The Grilled Cheese Maradona

A few years ago, a woman claimed her grilled cheese sandwich bore the image of the Virgin Mary. To her credit, the preserved sandwich does look a lot like the traditional pictures of Mary. She sold her sandwich for $28,000 on eBay and then disappeared from the public eye. She re-entered my life when she got a tattoo on her breast area of her infamous sandwich by the staff at Miami Ink. If you're interested in the whole story, check out this book "The Grilled Cheese Madonna and 99 Other of the Weirdest, Wackiest, Most Famous eBay Auctions Ever." It's a great read; I know because L represents and sold the book.

Now, Benjamin (I wrote about his many talents a few days ago) happens to be the #7 ranked grilled cheese sandwich maker in all of Los Angeles. After tasting his salsa, hummus, vegetables, macaroni & cheese, chick pea salad, and of course, his grilled cheese; I can say unequivacably and without hesitation that he should have been top three. I leave him some room to improve so that he'll feel motivated to make more grilled cheese sandwiches and allow the rest of us to taste test.

While the party was great, the realization that people are giving up their steady lifestyles for the great unknown was even better. Four of the party goers were lawyers; or ex-lawyers. They all had quit within the past year, and now they were pursuing their passions -- whether it be comedy, art, or anything that wasn't lawyer-related. Impressive right? They were trying to harangue a budding law school prospect into not going. It wasn't worth it if your heart wasn't into it.

In-between eating everything in sight and talking to people at the wine and grilled cheese party, I realized that anything you do, you have to love. Trite but true. The money will always come; the passion will not. The adage of don't expect to love work? That might still hold true -- for some people. I'm pretty damn sure I've been freed of that convention. Because now I see purpose to everything I've done, even if it was being a total smooching slacker and sitting in front of the Internet all day long. The simple act of uncomprehendingly surfing all day long made me what I am today.

The question now isn't "was it worth it?" but rather "what did that turn me into?" The what, the where, the how are always going to be ever-shifting concerns. The who and the why? I think I'm okay with those two.

Quantum Leap Over the Rainbow

In another sign that this might be the most meaningful week(s) of my life, I was introduced to Honey's Kettle Fried Chicken. It's pretty damn good; beats out other fried chicken chains for damn sure.

That wasn't the meaningful thing however, as much as I love fried chicken. While walking with Benjamin down to Trader Joe's, he pointed out that this exact area of Culver City was where The Wizard of Oz was filmed.

Stun.

I love Wizard of Oz. The movie, the books, the philosophies, the intrigue, the history, the music, everything. Anything Wizard of Oz related I consume. And now, randomly, I was standing in front of a Cowardly Lion statue. He wasn't cowering in fear. He was dressed in Wizard robes and looked like he had just taken flight. Courage-less? Didn't look like it. That's exactly how I've felt recently. I once doubted I had a heart, like the Tin Man; I have one. I didn't even realize I was missing courage; I think I got a lock on that. Now here is this Cowardly Lion in an uplifting, peaceful, pose I'd never seen -- or even considered -- before.

Coincidence or just too much thinking? You tell me.

Ben F.R. (pronounced "Bennifer") then took me around the corner to show me a little diorama of the Wizard of Oz movie with some historical information on placards. The film lot behind the hotel was where the movie was filmed. Most of the stars stayed in this area during the shoot. Judy Garland was here. Repeat, Judy Garland was here.

More amazingly, the Culver Hotel was where the millions of Munchkins stayed during the shooting. Legend tells us that they slept three to a bed. Legend tells us that it was the biggest congregation of mini-people ever.

This was Grauman's Chinese Theatre for me. All the stars I'd have wanted to see exist here (albeit in 1938-ish), three blocks from where I'm staying. I need to explore some more. If I find a poppy field, an emerald diner, or a yellow brick house, I'm going to die from excitment. Culver City equals Oz? Dig it.

