Last night we celebrated Tyson’s 73rd birthday at Honda-Ya Restaurant in Little Tokyo. With dinner time being at 7 p.m., that should have given me plenty of time to finish my Dodger story for a game that began at 1 p.m. Usually I would be done by 6 p.m. which would have given me time to watch a little bit of the annual media game before I headed out. You know, get some blackmail photos.

But no. The game dragged (as Don Mattingly admitted to us) and it went into extra innings. 4 hours, 39 minutes. Fortunately I was only five minutes late.

Angie and Carter was there with their little bundle of joy Marisol.

I hate children, but Marisol didn’t grate on my nerves. Just to show what a Korean I am, the first thing I comment about her is her huge eyes — a status symbol amongst Koreans. But look at how big those eyes are! Like a giant squid!

For some reason Michael wasn’t happy, but he’s never happy. What a grumpy fag.

We ate and gabbed. Ate and gabbed. Then got kicked out because evidently reservations of parties of more than eight have a two-hour limit?

Angie, Marisol and Carter went home since Marisol was getting tired. Then there was a schism: dessert? Michael wanted mochi and everyone else wanted Yogurtland. So I stood in solidarity with my fellow queer and went to get Mochi with him.

Eventually we all reunited at Yogurtland. A couple of sheriff’s officers looked like they really wanted so Yogurtland, but when they saw the line they could not hide the look of pain on their faces. They said it was an emergency. So I told them to detain everyone in the building, get their yogurt, then undetain everyone. Right? That’s what I would do.

They left dejected and soon I moved on to better things. Like Catherine’s tits!

This was an accidental picture and all, but when I reviewed it my jaw dropped.

This was the picture I was trying to capture.

Soon we set off to Catherine’s and Tyson’s homestead, but walking to our cars we got talking about Gay Jesus. Of course Michael, the coarsest person I know, talked about giving the Gay Baby Jesus gifts of gold, frankincense and sperm. And that got me giggling.

Unfortunately when we got to the homestead the battery of camera died so I couldn’t document what happened in their backyard. They had a rooster running loose in their backyard. Mind you, they don’t live in the boonies. They live between Eagle Rock and Highland Park close by Occidental College, not Fresno!

Tyson said, “It’s not our rooster. It’s the neighbor’s.” Like that makes it any better.

Beer was had. Jager/Red Bull was had. Cookies were had. And a gothy skully Jenga was sort of had.

And then the night was over. All in all it was a good evening of socialization, a rare occurrence for a loner like me. And despite the warm humid air, I didn’t notice the humidity. Although after having a bout of nipple sweat in the Dodger dugout earlier in the day, I guess nothing could be as bad.

With the East Coast upside-down with Hurricane Irene, it got me thinking about hurricanes or tropical storms that have hit Southern California. Thankfully it’s a very rare occurrence due to the cold ocean temperatures under 70 degrees out here – hurricanes usually need surface temperatures over 80 degrees to sustain themselves.

Of all the storms that are listed in Wikipedia, I remember two that could have affected Southern California within a span of two weeks.

The first was Hurricane Linda in mid-September 1997. I don’t have any strong memories of it except that it put Southern California on alert for the possibility of landfall. I remember that it was a Category 5 hurricane, but I don’t remember that it was the strongest measured hurricane in the East Pacific.

I was particularly intrigued by it. After all I was set to move into the dorms at UC Santa Barbara two weeks later. Since we aren’t a hurricane-prepared region, I was wondering what would happen if it did hit. Thankfully it continued moving out into the Pacific, and that was all.

Until two weeks later with Hurricane Nora.

I don’t remember much in the lead up to Nora since I was busy getting ready to move over 100 miles north. So I had no idea that we were going to get remnants of the storm.

I had moved into the dorms in Santa Barbara and was trying to get situated. What struck me about Santa Barbara the most was the smell. Because of the oil rigs just off shore, there was the scent of benzene – definitely a chemical smell but not noxious.

