Echo

For Documentation and for You Guys to Share My Disgust

10:50pm – 11:27pm 6/26/06 Westwood

Went to Noodle Planet with Michael. Sat at the back booth against the wall opposite the cashier’s booth, with the emergency exit behind me. The waiter was the tallish Asian guy with pale skin and hair spiked up in the front. Very polite. Ordered the Noodle Planet Pho, asked for steak only (no flank). Ordered Chicken Satay Hand Rolls. Michael ordered the Chicken Tom Yum. We ordered Spicy Yakisoba for Reggie. Michael got a mango green tea drink for me and a boba drink for himself next door.

The food came and the Tom Yum and Pho came first. We started eating. Yakisoba came later and I let the waiter know that we never received the Hand Rolls. Had eaten a quarter of my bowl of pho when I saw something floating at the top of the bowl (located at about 11 o’clock) , brownish, about the size of an almond. I thought maybe it was a piece of fried garlic when I saw that it had long black, muscular legs. I thought it was a cockroach. I took a picture of it with my camera phone. The picture didn’t come out clear because there wasn’t good light and it’s a crappy camera phone.

I flagged the first employee who walked by and told him there was a cockroach in my soup. He was shocked and said, “A cockroach?” He looked in the bowl and said dismissively, “Oh, it’s just a June Bug.” He apologized and took the bowl and showed it to a guy who was standing at the cashier’s area. Later he came back and asked if I wanted another pho because they were already making it. I said, “No.” (Especially because I think they make a big kettle of the soup that sits all day, which means that everyone throughout the day was probably eating June Bug soup). He said okay, and walked away. I called my mom to tell her what happened. I was worried that I could get sick. I told her in Chinese that it was like a cockroach but bigger, but I didn’t know what the word for June Bug was in Chinese. She said knew what I was talking about, and that a June Bug is even worse than a cockroach. She told me to contact the health department tomorrow morning.

The employees kept coming by to clear the table because they were closing. Our waiter came by and said sorry and said not to worry about the check and to take our time. Shortly, another person came over to clear the table and tell us they were closing even though there were still other tables eating. I couldn’t get Reggie on the phone. Finally, the guy I had shown the bug to came over and asked if he could pack up Reggie’s noodles because we had to leave because they were closing (again there were 4 other tables there). I told him that I was grossed out about everything, and I didn’t want to bring the food home, but I wasn’t sure if Reggie would be mad if I didn’t so I was trying to reach him. He said he would box it up just in case because they were closing. He came back with the box and apologized again but had already turned his back and was walking away before he finished saying it. I was pretty angry about that. It seemed like other than our waiter, everyone was more interested in getting us out of there than the fact that they’d just served me a giant bug in my food.

I went home, threw up, then got a hold of Reggie, who is heading over there right now to get the name of a manager and the names of the servers.

If you’ve ever seen the show Cheaters, then you know what a slimy, self-righteous punk Joey Greco (the host) is. I find that I watch the show mostly to scoff at his inflaming comments and in hopes of seeing someone kick his sleazy drama-chasing ass. And also for the Springer-like quality the makes for good TV when you’re up at 3am on a Saturday night.

And for all of you who feel the same way I do, here’s your moment of zen.

Welcome to Hump Island! Which, may I add, is TOTALLY not gay.

america the day it went cold turkey off of prozac

tonight america feels unsettled
uneasy
like a blister on the brink of burst

the fires of the west have not stopped raging
not nearly enough to mollify the
slow burn of violence rumbling in its belly
digging at the seams

the moon hangs high
exuding indifference

detachment

self-loathing

fear

neglected in its own defiance
a rotton child plotting with an axe

66 runs like a vein through the heartland
feeding off the windtossed litter of the desolate masses
but it’s the silence that feeds the slow burn
the silence that eats itself from the inside out
until there’s nothing left to be remembered by

on the shoulder near cleveland
a bum wanders the freeway
a forgotten man
following the twisted metal guardrail
through the tunnel of his existence
stumbling on a paved road that laps up
the hollow spaces in between
but never once choking on the things that
were meant to be kept

and if you ask him in a way that he knows you exist
he’ll tell you

he’s heard this place whispering
when it thinks no one is listening
towards a heaven overrun by sycophantic wings
flapping to the rhythm of a rhythmless beat
praying for an upended big rig
or a six-car clot to end its misery
and begging someone to touch its emptiness
to really feel it
before dropping it back into that dark
hungry space
where everything that is found
was once lost
and loss is the blanket which covers us
when our insides becomes too expansive to be named.

