The Questing Beast

The morning of September 11, 2001 I was in my seventh grade geography class. Our teacher came in a few minutes late, and announced very simply, “Well, it's a bad day for this country. Someone flew a plane into the World Trade Center.” A room full of 12 year olds was silent. We were too young to process this. But we tried. My first thought was, “the same one we were just in last year for a field trip?” I had to contextualize it in my life. A thing that I had been in fairly recently had just been destroyed. The why of it all was completely beyond me at the time. It continues to be beyond me. The shock of it was clear on Mr. Forney’s face. Like many things in my young life, I had experienced far too little to realize how abnormal it all was. I just took it as a fact.

Somehow, we went through a full day. Some people were taken out of school early. I was not. I am not sure how our teachers made it through the day. I cannot conceive of what it took for Mr. Forney to step into that classroom, knowing that a world changing event this was, how horrific these events were. How do you walk your young students through hearing and digesting news you yourself cannot fathom? How do you explain terrorism? I have grown to admire Mr. Forney for his handling of this event. As the days went on, he continued to help us through it. I suppose he figured that, as the person responsible for teaching us about the world in which we lived, it was his responsibility to help us understand this strange moment. He walked through the fear, anger, and confusion with us. When a student suggested that when the people responsible were found (did we know it was Bin Laden yet?) we should put them in an airplane and crash it. Forney shut this down. We as a nation were better than that, he told us. We do not partake in cruel and unusual punishment. He empathized with the anger this student felt; I am sure he felt it too.

Following the events, he decided he was going to change the curriculum. When it was clear that this was terrorism, and war was, for some reason, called on Iraq, Mr. Forney felt  that it was important for us to understand the culture of the Middle East. He did not want us to demonize the region, or to hate and fear it for no reason. It was critical that we had some kind of knowledge about this area of the world that continues to impact our foreign policy and world events. It was not something he had to do--but as an educator, he decided it was his moral obligation.

Immediately, the rhetoric was that the world was changed. But I felt the same. My world was not changed. I felt ashamed that I did not buy into the sudden surge of patriotism and renewed flag waving. One of my teachers had us sit and listen to the maudlin song “Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning?” by Alan Jackson. It was too on the nose, too simple. I was embarrassed by it.

I did not feel that I had been personally affected by this day. I did not know anyone in New York that day, I did not have a connection to the city at all. Not until very recently did I realize I was and continue to be touched by it every single day. So was every other adolescent who came of age in a world scarred by the sudden absence of the Twin Towers in fire and smoke, like the world’s darkest magic trick.

I see it every day in the fear that is peddled about those who are “other.” I  see it in the bombardment of stories of veterans torn apart and disembodied, who return home only to be without home. I see it in the ever further encroachment of our privacy and civil liberties. For those who were teenagers then, the last generation to have lived life before cell phones and the internet, we have seen the promise of infinite knowledge and connection become the looming presence of corporate and government interests sorting through our most private information. I see it in the continued empty flag waving patriotism that demands more war, more martial law, more freedom for the white man to do as he pleases, at the expense of every brown man, woman and child. The cooption of national pride and the national anthem as some kind of slavish devotion to white identity--because ever since 9/11, to be brown, to be turbaned, to be anything but white and Christian and moneyed is to be an affront to American hegemony and its unique brand of Exceptionalism.

Since that day, this America that I love and do not love, has been at perpetual war, has seen the lives of countless men and women taken based upon lies and the premise that the white American Republican virtues of commerce, consumption, and righteous anger should be spread. Our major export has been drone strikes and ammunition--and the lives of our soldiers.

I struggle with the concept of patriotism, because I know that for some it is identified by maudlin country songs about the day the world stopped turning and beer and the idea that we can kill more brown people than any other country--and fuck you, I do what I want. That is American patriotism that we cherish. It is the American patriotism of Donald Trump and Paul Ryan

America’s ideals were not founded upon this idea that might makes right. But we have become King Pellinore--and war is our Questing Beast. War is our eternal hunt, and so we have had to define an “other” to oppose. Over and over. War on drugs. War on terror. War on poverty. War on Christmas. War war war. Just as Pellinore's search for the Beast spanned generations, so too does ours.

From our earliest days, our founders viewed America as a haven for the outsider, George Washington himself opined, “the bosom of America is open to receive not only the opulent and respectable Stranger, but the oppressed and persecuted of all Nations and Religions.”

