn’t need.

Why is it that when I travel I must turn all of the hotel room lights on? The halls of the Monaco are deep red, slightly narrow but with bright lighting. Creepy, to say the least. Add that to the 10 foot round mirror right next to one of the beds and the slightly circus feel to the room decor and yes, I did think I was in some kind of room 666 movie. I walked quickly. I chose the bed next to the mirror because I was afraid of the bed right up against the wall. I slept with the curtains pulled wide open so the sun would wake me up. Who cares that the giant Christian rotunda across the street could see into my room.stay tuned for part 2.

this is an image of a kris, a sword found in Southeast Asia. In the southern part of the Philippine archipelago several minority groups that practice Folk Islam use these types of swords… these days more as symbols and spiritual objects.

My performing arts troupe has 3 of these krises made of ironwood. These are used in dancing.

Here is an interesting fact: It is a federal offense to keep these types of weapons in open visibility in your car…

…especially when being pulled over by the police.

Let me back up a bit.

By nature of our performances, we have several rare items that are specially made in the Philippines and then shipped over. Our supplier is careful and ethical, as we prefer, and makes sure to get these items certified by the government of the Philippines. They are accompanied by letter from the CCP that they are not stolen or heirloom (most of the time) and that their acquisition was legal. I’m certain that there are some people that would love to get their hands on rare artifacts from the islands for pure exploit.

Anyway, I’ve faced my share of keeping these items and coming across once in a lifetime situations. How many people can say that they were overlooked in a TSA security checkpoint in a post 9/11 airport with a sword in their checked baggage. I didn’t get searched because the agent wasn’t looking down when my luggage passed through. My bag didn’t even end up with one of those “your bag has been searched” cards. Oddly enough, the Caucasian plain looking businessman behind me was searched.

And then there was the time at SFO security checkpoint with large flat gong in hand because it was too heavy to put in the check-in. I attached it to my belt and walked through. The gong itself is one solid piece of forged and hammered metal in a simple cylindrical shape. Nonetheless, the agents that time decided to question me on it and play it for them so they could make sure it was a “real gong”. That was 2003 and the line was very, very long behind me. I’m sure the other passengers enjoyed the performance.

This evening, as I was following Reggie out of an SJSU parking lot after a long evening of performing folk music, both Gong and strings, I failed to notice the “no left turn” sign as well as the double yellow line as well as the street markers ushering traffic to the right. I made a left after Reggie and made another left into a dead end street where the others were waiting with the instruments. During the second left turn, the policeman flashed his lights.

Fudge, I knew why he was flashing his lights. I slowed and continued… avoiding stopping next to the red no parking curb. Another cop walked up to me and said to stop so I stopped. The policeman in the car spoke over the loudspeaker, “move ahead!” I needed a frigging adult. That’s what I needed.

As the policemen neared the van, I flipped on the lights so I could pull out my license and registration. It was then that they noticed in the back that there were 3 dark heavy ironwood kris swords.

Keeping weapons like this is a federal crime and policeman have every reason to approach with their guns drawn… you know, in case I could reach quickly in the back and pull out a sword and point it at them.

Anyway, long story short we had a good conversation about what the swords were for and how they are used and just why I had them and why I was on campus with them. Luckily for me, one of the officers has seen performances from the Philippines before with such swords. “They use them all the time”, he said.

We do?

Anyway, that whole interaction took about 15 minutes too long and included a segue conversation about Manny Pacquiao. They gave me a ticket and explained to me how to properly stow 3 heavy ironwood kris swords from the Philippines in the car.

Reggie later asked me if I was ok. Yeah, I was fine. I knowingly did something stupid; even though I was following him I’m not evasive enough to weasel my way out of being an adult that makes his own decisions. It was either him or me and this time it was me. The sword thing.. yeah, it makes sense that it’s probably not a good idea to leave those laying around where everyone can see them.

Yeah, that makes sense.

So the next time you’re carrying ethnic, possibly heirloom, performance or real weapons in your car… it might be best to put them away. Duh. I’m sure it won’t be the last time I have to explain what this thing (insert: horn, gong, sword, birds bill, monkey skull, bamboo pole, spear) is and how I use it to the authorities.

My grandmother is at the final stage of Alzheimer’s disease. Over the past month she has been in the ER twice for separate reasons. Prior to my parent’s trip to the motherland, the doctors already briefed them that her organs are failing.

Her memory is in and out, she knows names and faces but can’t place them, and she often mistakes one of us for someone else. She actually hasn’t known who I am for a year or maybe more.

Alzheimer’s has taken away most of who she is, rendering her as helpless as a child… not knowing when to do things as simple as eating or using the bathroom. She does what she is instructed and looks for guidance in all things. She constantly looks for people that she knows (just by name) and when she sees a lot of people she says “let’s go” albeit only in her native tongue Ilocano now. There was a brief moment after her first time in the ER and she was put on oxygen and had the pacemaker installed where she was able to speak to me in English.