and you and i?

we slept in our beds
and dreamed our dreams
that shielded us from the nightmares
never aware of the world outside
swirling in its own misery
contemplating its meaning
until it awoke to find itself a butterfly in
its own dream
floundering deeper into a bottomless gulch
that was never given a name

and when i wake
you will not remember me

one day i will land softly on the tip of your tongue
a butterfly kiss that’s more a twitch than a tug
briefly reminding you of a truth that precedes the universe
and you will remember a time
from somewhere far away
in some distant memory
once
when you were loved
by someone who existed

and that, in itself, had been enough.

on american airlines flight
486 from ft. worth, texas
to detroit

i neatly autograph the plastic pretzel
bag of the sleeping woman in the window
seat next to me

(carefully placing it back on its napkin on her armrest)

so

just in case she should sleep
through the entire flight
she’ll have something to remember
me by.

What Underachiever Will the Warriors Draft This Year?

One of the biggest days of the year is coming up for me next week–the NBA draft. Throughout the year, I keep an eye on the draft projections, researching them and trying to figure out which of the many names will one day be household. It’s kind of like gambling, or trying to predict the future. Mind you, each year I probably watch about 1/3rd of a college game at most so I haven’t seen the majority of the players play. I just like to read about them and their scouting reports.

The Golden State Warriors have made a name for themselves of having awful drafts. Count on the Warriors to pick up clumsy white big man Todd Fuller over Kobe Bryant, Peja Stojakovic, Steve Nash, Jermaine O’Neal, while also later trading for Erick Dampier of the same draft. Count on the Warriors to vacillate between young high-school phenom Tracy McGrady, and undersized center from a tiny conference, Adonal Foyle, and pick Foyle because they thought he might turn out to be a poor man’s Tim Duncan (the fact they gave Stone Hands a ridiculously large salary when he shouldn’t be playing in the league at all, let alone starting for a team, is insult to injury). The Warriors once badly needed a point guard in a draft that featured Baron Davis, Steve Francis, Andre Miller and Jason Terry, and instead, traded the pick for a geriatric Mookie Blaylock to Atlanta, who promptly used the pick on Jason Terry. Let’s not forget the 2002 draft where the Warriors had the #3 pick, and while their camp was high on Amare Stoudamire, management was worried about “character issues” and instead, went with the safe, “can’t miss” pick of Mike Dunleavy, Jr. My friend Nate put it best when he described Mikey as…”half man, half deer.” The guy looks like he’s perpetually caught in headlights.

So with the draft in a week and the Warriors holding the #9 pick in a weak draft, I figure there’s not going to be anything get excited about but it doesn’t stop me from obsessing about the board. Keep in mind that the only things I know about most of these players are from what I’ve read on the internet, but I think the player I’d be most excited about the Warriors getting this year is Ronnie Brewer. He plays the 1-2-3, is strong and quick, is a great passer and a good defensive player. I hear his shot is atrocious because of a freak childhood injury that left him with an elbow that doesn’t extend all the way, but as long as it goes in, I don’t care how it looks (ie Shawn Marion). I also like the way he expresses himself in interviews. He sounds like someone with heart. I also like Leon Powe and Rajon Rondo.

The one guy there’s a lot of talk about the Warriors picking is Patrick O’Bryant. He’s a big center with a frame that can take on more, but in his interviews he sounds an awful lot like Erick Dampier. And to a Warriors fan, the only thing worse than a guy who reminds you of Erick Don’t Care is a guy who reminds you of Chris Webber.