The next morning I took care of some administrative shit (getting my ID card, meeting with advisors and trying to find people I knew.) With my friend Jess, we decided to do some exploring in Isla Vista. As we were heading out there it started to rain. It wasn’t a torrential downpour. There weren’t any devastating winds. Just the fact that there was rain was enough to shock my system.

It was a good day though. At Morning Glory Music, I bought the new Björk album Homogenic which I fell in love with. I will always associate that album with that humid benzene-scented first day in Santa Barbara.

Radiolab attempts to answer this question. As always, nothing is solved at the end of the podcast. But it’s an entertaining listen.

I love obsessions. I will fixate on something until I am so exhausted of it just a mere thought of it brings up the meal I had hours ago. Politics, music, pop culture. Like a hippo in a tutu I clumsily meander through those corridors until all that is left is mere memories.

Here’s something I wrote in early 2003:

Bush has billed himself as a “compassionate conservative”. Where is the compassion in war? Where is the compassion in forcing the poor to carry the tax burden? Where is the compassion in outright lying to the American public to get what you want? I don’t see it, and judging by the polls, an increasing number of Americans don’t either. Despite this, it is becoming apparent that merely mobilizing to protest this government isn’t cutting it. We can go the ballot box until the cows come home, and nothing will change. There must be a fundamental change in this system. In the 1760s and 1770s, Americans were growing hostile to the strong arm of King George III. In 2003 it is time now to oust our current King George and his cronies in any means necessary.

Cute isn’t it?

After the big anti-war protests of February 2003 being written off as nothing more than a “focus group” by Bush and the complete incompetence of the left, I was resigned to the fact that any uprising would be just me in a stupid Che shirt circling a streetlamp.

So what’s one thing that transcends all classes? Sports! And here I am.

As you can tell, there are no games scheduled for LA teams tonight. So I’m just blah-blahing not knowing what to do with myself. I lie. I’m actually at a coffee shop in Redondo Beach. Ssssssh.

The best music documentary of all time is 1991: The Year Punk Broke. It documented Sonic Youth’s two-week European summer festival tour of 1991 as they brought along Nirvana, Dinosaur Jr., Gumball and Babes in Toyland. Shot by Dave Markey on Super 8 it was most notable of showing Nirvana in all their youthful exuberance just moments before “Smells Like Teen Spirit” blew up and changed pop culture.

Of course I’m biased since this was the music that sustained me through junior high and early high school. I wore the uniform screaming my individuality along with every other fan. Old fucks have the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. Slightly younger old fucks have T Rex and Alice Cooper. Slightly younger than slightly younger old fucks have Motley Crue and Whitesnake. I have Nirvana, Babes in Toyland and Sonic Youth.

Well the film is finally getting a DVD release on Sept. 13. Also notable on the site is the tour diary from Markey. Okay, it’s no Steve Albini’s Big Black final tour diary of 1987, but it’s hard to overcome the power of a cock ring.

On Spin.com, Markey reflected on those months including the circus show that was Courtney Love and Billy Corgan (Love makes only a brief appearance in the film.) Even Kim Gordon does vocal’s for Nirvana’s “School”.

What always hits me is the freedom on the film. Granted the bands are confined to back stages and hotels that, despite common romantic misgivings, are claustrophobic and boring. The drunk and stoned antics to alleviate this are plain silly and amusing, but you can see that these people are emancipated during those several weeks.

The freedom was short lived. Of course Nirvana would go on to be super big culminating in Kurt’s suicide in 2004. Babes in Toyland also signed to a major label and made two more albums before calling it quits. Gumball went away in a blink of an eye. Dinosaur Jr. went away and came back. And Sonic Youth somehow remains. Like cockroaches and Cher, Sonic Youth will be eternal.

Here’s the movie with French subtitles. It’s not the best quality, but remember the film was shot on Super 8.

