Over the Hill, and Far Away to Grandmother's House We Go

I write to you all now from the other side of that mysterious number that makes a boy into a man and a woman into a candidate for collagen enhancement: 30. Suprisingly, but with characteristic perversity, I feel scads better at thirty than I was feeling at twenty nine! Go figure.
I had a wonderful vacation in LA, replete with beach lounging, nostalgic car trip with Dad and Ariel through the valley homes of Dad's youth, cuban food eating and Canter's waitress appreciation; FRAN; our waitress weighed in at about three hun and may have been working at Canters since its opening in the fifties. She hilariously reprimanded my Sister for telling me to have the tomatoes instead of the toast and then ordering the Fresser special which is an entire corned beef, sliced, on rye with coleslaw and potato salad, I love her.
I also did lots of friends and family hairdressing. I operated on Mom's partially absorbed twin, staved off the ever encroaching mullet from my dads spokane chop shop, cut my Aunt Joycie's beautiful siver thicket of hair into a modern version of her signature short do, gave my darling cousin's blonde bob some layers and volume and gave Court a half head of highlights and a long layer cut. In point of fact, within an hour and a half of landing we were in the beauty supply store (where I purchased a styling cape of many colors and realized that my tolerance for slow customer service has done some SERIOUS waning in the last seven months, HURRY UP YOU LACKSIDASICAL CALI BITCHES! I have traffic to get stuck in!!) Post foiling we watched "Brokeback Mountain," which was absolutely not good. I wasnt suprised, since Tommy Lee Jones won best actor for the fugitive over Leonardo DiCaprio's performance in What's Eating Gilbert Grape, that it was up for an Oscar. However, I was suprised that, given the tremendous emotional response on the part of SO many people, that I didnt give a rats ass whether either one of them lived or died. There was no character development, the name Jack Twist is completely rediculous, and any romance that might have been building with the fireside whiskey bonding was dissipated by watching Heath Ledger almost sock then spontaneously give it to Jake Gyllenhaal up the rear end with expectorated lubricant. Plus, it was a total mistake to bring their relationship into the seventies since it is nearly impossible to feel compassion or empathy for anyone with mutton chop sideburns. As usual, the legitimacy of my review is called into question by the fact that I fell asleep two thirds of the way through. Jet lag is a bitch.
On my actual birthday, Ariel, Joanna and I got up early and took the Joey's dog charlie on a walk through beverly hills. I actually ran him, since theyre walkers and I thought he'd appreciate the burst of speed. That turned out to be pretty discouraging as I realized that I was running fairly hard and charlie had sort of sped up his walk but hadnt even broken a run and was dusting me. I sprinted as fast as possible and he galloped a little bit but I could only keep it up for a block. Pathetic. Note to self: Come back as a four-legged next time around. Then I went and had a mani pedi with Jo, which was both lovely and much needed. I then had a birthday party of sorts at a great little restaurant in West Hollywood where I saw my entire family all around one table for the first time since my parents untied the knot. That was a lovely sight to behold. Afterwards thanks to a hot tip from a friend we went to see Khaley Ngewel, a group of Sabar drummers who have several times come to seattle to play for our spectaculars. They were playing in Santa Monica at a small bar. They went on first and were amazing, which was great for me and too bad for all those who had to follow them on stage. Its like having Aretha Franklin open for Nelly Furtado. She's a lukewarm cup of diner coffee to begin with but she looks a shit ton worse after watching a couple of sets of the queen of soul. I once said to my sister that Senegalese music, or west african music in general, is like a giant pitcher of inspiration, energy, soul and rhythm and anything else you listen to is poured out from this huge pitcher into a little shot glass, just a tiny fraction of the energy at the source. In any case, the watered down Ghanaian Emcee who went on after Oumar, Aziz and Maguette looked like pure hippie crap after their Sabar fire. We blew the hippie popsicle stand and, loathed to give up our parking space and call it a night at eleven o clock, the the old ho I am, we three went to a tiny karaoke bar down the street. It was an intense place, lots of classic rock, young LA hipsters combined with the urban white trash older LA generation who show signs of some serious hard living and quite a bit of sun exposure. I had a couple marriage offers, eat your heart out. Someone there, recognizing the familial cheekbone resemblance between the three of us congratulated us on hanging out with family. He said he didnt see family out having fun together like that very often and that we should be proud. I thought that was a pretty cool thing to say. I really did. The other highlight, besides the apple tart at the brasilian place Asa took me to, was my Nana's birthday party. She turned ninety on the thirtieth of May and everyone from salt lake to seattle came to celebrate. There was great entertainment in the form of my uncle bob loudly, publically and drunkenly outing his grandson's drug problem and consequent need to leave in order to maintain his rehab curfew and, in more planned entertainment, a fabulous Latin Jazz band. I danced a swing number with my dad which was really fun and a real moment to remember. Dad's a great lead. I think everyone else enjoyed watching us dance together too. You dont see that everyday. Plus, no one who wasnt somehow