Personally, whatever happens, I think the problem lies in the inability of the Warriors system to develop good players and have their young guys meet their potential. If you’ve got someone who’s got a heart like Wade or Arenas, he’s gonna succeed in almost any system that gives him room to develop because they have that internal fire and good instincts. For example, I have a theory that Dallas has the best staff (best trainers, doctors, etc) because their players come back so quickly from injuries and perform at a high level, while every player I’ve seen who landed in Dallas has suddenly bulked up without losing their agility, speed, etc (ie Nowitzki, Howard, Terry). I think a player like Leon Powe, who is going to drop into the 2nd round because of injury concerns, would do well on this team because he would have the best trainers and doctors to keep his major red flag, the injuries, in check. Without injury concerns, he’s a guy with fire in his heart and an incredible motor who could play Dallas’ running game and gives them an athletic post presence. Someone like Rondo would do well with Phoenix because he’s fast and athletic, and while he’s not a shooter, he’s a great distributor and slasher. But no matter who comes to Golden State, they’re faced with a few problems, mainly a team that doesn’t know what it’s identity is, a management that doesn’t know what it would like the team’s identity to be, a coach that can not earn the respect of his players, and an owner who is cheap.

They say that the Warriors are the farm club for the NBA, the place where young players have break out seasons as soon as they leave the team. All I ask is that they draft someone who truly has the fire, the desire and the talent, and let him and all the other young guys play rather than playing guys like Foyle and Dunleavy (and Davis). Or trade the pick for something that will actually make this team better in the long run.

Baby loves her stats, and today’s stat winner is… Sonya Thomas!

http://ifoce.com/eaters.php?action=detail&sn=20

Question: Why is she single? It can’t possibly have anything to do with her eating 10% of her weight in one sitting.

Check out http://www.whitepeople.tv/

Click through to the video skits. Reggie plays a pimp.

Weekend Recap

Reggie and I went to see INXS at the Greek Theatre on Friday, spawned by my infatuation with Rockstar: INXS (or whatever that reality show was called). Actually, I never actually watched the show…just clips of the songs on msn’s homepage. But they were an internet worktime obsession for me, nonetheless. So JD Fortune, this arrogant but charismatic Canadian dude won the show, is now their arrogant but charismatic lead singer who is living his dream. I doubt he would have ever believed a few years ago that he would win a TV show and be the lead singer of INXS.

I was bummed I missed them the last time they were in LA when Marty, the runner up, was opening for them. I liked Marty and he seemed like a nice guy, but I have to admit that JD had some pretty ridiculous stage presence and the over-the-hill members of INXS must have had their ears ringing with the sounds of C-A-S-H from the way the (female) audience devoured him.

I was even more bummed to find that opening for them this time was… Scott Stapp. Of Creed. Who recently got caught with Kid Rock getting blowjobs from skanks on video. And he looked at the camera and said, “It’s good to be the king,” and all of a sudden, I didn’t know what was right in the world anymore.

We decided that we had to miss Scott’s act at all costs, so we went to the gym, came home, surfed the internet, took a leisurely drive around the city, found the Greek Theatre, figured out where to park, searched out a nice little dive-y restaurant, had dinner, chatted with the waitress, walked into the wrong-gendered bathrooms respectively…before heading over to the 7:30 show at 9pm.

I was disappointed to find out that INXS had already taken the stage, but as I said…we had to miss Scott Stapp’s set at all costs.