I’m a little confused. In the fervor of the last gasps of Muammar Gaddafi’s regime, it was easy to get excited about a Free Libya. The rebels had the sons. The rebels didn’t have the sons.

This is for sure: the rebels did take control of Gaddafi’s compound. We all saw CNN’s Sara Sidner and her amazing helmet proof hair walk through the compound as rebel fighters looted the place for more weapons. Just in case, you know.

Another surety: Gaddafi escaped and left behind evidence of his obsession with former Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice. So where in the world is he?

One report from Reuters said that rebels claim they have Gaddafi and his sons surrounded in an apartment complex just outside of his compound. Apparently NATO is helping look for Gaddafi.

I just want to know something a bit more definitive. As in, what is keeping the entire country of Libya from devolving into full chaos. Or is Libya already drowning in chaos?

But as with all things interest wanes. What with the devastating news that cult leader Steve Jobs has resigned, the world moves on. So good luck there Libya. Hope you have a better go of it than Iraq.

So it sounds official. This year’s Sunset Junction Street Festival is dead. I wish I could be sad about it since I’ve had some great times there.

The picture above is from the festival in 2004. There was a George W. Bush re-election campaign booth, so I put the bumper sticker where it belonged. Who says politics and Diesel jeans don’t mix? As an aside, I still have those jeans although I haven’t worn them in years.

That year X headlined, but I really wanted to see The Unicorns who were great. They broke up soon afterwards, so I was happy to see them. I can’t remember if I was by myself watching the band or if I was with someone else. But it was nice to walk through the gates putting in just a little more than the suggestion donation of $8.

Nonetheless Cathi met up with me later along with the guy I just introduced her to: Tyson. Tyson had just become land-bound after working on a ship. Previously he was a denizen of Seattle. I met him through Michael whom I had known through LiveJournal and had just moved down here from Seattle.

So we went through the festival looking at the sights, eating funnel cakes, drinking lemonade, getting free American Spirit cigarettes in the tent, ducking the heat at Akbar and having cocktails, eating dirty dogs from the hot dog carts. If I remember, Cathi eventually was rolling on the sidewalk while I was just sitting on the sidewalk staring out into space.

Fun!

The one in 2002 was also fun with Sonic Youth, Sleater-Kinney and Mudhoney playing. That one I was by myself just strolling around and just talking with random people. Being a loner, I’m perfectly happy by myself and being left alone.

But as the years rolled on, the festival went downhill. The suggested donation became a cover charge. It went from $8 to $10 to $12 to $15 and now to $25 they were going to charge this year. As the entrance fee went up, the lineup spiraled downward. As an example this year was supposed to feature Hanson. Yes, that Hanson.

If I had gone I would have gone to only see two bands: Butthole Surfers and Helmet. Thankfully they would have played on Saturday night so I would only have to shell out $25. But for other music festivals, that’s a rip off no? The Pitchfork Music Festival in Chicago charged $45 for one-day passes. And their lineup included Animal Collective, James Blake, Thurston Moore, Guided By Voices, TV on the Radio, etc. etc. etc.

Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE Butthole Surfers. I probably would have paid the $25 if they did a stand-alone concert. But this is a festival. Bitch, please.

The festival has suffered schizophrenic disconnect in recent years. It doesn’t know if it’s just a neighborhood street festival or a music festival. The organizers need to figure out what they are or their battles with City Hall and the neighborhood will continue.

For this year, no tears from me. Instead I’ll be at Dodger Stadium for the weekend doing my thing.

Edit: I totally forgot. Cathi and Tyson have been an old married couple for the past several years.

It was a complete Jersey Shore day for me today. I started out going to the gym — cardio and arms. I realize all of the day hikes I have been doing recently have done some good. After three weeks of not going to the gym, I was not completely tuckered out.