"Once I'm with the Wizard
My whole life will change
'Cuz once you're with the Wizard
No one thinks you're strange!
No father is not proud of you,
No sister acts ashamed
And all of Oz has to love you
When by the Wizard you're acclaimed
And this gift - or this curse -
I have inside
Maybe at last, I'll know why
When we are hand and hand -
The Wizard and I!"
-Wicked-

The Sign in the Stone

How happy am I that tattoos have gone from symbols of rebellion to mere decorations? I am no rebel and once tattoos went mainstream (and way over that hump) I wanted one badly. Of course, the question facing all potential tattooees is "What do I get?" I didn't figure it out until way later and even when I was 99% ready to be tattooed, it took a cosmic congruence of events to settle on a design. I'm the type of guy that has to research the hell out of something before I do it; unless I've decided that there's just too much to know and that I should just jump. With tattoos, I just jumped. And got lucky.

tattoo'
v.t. mark the skin in patterns, etc., by pricking and filling the skin with coloring matter. -n.
mark so made. [Polynesian]
www.avalontattoo.com

It's certainly an addiction. After my first one, I had dreams that it would rub off during the night. I'd wake up thinking it had melted off. After getting used to the idea of having permanent on my body -- and hiding it from my mom for a year or so -- I needed more. Thank goodness I'm perpetually broke; otherwise I would probably have any number of god awful tattoos on my body. My mind is always like "Oh, this is cool/memorable, maybe this should be a tattoo." We need a Brady Law for tattoos.

It turns out, after a few tattoos that have gone all sorts of wrong on me (pussing, itchy, infected) that I'm allergic to Neosporin. Guess what is recommended to put on fresh tattoos to protect them? Neosporin. Whoops. I put a temporary hold on tattoo getting since three of my last four gave me disgusting post-tattoo issues. With my latest set, I was fortunate enough to figure out that Neosporin was the problem. Now I think the best way for me to heal is just to let my body do it. No lotion, no anti-bacterial crap. Just air, water, and moisturizer. The body heals itself; even when you decorate it.

Watching (and loving) Miami Ink, you start to realize how trite the reasons people get tattoos are. But then again, who cares? Of course a permanent thing like a tattoo would have spiritual, memory, or personal resonance. What else is there? Nobody gets a tattoo on a stupid whim. Well actually, lots of people do; but they end up with horrific tattoos. The thing is, once you have a tattoo, you love it and you'll look for any reason in the world to justify having it.

The only thing I caution against is going to a bad tattoist. Not knowing about tattoos can make the selection process intimidating but price really isn't an object. The difference between a top tier tattooist and a bad one is huge. You can save $20 now but have a shitty looking tattoo for life. Don't do it. Get a good designer, someone who can make clean lines and will leave your tattoo with room to degrade and close up a little. I can't stress this enough. I've been lucky with my tattoos (even my "bad" ones aren't bad) but I've seen some horrible work. Pay for quality, it's worth it.

Or better yet, befriend a tattooist and let them work on you for free. That's what I need, a tattoo friend. I can do little favors for them and they can tattoo me. Perfect.

"We live in a disposable society and tattoos are decidedly permanent. That's what makes them scary, and that's what makes them powerful. Making an irrevocable choice is good for the soul."

Ghost World Whisperer

Last night, after Cuban food and during worlds colliding at the Little Temple in (North) Hollywood, I saw a major celebrity. Thing is, I'm not sure if anyone else knew. Slam poets I'd love to meet: Saul Williams, Beau Sia, Staceyann Chin, maybe Taylor Mali, definitely Dennis Kim, Ishle Park, a few handful of others. High up on that list? Mayda Del Valle. I met her yesterday -- sort of.

The poets I've interacted with on a personal level? PeaceBeFree and Shammy Dee. That's about it. I've stood next to Beau Sia (like right next to him) as he prepared to go on-stage. I didn't even realize it was him and when I did, I internally freaked out with excitement. I've had the chance to meet Beau through some friends of friends but I'm scared so I always refuse. Some people stalk Hollywood celebrities; I stalk slam poets. What of it? I don't judge you; we judge slam.

I freeze up in the prescence of wordsmiths. I mean,these people have been on tour, on TV (I saw Mayda on Def Poetry Slam just a few weeks ago wearing the exact dress in the picture), won slam championships, come up with amazingly resonant pieces of art. What could I possibly say to them?

Try this on for size (based on a true story):
Loud blaring music blares loudly in the background
"Hi, are you Maya?"
"Mayda."
"Maya?"
"No, Mayda."
"Oh, hi, you're a poet right? Def Poetry Jam and all that?"
"Yes I am (and I'm just trying to enjoy the music and dance)."
"I love your work! It's amazing!...insert some platitudes."
*Cut scene*

Jon walks away. Not sure why he did that but really glad he did. I mean, I'm the new fearless me. I can talk to my celebrity heroes now right? On a human level right? And um, mispronounce their name. Crap. I hate myself. But then again, why not say hi? People like that right? To be recognized for their gifts?

What I hate more than being a weirdo in front of celebrities is how many people don't even recognize who they're interacting with -- who they're blessed to stand next to. I have no idea if Mayda came to Little Temple to chill out, promote, party, meet friends, whatever. I saw her come in alone, sit around at the bar for a sec, and then eventually wind up at the front of the stage for the performance -- sadly, for me, not her performance.