How can one be proud of a nation that has betrayed every promise it has made? These truths that we claim to hold as self-evident-- that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights, that among them are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness-- these truths do not hold. When patriotism is conflated with blind loyalty to morally reprehensible status quo and the premise that strength is to be admired above all, then patriotism has no meaning. This American patriotism is synonymous with American masculinity--it is fragile, aggressive, threatened by that which betrays vulnerability.

Perhaps I cannot buy into this brand of American masculine patriotism, because I have struggled with this toxic masculinity for much of my life. I have stood outside it, wondered at it, been hurt by it, tried and failed to attain it, and been destroyed by it. This toxic masculinity is fueled by the persecution of the weak by the strong. This masculinity is affronted and appalled by that which it does not recognize in itself. Because this masculinity is embraced by men who have never been betrayed by their bodies, by their society, the sick and the poor disgust them. To be sick or to be poor or to be Muslim or gay is simply the result of weakness and disorder.

This masculinity views justice as a set of transactions which presuppose they deserve to be rich, to be powerful, to be strong. And when they see those who are not rich, or powerful, or strong, they oppose it. Not as an abstract set of societal forces, but as a group of people who must be set opposite of them. And because these men have never felt their bodies fall apart and weaken them, have never had their stomach cut open and their insides removed, they see it as justice for the sick to pay their own way. These men received the strength and the health that they deserved, and so they do not need to worry about the cost of a failing body. They work for their money, and how dare the sick and poor who do not deserve their money insist that the health of the individual is the burden of the nation.

Their money is their strength, and those who are on the street deserve their lot. By God, they pulled themselves up by their bootstraps and bought a house and got a job. So woe upon the millennials born into the worst economic downturn since the second World War, for they are not responsible enough to afford a home. They do not deserve it if they couldn’t afford to pay for their unjustifiably inflated college tuition. 

And damn the poor black man, condemned to Camden and Kensington, Watts and Compton, who did nothing but be born the wrong skin color in the wrong part of town. Damn the heretic Muslim, for their religion is a religion of death. Not at all like their supply side Christianity, that tells them, “woe to those who are poor, for the rich shall inherit the earth.” Their Christianity is the religion of the Chosen, and those who are not Chosen are enemies--and their Jesus compels them to hate their enemy, not to love them as they themselves wish to be loved.

This patriotic masculinity founded upon the idea that men should be strong and opposed to anything that is not is the same force that empowered the boys who locked me out of school in the rain and laughed when they finally let me in, wet and ashamed. It was their masculine duty to  be opposed to me because I was weak and small and did not like sports. I was an unacceptable reminder to them that their health and strength was not deserved, and so they tortured me, reminded me every day that I was different and less than them. My body did not work correctly, though they did not know that, and so I was marked at an early age and set aside as a different breed. I was not tough or masculine, and so I was defined as tiny and short and weird. Those masculine boys set the rules, and so the girls followed, and so I was alone. This masculinity meant that those boys who reveled in my quarantine were not punished, because that is how teenage boys behave, and so the teachers and the counselors and the principals confirmed that might, indeed, does make right.

And so our country enacts laws and conducts diplomacy in this masculine way and calls it patriotism. Strength is the same as knowledge, might the same as justice.

I cannot love this nation. I cannot wave a flag or support a government that conflates patriotism with the domination of the weak by the strong.

But if patriotism is linked to the values that were laid out in those earliest days--values that even those who wrote it knew that they could not live up to--then patriotism means questioning and dissent. It means standing outside of this destructive code of masculinity and saying that our nation’s strength has always been in its unfinished promise that those who reside in this place deserve the liberty to live their life without persecution. This justice--a justice that says our resources are to be apportioned so that those who are born with less can provided an opportunity for more--this justice is worth calling patriotism. It is a patriotism that says this is the land of the free, and I have the right to speak out against policies and politicians who try to make it otherwise.It is a patriotism that says “America is better than this, we do not believe in cruel and unusual punishment.” And that does not make me Unamerican or less of a man; it makes me patriotic, and it makes me fully human. And you cannot call me, or my fellow Americans--the black, the Muslim, the Latino, the homeless, the gay, the woman, the sick-- less than. You cannot wage your endless war upon us. We are this tapestry of a nation just as they are, and that is an America that I can love. That is a maudlin song that I can sing, even if it may never be in my lifetime.