Then it was the grooming, not tanning. I had neglected my man-regions longer than I am comfortable with. So out with the scissors and razor and off with the hair! My balls are very happy, thank you very much.

And laundry. Navigating through broken machines and obnoxious neighbors, I succeeded in getting Downy fresh clothing and bedding.

Much to my horror, thanks to the Wayback Machine I discovered a website of mine dating back to the late 1990’s and early 2000’s. While I am aghast at some of the content, I am actually somewhat impressed with the minimal design. It’s making me wonder if reliance on WordPress is stifling my creativity.

But those were the days when HTML and intro-level CSS was all that was needed to unleash your rants onto the world. There were a lot of hand-coding and attempts to be cheeky with <–! commands for hidden messages in your code. There were web rings and guestbooks. Unfortunately there were those Geocities sites.

It’s different now. No more Dante Woo and The Corky and Lapsus Calami. But now we have Tumblr and Posterous. And best of all, we don’t have to hand code anymore!

Can’t decide what to read, so I’ve been going back and forth between these books:

• Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace
• The History of Sexuality Vol. 1 by Michel Foucault
• The Great and Secret Show by Clive Barker
• Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller.

The problem is none of the books have been captivating my attention like Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson did for me several months ago. I want something complex but not diluted. Something fun but not cheap.

As for music, despite my recent flirtation with newer industrial releases such as the Haujobb, Imperative Reaction, KMFDM and ohGr, I have reverted to mainstays: Milemarker, Unwound, Skinny Puppy, Sleater-Kinney, PJ Harvey, Sonic Youth and what not.

Basically culturally I’m starving for something. What exactly I’m starving for, I don’t know.

After watching an unpromising Warrior, this film Weekend looks a little better. Instead of resting my hopes on mere homo-eroticism, here is actual homosexuality.

As director Andrew Haith says in the press kit:

I wanted to tell an honest, intimate and authentic love story. I wanted to express that feeling of both fear and excitement that comes with the possibility of something new. I wanted to watch these two guys slowly fall for one another, fall for each other’s differences almost as if they were uncovering missing pieces of themselves. I wanted to capture those moments that two people share when they truly start to engage with one another, gently focusing in on the struggles at the core of their characters.

Based on the trailer, this film looks promising.

On a Friday night after hanging out with his straight mates, Russell heads out to a nightclub, alone and on the pull. Just before closing time he picks up Glen. And so begins a weekend – in bars and in bedrooms, getting drunk and taking drugs, telling stories and having sex – that will resonate throughout their lives.

The movie will be released on Sept. 23 at the IFC Center in New York City. On Sept. 30 it will be released at the Sunset 5 theater in West Hollywood and the Playhouse 7 in Pasadena. It will also be On Demand via Sundance Selects. So I guess I know how I will celebrate the end of the baseball season.

[nggallery id=”3″]

It’s clear one of my recent obsessions is the Nike missile sites across Southern California. It’s so fascinating our own country’s obsession with coastal defense from the Japanese during World War II and the Soviets during the Cold War. And it’s amazing to step foot on these once forbidden places that could have been part of the chain reaction that destroyed the planet.

This site, LA-96, was a radar site that controlled and tracked all of the missiles part of the LA area sites. It’s mostly intact and part of a monument to our military history tucked away off the 405 freeway in the Santa Monica Mountains.

Off the 405 going west on Mulholland Drive, there’s a parking area where it ends. There are two trailheads available: the southern most trail takes you to the LA-96 site. It’s an easy uphill walk there of about less than a mile, and voila there it is.

While the signage is pretty funny, perhaps the most amusing thing are the telescopes they put all around the site including the radar tower. I don’t know exactly what they expect people to see through the haze that we can’t see with the naked eye, but they’re there.

From the site, there are a lot of trails that go out into the Santa Monica Mountains that can take you every which way. Just remember that the LA-96 site is on one of the highest places in the area so when heading back there is an incline. It’s not tough, but it is still something to consider.