related to my mom's side of the family even got out of their seat. What can I say, salt lake. That mormon energy is just infectious. Anyhoo, it was a great trip, very relaxing. I got to lay on the beach and get a tan which was my main goal. Ariel and I did a LOT of laughing; Mom got what we've dubbed "Will Voice," on the way to the airport. The tremulous and serious tone, usually reserved for airplane trips, that she gets when she is about to remind ariel and i where the will is kept before she meets her airborne death. We were finally able to craft the mythology, soon to become commonlaw fact, of our greek ancestry. It started when the bartender at the italian spot in the valley where ariel was singing read her name off of her card and, with great etymological pride said " It probably used to be Lapadopoulous and they changed it when they came from greece." Familiar with the satisfaction that strangers get from assesing our greek heritage Ariel replied that it actually used to be Acidophilus and they changed it to Lapadapoulous then to Lapidus. This led to the hysterical creation of one Costas Acidophilus Bifidus Bulgaricus who arrived at ellis island from the shores of crete. When told by the gruff immigration officers that his name was "too ethnic" and "too hard" he looked down at the gold and lapis ring, the soft blue stone, blue like the aegean sea and worn round with the kind of wear only miles of rough squid net rope can effect, that his grandfather had slipped off of his own hand and onto his pinky as the great ship pulled away from the shore, and replied "Lapidus, Costas Lapidus." And that you budding gemological linguist, is where we got the name Lapidus. I thought i was going to wet my pants as that story revealed itself. It might sound a little overblown, but hardly a day passes where we dont hear the lapis or the greek guess and find ourselves saddled with the chore of dissapointing the person with our depressing but unadulterated Jewish lineage.
So, Ill stop here, but Im feeling stronger, so expect more regularity of submissions.

I'm depressed, but can't resist; Orthopractic Chirodoxy!

Let me first say that I apologise for (why is Ice-T playing a detective on a cop show? hes terrible!) my lapse in coverage. I, ah, havent been myself. The last couple of months have been really tough, I havent been able to get any perspective on anything nor have I felt remotely funny or entertaining. I got to NY and hit the ground running, thereby ditching all the habits and routines that make me feel stable and healthy. I also realized that in seattle, since I had been there my whole life, went to a small school, knew EVERYONE, worked everywhere and had family that did the same, it was a rare moment that I ever had to introduce myself. Maybe I had to say my name but then everyone knew someone I knew or who knew me and had an idea of who I was, what i was good at, known for. Consequently not only did I never have to talk about who I was (which I LOVED) but I didnt have to think about who I was. As much as I thought I was doing self examination, I didnt have to break myself down and decide who I wanted to be. Here, I have to talk about myself constantly, have to decide which parts of me are important and which are extraneous, and it isnt easy! It felt cool at first, exciting, aftger a few months it starts to feel hollow. Plus work is a hurter. I have GOT to get off the upper east side. Even though its been better than it was, its still the axis of toxcicity. Unfortunately, this depression shit means we have missed out on many an enlightening NY episode; I have got to get myself together here!! So, as THIRTY swiftly approaches, I am trying to regain control. I have been hitting the gym, which is great. Love the Prospect Park Y! I changed my schedule so that Im off on Sundays and can take dance class with Malang Bayo on sun evenings as well as having a weekend day off like a normal person, and i have been hitting the net and the pavement looking for a new job. So far I am interviewing at two really beautiful salons in the meatpacking district. One is owned by a black lesbian superstylist and is gorgeous, earthy and african themed. Very upscale with a wonderfully mixed clientele, i know I would learn a lot. She is a diva and a real hardass, i can already tell. Do i want to take that on? Not sure. Is there room for both of us in there? Not sure. But she definitely knows her stuff and its a very unique place, there are FEW salons that cater to a truly racially mixed clientele. She has all her stylists specialize in cut or color, that sucks for me. I have been getting a lot of color clients lately, which I love. Color is challenging and fun, and its also a serious money maker, it will be a while until I can charge 250 for a cut, knowhatimsayin? So thats something to consider. The other place is gay as a mutherfucker. Looks like a lachapelle photo, all bright colors and venetian glass mirrors. Gorgeous. I havent met the personality behind the salon yet, surely faggy, probably at LEAST as much of a diva as the other spot. Im going in to meet him on tuesday, should be a blast. He doesnt make you choose between cut and color, which is exciting. Plus the people there were really friendly! I also got offered a job as a makeup artist at some famous strip club that Howard Stern always talks about... If I were a real writer I certainly would have done it, but two thirty in the morning applying liquid eyeliner and lashes to strippers did not sound like the recipie for mental health Ive been looking for. Sorry, I know it would have been funny but much as I love living for storytelling, I have to look out for number one every now and again. I may do some temporary shifts, I'll let you know. There are two other spots i want to check out, and also want to sign up for some TIGI classes. Love that technique!