In my mind I'm like "Wow, does nobody know who she is? She's an amazing poet/person! She's the youngest National Poetry Slam individual champion ever. She's breaking ground for Latinas. Someone (please) break out the red carpet!" I have no idea if Mayda or anyone wants that type of acclaim but it kills me that those who deserve it don't get it.

Check it out, if LC or Heidi walked in last night, the place would have been buzzing. The damn Hills girls! They don't do shit. If Asia, Chelsea, and Melissa R. walk in, people might have gone bananas (or at least, me and Jmz would have; mainly due to the injustice of the judging). So what happens? Mayda, someone amazing and phenomenonally talented walks in and nobody notices -- or knows. Isn't that wrong?

In a related story (I already posted this once but it seems fitting here): Joshua Bell, violin virtuoso brings his 1713 Stradivarius -- worth $3.5 million -- to the subways, playing for the early morning commuters. Do people stop to admire this priceless gift? Or do they toss a few nickels his way out of pity?

Number 8 - 11

Four Elements
[ April 19 & 20, 2007 ] - Back

It seems like every year or so, around the New Year, I itch to get a new tattoo. My last one was in February 2006 and since then I've been plotting to get sleeves. Of course, if you're going to get (half-)sleeves, you better be able to pay for it, you better have a good design, and you better make sure your future jobs won't require you to hide anything. Well, due to the events and realizations of last week, all those barriers are gone. I'm ready to get tatted up; stylishly, of course.

I had seven tattoos, now I have eleven (sort of). Pretty much, all my tattoos are tiny and maybe combined they make one "real" tattoo. But I like it that way. I mean, I'm pretty skinny, I only have so much real estate. Right?

It's an addiction, tattooing. I wish I could actually tattoo but until then, I've decided that I need to just keep returning to tried and true artists. Marty from Avalon Tattoo did my first two tattoos and those were done so cleanly that I wanted him, and only him, to do these latest four. I've had a bad experience with two tattoos once (three if you count George's) and I decided that you get what you pay for. Even then, you should overpay just to make sure that you're getting exactly what you want. Most of my designs are super generic and simple; so it's about clean lines and perfect execution.

Anyway, enough of that. This time around, I jumped down to San Diego and was ready to get tattooed right away. My mind was moving super fast and I decided on what I wanted within mere moments of seeing it. It just fit. The design? Ambigrams of "Air, Earth, Fire, Water" from Dan Brown's Angels & Demons. Reading Da Vinci Code partly inspired me to get my first tattoo (the explanations of the power of symbols, not the actual book) and I thought this would be fitting. Jmz was working on turning those four words into customized ambigrams -- and his designs looked pretty awesome -- but in the end, I always go with the most generic iteration of symbol so I figured why mess with success?

What do these four elements represent? A whole bunch of things. The playing card suits we're all so familiar with are based on the Tarot's Minor Arcana. Swords(Spades) and Cups(Hearts) are associated with the Air and Water elements respectively. Wands(Clubs) and Pentacles(Diamonds) are Fire and Earth. I love Tarot, I've studied it and played around with it as a fun little diversion. The art and story behind the cards are fantastic. I just bought a (Chinese themed) Tarot deck; let's divine.

The four elements could represent The Fantastic Four, the First Family of superheroes. Mr Fantastic, Invisible Woman, Human Torch, and The Thing have their powers based around the four elements. Water, Air, Fire, Earth. You see?

It could mean I like Earth, Wind & Fire's "September," which I do. Or it could be states of matter: solid, liquid, gas, and plasma.

Traditionally in Chinese ideology, there are five elements. Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water. I thought about putting those somewhere, but I already have the pentagram on my back, and nothing says "5" like a star. Plus I don't want Chinese characters on my body, just Chinese art and landscapes if I can afford it.

In Western philosophy, the four elements arrayed on my back also have a fifth, aether or quintessence, of which the cosmos itself is made. In Brown's book, the four ambigrams Vultron together to form the Illuminati Diamond, which is the object of everyone's fear and lust. Throw your diamonds in the sky if you feel the vibe.

Sidenote: Dan Brown's ambigram designer, John Langdon has a book and website, it's amazing. I guess he's also the designer of my tattoos too.