The Greek is a pretty awesome venue, second only to the Hollywood Bowl in terms of atmosphere. At night, it feels like a concert held in the middle of a forest a la Lake Tahoe, and in the summer, the temperature is just perfect. Our seats were in the lower intestinal end of butt f-ing Egypt, last row before the bleachers where overweight women in their 40’s were screaming for JD to take his shirt off as the men lethargically sipped from their beers. JD meanwhile, was most definitely high. Ecstasy was my guess. He’s quite a performer and has an amazing voice, but he couldn’t stop jumping, kicking, slinking and molesting anything and anyone within arm’s reach (he kinda looked like one of those long-armed balloon things that wave at you from car dealerships as you drive along the freeway, only slightly more fluid and slightly more ridiculous). I think half the crowd was there because they wanted to hear all of their favorite INXS songs, while the other half were barely-of-age girls who had seen him on the show. But even though he was technically this guy living his dream who had gotten a chance to play with his favorite band (as Reggie put it, it would be like me winning a contest to get to direct Steve Martin, or as I put it, Reggie getting a chance to sing with New Edition), it was clear that this was HIS show and the guys of INXS were just the back-up band. It got pretty obnoxious at times, especially when they all walked off stage to take a break before the encore, and he wouldn’t get off the stage, hamming it up and doing that whole, “You love me, you REALLY love me” bullshit. And plus the whole acting really high and stroking everything in erotic fashion was embarassing.

I called Michael when they played his favorite INXS song, “What You Need,” and I was relieved that we didn’t miss my favorite, “Never Tear Us Apart,” which they played in the encore. Love it when the sax comes in. Overall, it was an entertaining show but it felt like we were all there just to stroke one man’s massive ego.

Saturday night was Brian and my joint birthday party at Daddy’s. I discovered late that my breasts were quite willing to Tara Reid themselves out of my dress, so I had to wear tape on the inside in a feeble attempt to keep them reined in. The party was a blast, as always. I love it when my birthday comes around because it’s an excuse to plan something where I can see everyone and it’s such a warm and fuzzy thing to be reminded of what great people I have in my life. We took inappropriate pictures as usual including a paparazzi assault on some poor a-hole who thought he could sneak into the women’s room to hook up with some chick. I had 2 Irish Car Bombs, 2 Rasberry Stolis/Sprite, and I think Eric of Dos Spanish Flies gave me his gin and tonic, but I’m not sure because I was super fuzzy at that point and drinking anything anyone put in my hand, regardless of whether I was capable of getting the liquid from the glass to my mouth. I’m really surprised I handled that much alcohol that well. I remember at one point, I went to the bathroom and looked at my face and I honestly couldn’t understand why I couldn’t recognize my face as my own, yet I was able to remain on my feet the entire night.

Sareet emailed over her awesome pictures from the party on Sunday, which prompted me to hook up the photo printer Reggie had gotten me for Christmas (I know, I’m a jerk, but it took me a while to remember to buy an extra power strip). I tested it by printing out these pictures I took at a family dinner, only to find that 60 pictures in, the yellow ink cartridge ran out. How ironic. I guess we Asians really are yellow.

Speaking of colors, when we were up north, Reggie and Candice were talking about interracial relationships because her sister just had a baby with her black boyfriend. Michael was hovering, eavesdropping on the conversation and trying to find a way to jump in. At one point, Reggie says something about race and Michael interrupts saying, “Does Julia talk about your race? Because that would be rude…” Reggie and Candice vehemently assured him that he’s got the wrong idea, that they were talking about something else, but Michael continues, “Because it’s rude to talk about people’s race, whether they’re black…or peach….”

Yep.

Michael thinks we’re peach.

But I’ll be happy to let him know that according to my new HP printer, we’re clearly heavy on the yellow.

Today I had to go back to work. Nothing makes you hate work more than having too much fun on the weekend.

Katfight at Koi

Reggie took me to Koi last night for my birthday. The place was crowded with the Hollywood hip and the Hollywood hip-wannabes, interspersed with Hollywood hip-wannabe businessmen looking awkward in their attempts to look cool with their hair plugs and rasberry martinis. I had heard the food here was amazing, but was unimpressed with the majority of the clientele, particularly the three girls in designer skank outfits who shoved me out of the way in their hurry for the hostess to address them immediately.