So combined with crippling depression I have contracted a helluva headcold and, joy of joys, my neck went out. Thanks loss that occured July 28th, t-boned at Boren and pine!! So I met this woman at the gym who is an "alternative chiropractic practitioner." I didnt really know what that meant but she said she wasnt a neck cracker, and that shit just always makes me nervous! I just feel like one miscrack could mean a life of quadraplegy! So i thought Id check out this alternative shit. So I called her when my neck went out. She is in Park Slope, very convinient. I began to feel a little uneasy when she sent me the medical history form online and it was nine pages long with questions like "What was different about you after treatment?" and "Did your mother have anaesthesia during your labor?" I was like shit my neck hurts who the hell cares about mom's epidural. But, I went, filled the thing out, and had my adjustments. So what she does is touch places on your spine and legs and direct your breath to different parts of the spine to try and get all your systems and the "waves" that connect them to work together. Its a very gentle and subtle sort of treatment, and its also done with three other people in the room. Which is weird. All in all, I had a POWERFUL skeptical response. But, of course, just like I stuck it out wth that therapist in Seattle even when I found her pants and undies inside out on the bathroom floor in her office, I went ahead and did it. I was so afraid it wasnt going to work, so agitated about it being too gentle and me not sensitive enough, that it got me thinking about all the stuff that has made me tense and unsensitive and guarded, all the people Ive had to say goodbye to and who've suprised me with their self obsession and dishonesty. I got really upset, I think the damn thing does actually move some energy around! So, on the way to the bathroom I see that this woman has all these orthodox texts and prayer books on the shelf. So I ask her if she was raised hasidic or orthodox or whatever. She says no, but that she has a lot of Religious Jewish clients "hang around enough and youll see a lot of women in wigs!" I told her I was suprised that that crowd went in for the wellness route. She said no, that they really seem to get it. That they believe, like she does, that we start out with everything we need for wellness and through life and trauma and seperation from god, we lose parts of those connections. So of course, this engenders a whole new wave of skepticism, first of all do I want to be using anything that people who wear nude hose, wigs, ten gallon hats, and smoking jackets and wrap their sideburn hairs around their ears use? If they beleive thats what God wants us to look like, they'll obviously believe anything! Not to mention that they dont look like theyre pursueing wellness! The pallor! So she says she holds egalitarian Orthodox Minians at the clinic, and that while she isnt strictly religious that she is "somewhere between orthodox and conservative." So I ask her what the difference is between Orthodox and conservative and she says she isnt sure but that she thinks conservatives dont beleieve that the Torah was written by god but by Moses! I DONT THINK SO!!! I dont think anyone who calls themselves a Jew thinks that the Torah didnt come from god! So the skeptic frenzy continues, none of which has anything to do with the fact that my neck, despite her bizarre ignorance of the different sects of observant Judaism, is actually feeling better. Wellness ho! Ill keep it up long enough to see what happens, but I definitely need some firm massage as a complement. And ill try not to ask anymore questions that may further undermine the Dr/Patient relationship.
Ok. I forced myself to write this tonight before I went to sleep but didnt finish doing Mahdis' blowout (damn, im getting good) and Amy's color and cut until eleven, then I procrastinated an hour watching House (when will the medical show market become saturated?) and making plans for after work tomorrow, I have to work for free on sunday cause the obnoxious Cougine (Italian Bridge and tunnel) stylist from work has organized this huge fundraiser for locks of love that she's guilting us all into participating in, and now its one thirty and exhaustion breeds depression so, g'night!