Another answer? The Four Elements of Hip Hop: Graffiti, DJ-ing, MC-ing, and B-Boying. I have no idea if they correlate to the actual element words, but who cares? We see the correlation of numbers every day. If you wanted to look for instances of "213" you would see them everywhere. The brain is designed to collect, associate, and process patterns. And numbers like 2, 3, 5, 7, have powerful meanings in any culture, field of study, or three-dimensional world.

Those are all things I associate with the new tattoos I got. But here's the thing, the elements for me, are a cross. A Christian cross. Almost all of my tattoos are some sort of religious symbol and I swore that I would never put Christ's cross on my body until I was ready to be at peace with Abrahamic religions -- Christianity especially. I won't delve into my reasoning behind that but suffice to say, I have a hate/love relationship with the Holy Christ. But last week, I squashed that. I'm not a Christian, nor do I wish to be one; but I no longer fight it. Thus, I was ready to put the cross on my back. Because nobody can bear it alone, much less me.

"One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord. Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.

In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand. Sometimes there were two sets of footprints, other times there was one only.

This bothered me because I noticed that during the low periods of my life, when I was suffering from anguish, sorrow or defeat, I could see only one set of footprints, so I said to the Lord,

'You promised me Lord, that if I followed you, you would walk with me always. But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life there has only been one set of footprints in the sand. Why, when I needed you most, have you not been there for me?'

The Lord replied, 'The years when you have seen only one set of footprints, my child, is when I carried you.'"

"Everybody's free, everybody's free, everybody's free
Everybody's free, everybody's free, to feel good, to feel good

Brother and sister together will make it through
Someday a spirit will take you and guide you there
I know you've been hurting ,but I've been waiting to be there for you
And I'll be there, just helping you out whenever I can"
-Everybody's Free-

Word(play) Freak

While digging around in my archives for my tattoo chronology, I found my first children's writing story -- "On A Mat Of Pita." So pretty much, my first story ever. Sure, it's a derivative knock-off but hey, had to start somewhere right?

"Dictionary Brown was finding it very difficult to concentrate. It was hard enough being the spelling bee champion of the entire fourth grade, without a gigantic cow head slipping over your eyes every two minutes. Dictionary tried to push his cow head upwards over his brow, hoping it would stay put this time.

'Razzmatazz. r-a-z-z-m-a-t-a-z-z. Razzmatazz.'

Sally O'Neal, dressed as a bumble bee, gave a winning smile and sat down. Dictionary Brown was looking sorrowful indeed as he realized that his turn was coming up, right after Donald the Mouse and Leonard Alligator. As he looked out into the audience, Dictionary squinted hard against the lights and tried to find his family. They had promised to sit as close to the stage as possible but now they were nowhere to be found.

Dictionary turned his attention back towards the spelling bee and tried to remember all the 'S' words he had studied. 'Satellite. Studious. Saturate. Soliloquy. Syncopate.' The cow head fell again. Mr. Lee's great idea this year was to dress up all the kids in animal costumes for the spelling bee. Mr. Lee had insisted that it would be a change of pace for the children. The twenty three kids of Idaville Middle School, Room B, had loved the idea. However, Dictionary was beginning to think maybe this wasn't the brightest idea Mr. Lee had ever had." continued...
-January 20, 2003-

In Waking Life, We Sleep

When you're a young boy into comic books and world of fantasy, all you dream about is having a super power. Which one? Well, any one will do -- barring being a math or music prodigy. Once you get past the initial fascination with Superman (the prototypical superhero most young boys come into contact with first), you start to find yourself identifying with more obscure superheroes. For me, it was X-Men. I wasn't into the Justice League after awhile because the X-Men were just, well, cooler. The idea that you didn't need to be an alien, rich, empowered, or imbued with any special gifts aside from having the latent mutant gene was a powerful one.

Traditionally, the mutant gene kicks in when a person hits puberty. Hormones and stress equal mutant powers and crazy angst. Genius. It's been said that Stan Lee's best move with the X-Men was to make them teenagers and outcasts. From there, the mutant population could be tied into racism and many of the underlying themes of the X-Men comics deals with their ostracization by the world of humans. Homo sapiens superior are coming to get'cha. Charles Xavier fights for one side; Magneto the other -- their goals are the same but their (initial) methods differed.

The first super power anybody wants is probably invisibility. It's not even a super power. It's just something people want. A giant "What If." Ralph Ellison tackled the social ramifications of being "invisible," and everyone else probably took the idea more literally -- at least I did. If I was invisible I could ______. But keep it real, invisibility kinda sucks though as a "super" power.