We were told to wait at the bar despite our reservation time which had passed twenty minutes earlier (rumblings around the room was that you could wait over an hour past your reservation time), but Reggie happened to know the manager who got us seated immediately. The food was really good–we had the baked crab rolls, the “creamy” tempura shrimp that had this caramelized glaze and the miso cod which melted in your mouth. While we were looking at the dessert menu, Megan, the manager, came by and grabbed the menu and said, “You’re going to try everything.” She bought us a sampler platter of desserts and a glass of Japanese dessert wine, which was the equivalent of Fat Girl’s Heaven. The dessert platter featured strawberry cheesecake, a molten chocolate volcano cake with rich vanilla ice cream, a creme brulee trio (vanilla, hazelnut, cappuccino), and an assortment of mochi (strawberry, mango, vanilla, chocolate, espresso). I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been so happy at a dinner before in my life…I mean, they gave us the regular portions of everything on the dessert menu. It was like eating whatever you wanted from a really upscale restaurant’s dessert tray.

As we left the restaurant and walked by the valet area, we saw a brand new white Mercedes parked at the curb in front of a little VW Golf. The valet drove up and parked a car slightly in front of the Mercedes, and in a hurry to get out, the Mercedes’ driver backed up to try to get around, slamming into the front bumper of the VW. From how hard the Mercedes went back, I don’t think the driver even looked to see if anything was behind her. So there was this sickening crunch and everyone kinda gasped. The driver of the VW gets out and inspects the bumper, but no one gets out of the Mercedes. Some valet guys go to the driver’s side and tell the driver that she just hit a car, and out jumps one of the three girls who had obnoxiously pushed in front of me to talk to the hostess. She’s talking on her cellphone and never gets off the phone to fully give the situation her attention at any point in the night. So she’s arguing that she didn’t feel anything, that she didn’t back up, that she didn’t hit that car. There had to have been 15 people out there including about 5 valet guys who all saw it, and she was still claiming that she didn’t hit the car. The bumper of the VW was creased (I heard that VW bumpers are made out of foam so even if they look fairly okay, they’re crumbled on the inside) and she looked at the back at her car and says, “See? There’s no damage.” At one point, I heard her try to make the argument that the car was kinda crappy anyway so the damage didn’t matter. I happened to have watched the whole thing happen including the moment of impact from less than 5 feet away, so I told the valet that I saw what happened and she definitely backed into the car, which negated her next claim that the guy behind her drove into HER. So this idiot chick is arguing with the valet and getting belligerent and the security guard pulls her to a corner to talk to her in private. The girl who had been in her backseat has gotten out, and is flashing her boobs and flirting with the valet, telling him it’s nothing and “let’s just drop this whole thing.”

Just when I thought these chicks had reached a peak in their level of disgusting behavior, I see this brunette in the passenger seat who’d been on the phone the whole time say, “I’ll take care of this.” She jumps out of the car, announces, “THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED.” She said that they didn’t hit the car and started cussing out the valet. The valet doesn’t speak the greatest English and is trying to be polite, telling her that they backed into the car and were responsible and they had witnesses that saw it. She’s in his face, totally drunk and belligerent, and calling him all kinds of names he doesn’t deserve, trying to intimidate him. He tries to make a case that he’s not wrong, even pointing to me saying, “That lady saw the whole thing.” She looks at me and I said, “You guys backed into this car.” She takes a step towards me and says, “IS THIS YOUR SHITTY ASS CAR?”

Okay, let’s hit pause for a second.

No this isn’t my “shitty ass car.” The way she said it, it was like she was trying to intimidate me, like I’m gonna say, uh yeah, you’re right. My car is shitty, you drive a Mercedes, so feel free to whale on that shitty little pathetic thing because this whole thing is totally my fault. Fuck you, you arrogant stupid bitch.

I say, “No, I drive a car much nicer than yours but even if it were my car, you still backed into it.”

She went on a tirade that had the word “bitch” mixed in there, so I laughed and said, “Shut up you drunk ho.”

Apparently, that surprised her and threw her off so she said, “You Asian…” (the rest was incoherent) and she rushed up and goes to shove me.