My grandmother now embodies everything that I recognize out of my mom’s side of the family: She is headstrong and narrow minded, quick to anger and resistant. She is a fighter and determined. When I was in college she had arthritic feet and could barely walk, yet she always was the first to want to dance. Last year, when she wasn’t completely gone mentally yet she would join in mom’s rosaries and not know how to recite common prayers, yet she would sing the songs in that rustic kind of old Filipino harmony that only old Filipina ladies know how to do. The prayers would always end with her crying hysterically. When things started to rapidly go for her she would have issues with light sensitivity and turn all of the lights in the house on even in broad daylight. She would fight with everyone, physically and yelling, to keep the lights on. We had to install child switches. And even though she had diabetes and could not eat salt, she would sneak in candy and other savory treats. My grandmother does what she wants.

She is in TCU now, a limbo between ICU and regular room, vitals rapidly changing and recovering from a partial ischemic stroke. I watch my relatives around her and no one (except maybe Auntie Linda) is crying. The question for us isn’t so much how do we keep her alive.. but it’s more about how do we keep her out of pain and suffering. It’s been one month in and out of the hospital, I already recognize all of the doctors and nurses and don’t need a map to get around. I have no idea how much longer it’s going to be like this: emergency phone calls and having to drop everything to rush to the hospital. They put this blue wristband on her which essentially means that the doctors and nurses are trained to let her go if God so chooses it. It could be days, weeks, months. We don’t know anymore and I think we all stopped asking.

I watched my mom with Inang the other day taking care of Inang during pre-surgery. She was leaning over her and cradling her face and trying to comfort her while she was getting an IV installed. My mother has been by her side for over 3 years now, with no life of her own and making unbelievable financial and personal sacrifices only for what will conclude in loss. I was with her there in the room and there were several patients and nurses about. But I only saw Inang and my mom, and I know that even with our support, mom is always alone now. It was really surreal to be watching her as daughter taking care of her mother and I could only think the image looked something like the pieta. I get in fights with mom often and we disagree on a lot of things; I give her shit all of the time. But I really could not feel any more thankful that my mom is probably the most noble and inspirational person I know, especially because she is in that small and weak frame of hers. My mother is giving Inang as much dignity as she can while she battles alzheimer’s. she inherited being the “rock” from Inang, no doubt.

Inang’s husband died in 1984 and she has been without him for 24 years. She never put away his picture and I know she thinks about him often. She even mentioned him during her first trip to the ER. And here at the end of her life she even refuses God… even though he tries on a daily basis to call her to be with Grandfather. Inang does what she wants.

RJ: hey
RJ: when I take Muni
RJ: I bring quarters yeah?
RJ: I have no idea how to take a bus
RJ: hahhahah
Alisson: yeah
Alisson: are you serious
Alisson: haha
Alisson: it’s $1.50
RJ: mkt sansome?
Alisson: where you going
RJ: is that above ground?
RJ: or underground?
Alisson: haha wait
RJ: yeah, I saw on 511
Alisson: where are you going
RJ: gear
Alisson: geary?
RJ: 2332 clement
Alisson: ahhh
Alisson: take the 38 bus
Alisson: easier
Alisson: clement is parallel to geary
Alisson: wait let me check that address
RJ: iBus #38ax/48th Avenue at 6:55 pm (last bus of the day)
RJ: it say stake that
RJ: N.E. Corner Of Pine St & Montgomery St.
Alisson: yeah ive never taken that bus
Alisson: but that should be above ground
RJ: ok
RJ: I hope I know what to look for
RJ: hahahah
Alisson: just make sure youre on the right side
Alisson: haha
Alisson: and look for the lane markings
RJ: why do I have to ask for a transfer?
Alisson: or the bus sides
Alisson: you dont have to ask for a transfer
Alisson: lets say
Alisson: you take the wrong bus
RJ: it says I do
Alisson: ohh
RJ: ahh
RJ: ok
RJ: so if I get on the wrong bus
RJ: I can switch?
Alisson: you need transfers if youre taking multiple buses
Alisson: yeah
RJ: ok
Alisson: not unless you want to pay again
Alisson: but if you want to take a bus
Alisson: that goes directly to that area
Alisson: 38… anywhere along geary really
RJ: yeah
RJ: that makes sense
Alisson: geary’s just parallel to clement
Alisson: but that bus gets packed
RJ: so any 38
RJ: does it?
RJ: ok
RJ: I’ll head over there at 620
Alisson: yeah
Alisson: by the way
Alisson: if the bus says “limited”
RJ: err
RJ: 6:34
Alisson: that means it doesnt always stop
Alisson: haha
RJ: http://transit.511.org/tripplanner/scheddetail.aspx?scln=Sf+Muni+Bus+%2338l%2f48th+Avenue&scrn=38L&scal=Market+St+%26+Sansome+St&scac=W&scax=-14857&scay=-169&scar=757&scas=3&scat=1135&scbl=Geary+Blvd+%26+25th+Ave&scbx=-15957&scby=-327&scbr=757&scbs=19&scdy=0&sctm=A&fs=225+Bush+Street&fc=San+Francisco&ts=2332+Clement+Street&tc=San+Francisco&fx=-14862&fy=-146&tx=-15953&ty=-298&td=0&tm=A&t1=7:00&am1=PM&op=Dof=R&ow=120&rs=
RJ: ok, that makes sense
RJ: where does it say tha?
RJ: meaning I have to pull the stringy?
Alisson: yeah
Alisson: but sometimes
Alisson: it still doesnt stop
Alisson: hahha
Alisson: that happened to me when i took the 38 a few weeks ago
RJ: oh yeah?
RJ: ok
RJ: good to know
Alisson: are you buying dim sum or something
RJ: naw
RJ: friend’s bday
Alisson: ahh
RJ: PPQ Dungeness Island
RJ: I hope I don’t get run over by muni
RJ: hahahah
Alisson: haha
Alisson: you’ll be fine
Alisson: but be prepared to be squished
RJ: that’s fine
Alisson: and attacked by ladies carrying pink bags hahha
RJ: I’m sure I’ll look great with my 511.org printout
Alisson: LOL
Alisson: nerd
RJ: I don’t really need this do I?
RJ: just take any 38?
Alisson: yeah
Alisson: make sure youre going in the right direction
Alisson: haha
RJ: I’m an effing genius
Alisson: i think transferring buses is annoying
Alisson: and either way
RJ: I figure if I mov ehere
Alisson: 38 will get you to the richmond anyway
RJ: need to learn how to take buses
Alisson: yeah
RJ: hahahah
RJ: I’ve taken the bus like 10 times in my lifetime
Alisson: hahaha
Alisson: well if you ever want to do a dinner thing
Alisson: i can show you some muni buses