What's next? Flight. Who doesn't want to fly? Would you rather be invulnerable like Superman, have x-ray and heat vision, super senses, or be able to fly to the sun and back? To be honest, nowadays I'd probably settle for Clark Kent's journalism skills but as a kid I wanted flight. Shit, even Hawkman was cool back then and he only carried around a flimsy mace and had bird wings. Flight of any kind (even gliding) fascinates us because we can't do it naturally. Daedalus, the Wright Brothers, the Hindenburg, Lindbergh, Chuck Yeager, the Blue Angels, Top Gun, Calvin (& Hobbes), His Airness; I used to read about anything flight related. Who knew that all it took to get wings is some Red Bull?

After reading a bunch of comics, you start to realize that some characters have much better powers than other characters. Angel (pre-Arch-) was kind of weak. Cyclops without the tactical training? Weak. Anybody with physical powers? Weak. Hell, even Wolverine was kinda wack without his healing factor, his fighting prowess, and his mysterious Canadian upbringing. Despite that, in eighth grade I hoped for cold shiny claws to pop out of my paws every day. Usually in class when I hoped to slice my way out of my seat. Or slice my way out of my braces. Either or. Middle school might have been the peak of my geek/dork-dom. Oh wait, there was high school followed by college. I peaked early and just kept on setting new records. Anyway.

Once you figure out how all the super powers work and what could possibly be realistically achievable (scientifically speaking), you kind of give up on flight, healing factors, claws, being super strong/fast. You start to figure out that mental powers are the best. Psychics are crazy powerful. There's a reason Jean Gray is the best mutant around. Class 5 as it were. She's got telekinesis and telepathy. Pretty crazy. A notch below her? Professor X, who happens to be the most powerful telepath in the Marvel or DC Universe. So really, telepathy is the power to lust after. The Phoenix Force is nice, but really, who the hell wants to be able to consume planets and annihilate reality? Not me. I have problems microwaving shit correctly. I can barely fix a flat tire; much less muddle in people's (sub)consciouses. "With great power comes great responsibility," and I'm just fine with minimal responsibility and medium to adequate superpowers.

But oh sweet telepathy. How useful that could be. I could see anyone's mental underwear, I could predict the future (sort of), I could be the life of the party. I am Jedi. I am Ken Jennings exponential. I'm a gazillionaire. I'm smarter than a fifth grader. So, the superpower I'd most want? Telepathy.

Here's the problem: I never identified with Professor X. He's bald, he's in a wheelchair, he has weird motivations, he is Jean Luc-Picard. I can't supplant that. So what did I figure out last week? I'm Nightcrawler. Which is fine by me. I've always liked him best, for some strange reason. Now I (think) I know why.

He gets to teleport away; leaving a brimstone stink behind whenever he exits; he goes into an alternate dimension and then pops out on the other side with no Earth-time lost. He mini-time travels, sort of. In addition, the movie version of Nightcrawler is covered with religious tattoos (a change I didn't particularly care for at the time). He speaks German, I say "danke." When he teleports he can take people with him; I can't be alone, I need friends around me constantly. He only teleports to places he has seen, or can see; I only go places I know I'll like. The connections go on but I won't bore you. About that prehensile tail... Anyway. Nightcrawler isn't the most powerful X-Man ever (ranking only thirteenth in my Top 20 Most Powerful X-Men list) but he's pretty damn perfect for me.

[Nightcrawler's] greatest power is his ability to teleport himself and some additional mass from one location to another. He does this by means of entering an alternate dimension briefly and reappearing in a desired location.

Because teleporting into other solid matter would cause severe injury or death, he will only teleport to an area he is familiar with or that he can clearly see. His power automatically displaces liquids and gases when he "arrives".

After Nightcrawler teleports, he leaves behind a faint scent of brimstone said to be transported from the alternate dimension through which he travels. A loud *bamf* noise is always present whenever he teleports (it being the sound of air rushing to fill the space he was just occupying).

"I'll see you in limbo
because heaven won't take us
and hell's afraid we'll take over."

That's what I used to write in people's yearbooks in middle school. Both of my close friends did it. I really had no idea what it meant but it made more sense to me than "Have a good summer" or "Keep in touch!" In hindsight, I'm just amazed I had any friends -- much less two.

If you have spare time, this same train of reverse reasoning led me to figure out why I like Guenhwyvar so much. Not being able to derail that train of thought got me to why I like Janet Jackson's "Black Cat" song so much. And yeah, I'll be stopping right here. Let's be friends?

"Black cat nine lives short days long nights
Livin' on the edge not afraid to die
Heart beat real strong but not for long
Better watch your step or you're gonna die"