So this drunk, prissy-diva chick goes to shove me but I’ve got her wrist in my hand and have it twisted agains her body with my fingers pushing hard at an angle against her bone before she can even finish her motion. Her wrist was so thin it felt like I could snap it with just my hand if I pressed hard enough. Her eyes go so wide and instantly, there are security guards pulling her away. She screaming trash talk and the men force her into her car, but I’m not worried about it because she’s an idiot and she’s gonna get herself in some trouble if she really wants to step back up to me. The security guard came up to me and apologized but I laughed and Reggie said, she’s trying to pick a fight with the wrong person. I think secretly both of us wanted her to try to start something. We had watched this girl verbally abuse a poor guy who was just trying to do his job, strut around like she and her friends couldn’t be held accountable for their own irresponsible actions, try to throw some blubbering racial slur at me and then think she could put her hands on me to physically intimidate me when she wasn’t verbally dexterous enough to. I wouldn’t have minded teaching that girl that her arrogant sense of entitlement doesn’t protect her from a broken nose, but even though Reggie said he had hoped I would punch her, I would have probably just grabbed her if she tried to put her hands on me again and thrown her on the ground to avoid any severe legal tangles.

She made a big point of walking by me later with her nose up to show she wasn’t afraid of me, but she didn’t look me in the eye or say anything. I just laughed because she’s a coward and she knows it. I don’t care if her dumb drunk friend drives a Mercedes and they think they can’t be held accountable for anything. Those girls were despicable human beings.

Today is my birthday and I got an email from Macy’s Online that said, “For your birthday, FREE SH….” (apparently the subject line was too long to display). I was hoping that it said “free shit” but it turned out to be “free shipping.”

I had a dream last night that I went back to college to walk around and I walked into this room that looked like some A/V Club’s lair. Lots of techie/geeky stuff laying around as well as personal items. I started leaving notes for one of the guys on his desk, telling him I was in love with him and had been watching him from afar for a while, and we started leaving notes back and forth. I could tell he was surprised but really into it, wanting to meet me, but to me, it was a joke and I kept stringing him along. One day, I walked in and left a note and as I walked towards the door, he stepped into the frame, catching me red-handed. He was this really tall guy with red hair, about 6’3, bulky in that he’d be considered straight up fat if he weren’t so tall. He really wasn’t attractive, looked like he wasn’t the most hygienic person and didn’t have much of a sense of humor. So he looks me dead in the eye and says, “So you’re the one.” And I’m thinking, oh crap, this was all a joke and now I’m being confronted. Plus, he was blocking the door. So I’m blubbering because I’m caught and this was all a cruel, awful joke I was playing on the poor guy, when I realize he’s Kevin Ray Underwood. And I’m thinking, he’s basically a guy who’s really sensitive and not that socially adjusted, but also has the potential to be seriously violent if he feels he’s been humiliated, so I’m freaking out. I’m looking at him like, can I pretend convincingly enough that I’m someone who’s been into him to get myself out of the room, and even if I can, if I try to disappear, is he going to stalk me? I’m trying to act like I was really into him even though I’m shy and embarrassed now but I can tell that he’s looking at me and he knows that I’m scared of him and not into him like all my letters have said. So I can tell he’s getting suspicious and a little angry, and I’m blubbering because I’m scared of him and trapped in a room and I know he’s going to kill me or seriously hurt me when he realizes I was playing a cruel joke on him. I woke up just as I was half-apologizing/half-begging for him to understand that it was just a stupid, stupid mistake I made that wasn’t funny at all and begging for him to forgive me.

I think this dream was spawned by an exchange I had with Brian late last night, when I said, “Hey Brian, my bologna has a first name.” And he said, “O-S-C-A-R?” And I said, “No. Kevin.”

*****
Last weekend Michael graduated. He goes to a school for kids with special needs, and they graduate the year they turn 22. The graduation was held on the basketball court of the school with all the chairs from the classrooms and offices pulled together for the audience to sit on. There were 5 kids graduating, 3 from Michael’s class and 2 from another, with varying levels of functionality. The kids put on some skits that were written by one of the students (one of them was titled “The Frustrated Corpse,” a detective murder mystery narrated by the corpse) which were surprisingly good and not worse or less developed than skits put on by normal high school students. Michael’s teacher, in his speech, described Michael as the “Alex P. Keaton of Room 18, the businessman of the class.” I got a kick out of that. Michael and one of his graduating classmates had each prepared a speech, but when they were asked to go up, they both refused to go first. The teacher asked Michael if he wanted to go first and Michael said no, so he asked the othe girl who said no, so he asked Michael again who growled at him, so he asked the girl who said, “No, have Michael go first.” Finally, he made the girl go up first and she spent nearly her entire speech thanking God and assigning him adjectives. It was kind of sweet though, the power and conviction of her faith. Michael still wouldn’t go up so his teacher offered to read his speech for him.

