The Queen is Dead; Long Live Vega$

First the bad news. I will not be doing my winter tour of London and Ireland in February as I had originally planned. I carefully packed away my new rain coat, boots, and sweaters. I hope to pull them and the tour books out in the spring and reschedule my UK adventure.

Still, one needs a break. A break from the bedroom full of boxes, the office full of work, the phone full of unanswered calls, and the yard full of tiny, barking dogs. I yearn to be back in Maui. Crave it, dream of it, fill my nights full of mai-tais in anticipation. But, you know, I can't afford it. So, I'm heading to Vega$ and pretending I'm in Maui. And Paris. And Venice. Some of my bitches will join me, so we can hit the town and Liberace Museum in style. We will eat macadamia nuts by the slot machines and dance through the Bellagio at midnight in mumus.

While in Vega$, I will go by the name 'Rachel'. There is no shame in my game. Though, regular readers of the blog might think there should be.



So, most of you know that my dad passed a couple weeks ago. That's a hard thing. He had been sick, gone through chemo and then was better. Then my aunt shows up at the HR farm to let me know that I needed to go to UCSF that minute, that my dad got sepsis and wasn't expected to make it through the night.

In this twisted modern world, relationships between parents and children get complicated quickly. My relationship with my father was no exception to that rule. Still, my father loved me to the best of his ability and he loved me more than he loved anyone else. That counts for something and then some.

So, after the death, is the work. I spent most of my days last week in his cramped, San Francisco apartment, filling trash bag after trash bag with a lifetime of waste. Two year old tv guides, old vhs tapes, newspapers. This weekend is more of the same. My family and friends have been very helpful. Muffins and spare hands arrive like magic.

It's also been a crash course in making funeral arrangements. I don't care how many seasons of Six Feet Under you have under your belt, it still catches you off guard. And, of course, the cost is off the charts. And, I wanted to pick out a charity for the whole 'in lieu of flowers' thing. Since my aunt called into question the legitimacy of 'The Rachel Maui Fund', I was forced to go with Meals on Wheels.

So, now I am in my living room, newly cluttered with boxes of dvds, audio-visual equipment, books, and the like. Going through his wallet was hard. Something so intimate about that. This object, attached to him daily, filled with random cards, a picture of me, $17. I took the cash and bought a bottle of wine. I know it's not wise to blow through your inheritance in one day like that, but I'm a rebel. I opened the bottle on Saturday, surrounded by his family and friends. I toasted him in silence.


Dream Landscapes

Last night in one of my dreams; I revisited the scene of a previous dream from weeks ago. It was odd, the dream took place in 'Philadelphia'; though it didn't really look like any part of Philly that actually existed in my memory. At some point during the original dream, I actually questioned this false Philly in the dream itself. Suddenly, in the dream, it dawned on me that it didn't look like Philly. Like my waking brain chimed in and questioned what my dreaming brain had come up with. My dreaming brain though, is a smart, wily creature, it decided that the dream landscape was the university city area in Philly. A neighborhood I was not very familiar with in real life. So, the dream was able to progress. It mainly involved moving back to Philly, bike riding with my friend Alisa, and talking about things. It's like my real, waking life, except with exercise. And this dream last night was kind of the same thing, bike riding with Alisa, going places, talking about things. Pithy, pithy stuff.

It was just so odd that the dream landscape Philly was the same one as before. Like my dreams take place on sound stages and there are a limited amount of sets. I talk to Alisa, I bike ride with her, I bike ride myself in this fictitious Philly. Last dream, I took in a museum, but this time woke up before I got in any sight seeing. Alisa and I did start a conversation about the differences between west coast racism and east coast racism before I pedalled away. My dreaming brain is very subversive; if I start sleep walking the dominant paradigm better watch out.


Friends Romans Bitches, Lend Me Your Ears

I need to talk this through. I am trying to be a decent person. I am trying to lead a good life. I am trying not to be an asshole. I have set goals for the New Year. Some of these goals seem decent enough and I'm already on track. No more plastic bags! Open an account with a bank that is not funding facism! Go to that gym place that all the kids talk about! And then there is the big goal. The hard goal. No new clothes or shoes purchased in 2008. Help! I think I have lost my mind. It is already day two and the withdrawal is unbearable, and this is a leap year, an extra day, 366 days. The insanity. Dear LordBabyJesus please help me.

Also, you can still buy me clothes. That is allowed. It would be rude to not accept your generous gift. Please. Please. Please.