So AWESOME IT HURTS

This past weekend was an exhausting blast.

Highlight would definitely be making my way through The Palace emergency exits at 10:30 PM to the 2 degree weather in Alberta (we didn’t even look at the map and went the wrong way) to find a cross dresser fancy gown party littered into the street with drunken frat guys and firetrucks.

See it here.

Thanks Canada, you are fun people.   Didn’t get into a fight and definitely wrote a letter about it.

More to come today.

Finally, because I can’t write enough today, I am seriously lacking sleep and in every avenue of life people around me have noticed my erratic and cracked out behavior.

Them:  “RJ, are you ok?”

Me: “Did you just say I look like shit?”

Still haven’t figured out what I’m going to be doing for Lent this year. I haven’t made any hard decisions.. but so far haven’t been drinking coke or eating too much meat. I haven’t been ignoring sugar or coffee.

I used to be a walking advertisement for Coke. I even have a Coke t-shirt. Where the hell did that go? My up till now recent gluttonous escapades with co-workers ($50 dinners? wtf) have taken a toll and the very thought of something that bad turns me off. When did I turn into a dirtball?

Ironically, Santa Monica was a blast.. Someone looked at me funny when I said that Glendale was really nice. Portos bakery: Mango chiller with a chorizo breakfast treat. So frigging good.

In Burbank, I work at a place where toys are not only cool to see lined up on a desk.. but weird if not proudly displayed covering every square inch.

In Santa Monica, there are hallways dressed all in black that look like clubs with red or blue fiber optic cable lining the walls. I can’t tell you how freaking cool it is in some of the offices we have. And it’s funny when people come visit us and think how our old San Francisco Financial District building slash dot com is.

I’m so behind on yelp that the stack of business cards from the restaurants I’ve been too recently makes a prominent bulge in my bag.

Time to cut back and regroup.

I was in Santa Monica last week for 3 days… after getting back from NY.. and then in 2 weeks I’m off to Canada.. and then after that will probably be back to Santa Monica again.

After a while.. the fancy hotels and the rich food just gets old and gross and I feel like a bloated pretentious thirty something.

I know, pretty fucking spoiled if I do say so myself. I would like to take a vacation and go to a farm and dig some dirt and play with the animals and go fishing. Peace and quiet and simple food. I’m living out of a suitcase and my calendar is littered with notes and appointments, night and day.

I love my job and it’s not killing me. I’m overwhelmed but not stressed out and I really don’t have anything to complain about. Something is wrong with that.

Meanwhile, it seems like everyone and everything else around me is in a whirlwhind of difficult change. I would like to do something for my mom that gives her some peace of mind as well. Inang is very difficult and I cannot blame my parents for the stress that they sometimes expel on my sister’s family and I.

I am thinking of moving closer to work… something where I could get up at a normal hour and get to work quickly.. .where I can stay out in the city and hang out with people and then just get to bed at a normal hour. At the same time, I have my corgi who has been suffering from separation anxiety due to the fact that I’ve been traveling so much.

What am I going to do with him?

I can’t leave him with my parents in the South Bay and never see him.

And then there’s KFA.. which I’m very happy to say that I see it taking very mature and forward steps. I would have to go down South every other day and would be making up the nightly commute in my car.

Options are never a bad thing and it’s probably the beautiful weather making me feel so lackadaisical about it.

10 points for using lackadaisical.

I need to go on a date or something.

I miss you.