The teacher started off reading, “Hello, my name is Michael J. Shih” and one of the kids yelled (very seriously), “YOU’RE NOT MICHAEL SHIH!” Halfway through the speech, Michael went up and read the speech over his teacher’s shoulder.

They opened up the floor to the students who had parting words for their graduating classmates. One girl stood up and said, “I’m really going to miss you guys now that you’re graduating…but I’m glad you’re leaving.” Another kid told this girl, Frances, that he was going to miss her even though she once threw him into a wall. He steamrolled over teachers trying to shush him as he described the incident and informed her that he was still going to miss her despite that. Overall though, many students had very nice, sentimental parting words for their classmates. After a while, the same kids kept raising their hands so they ended the ceremony and proceeded to the BBQ.

I’ll tell you, Michael is a lucky kid because he has a family that is supportive and protective of him, and also, has the financial means to support him and give him the care he needs. There was one kid, a really interesting character and nice kid, even though he rapid-fires questions that cause conversations with him to go in a circle [ie one 1 minute conversation I had with him:

who are you?
I’m Michael’s-
Why are you Michael’s mother?
I’m actually Michael’s sister.
What color is that smoke?
I’d say gray or–
What color is that tree?
Oh I’d say–
Do you know how I turned on the grill–?
I suppose, uh–
I turned a knob. Why are you Michael’s sister? ]

My mom told me this kid’s father wasn’t around and his mother had died when he was young so he was raised by his grandmother who looked to be in her 70s, wheelchair-bound and very feeble. There really wouldn’t be anyone to take care of him, especially now that his grandmother was so old. Near the end of the BBQ, he beelined over to me from across the entire school where I was on the basketball courts playing basketball. He walked right through the middle of the game and said to me, “Before you leave, I want to do this.” He clasped both hands tightly and shook them. At first I was confused because he was kinda doing that close to his crotch. I asked him what he meant and he said the exact same thing with the exact same motion, in the exact same location. I asked him, “Shake my hand?” He nodded. I told him, “I’ll shake your hand right now!” He smiled so broadly it lit up his entire face and shook my hand enthusiastically. That made me feel really good.

With most graduations, there’s this electricity in the air, a feeling of excitement, of all the possibilities that could be in the future of these kids set free into the great wide open. With this graduation, it seemed like everyone was proud of the graduates, but underneath was the unspoken question of, “What’s going to happen to them?” It’s very bittersweet.

As for Michael, he’s going to be working at my parents company doing data entry while we look for some kinds of classes he can take that can teach him work skills. We’re trying to cut back on his medications to see if that can give him a better balance, and hopefully, as he matures and gains independence, with the right guidance and structure, he can succeed within his individual potential in life and attain a satisfactory level of autonomy.

My goal is to become financially stable enough to afford a place for him in LA, and perhaps start some kind of company where he can do simple tasks that would occupy his day and give him a sense of achievement. I would like my parents to move down here permanently too in order to keep him close, because I really do worry about his health and think it
would help his development to be around peers more instead of his parents and other symbols of authority all the time.

My mom’s dream is that one day, Michael will be able to get married and have kids. I would like to see that happen as well, but that’s something that will come if it’s there. We can’t push it. The best we can do is help Michael develop within himself, to raise his self-esteem and guide him through his quest for independence, help him and protect him when he hits one of the limitations of his disability, and ultimately give him unconditional love in hopes that he lives a happy, uncompromised life.

It’s an exciting time and a scary time. It’s all very bittersweet.