Anger, And Everything Else.

In 2000, Lex Luthor ran for and won the presidency. Growing up, it seemed like a ridiculous plot. How could a billionaire criminal, an enemy of every American value, win the presidency?

Life, it seems, is like a bad comic book plot.

I'm angry. And a new day goes by and I think tomorrow I won't be so angry. And I get angrier. Because every day that has gone by this last week  I see more people dismissing Donald Trump like this is just any other election. Like people who are upset, or hurt, or scared are overreacting.

I'm angry that there are so many people unwilling to recognize that this election was a win for racism, religious persecution, and hate. I'm furious that good people put the shortsighted promises of a career conman ahead of basic human decency.

This is not a regular election. People aren't sad because their candidate lost. This isn't Mitt Romney. This is not John McCain. This is not about disagreements on economic policy. Donald Trump and his entire cabal represent the worst of American bigotry. Trump opened his campaign with a sweeping declaration of Mexican immigrants as rapists and criminals. He continued with a promise to ban all Muslim immigrants.

Replace "Muslim" with "Jew." Replace "Mexican" with "Black." Does any of that sound familiar? This kind of speech is intolerable. It is cruel. It is unconstitutional. It has whipped a small but despicable group of people in our country into a frenzy, it has empowered white supremacists to spread their message of hate. And not just in words. But through violence.


I'm angry because today, the Ku Klux Klan is happy.

I'm angry because so many people are incapable of empathizing with those minorities that are the target of these hate groups. Just because your rights are not in danger, just because your world may not change, does not mean these hate groups do not exist, and it doesn't mean the inconvenient truth of racism and hate isn't festering just because you're not looking.

Our country was founded on the backs of slaves and murdered indigenous peoples. We as a society have failed to reckon with it, and that makes me mad, too. Any time some small progress is made, we celebrate, clap ourselves on the back, and ignore the deeply-rooted injustice that still goes on. So for a moment, if you are still not realizing just how incendiary and horrible a Trump presidency is, just imagine you're a Mexican mother who fled a town ravaged by drug cartels to save the life of your daughter and son. Imagine seeing the president of this country--the country that you dreamed would save you--tell you that you do not belong here. That your very presence in society is a crime, and that you and your kids are going back to the town you came from, where you very well may die in the crossfire.

This isn't an abstraction. It's the honest to God truth.


Imagine you're gay, and you are already afraid of coming out to your parents, who may not understand the reality of who you are. Imagine that you wake up and find out that your new Vice President thinks that who you love makes you worthy of electro shock therapy. Imagine your Vice President is repulsed at the idea of you having a family, of adopting a child that you know you would love and care for.


Maybe you didn't know that Donald Trump's campaign manager and top choice for cabinet position was a raging anti-semite who published articles with headlines like this:


I'm disappointed that we have not learned lessons from countries like South Africa and Germany, who instead of trying to pretend that they have just moved on from the painful truth of their nations' pasts, forced themselves to confront it. We are not brave enough as a society to do the same.

So no, you're not a racist. You're not a homophobe. You don't hate Muslims. But your acceptance of Donald Trump and Mike Pence and Steve Bannon means that you are willing to let those things go. And don't you see the problem with that? They have no problem with defying civil liberties for the many non-white, non-straight, non-male people in our country. You have the obligation to be angry, too.


I'm so incredibly angry that a human being who bragged about his wealth affording him the privilege of sexually assaulting women, who boasted that he would walk into the dressing rooms of beauty pageants he hosted to spy on the undressed contestants, who constantly body shames and makes women feel bad for their appearance, now gets four years to remind us of how little he values half of our country. I'm disgusted that little girls who lived through this election now have to grow up knowing that a person who thinks and acts this way gets to be the leader of the free world. I'm in shock that now young boys are getting the message that it's okay to treat women like garbage, because they can still get everything they want without consequence.

I'm genuinely scared that the Republican plan to repeal the Affordable Care Act will negatively affect my quality of life. That one day I won't have my insurance anymore. That I won't be able to afford the medicine that has helped to give me a normal life. That if I need another operation some day that might save my life the doctor will look at me and tell me there's nothing we can do. And I'm furious that you are giving them the chance to do it.

I'm angry at the Catholic Church, an institution that I have dedicated the better part of the last five years to. I'm mad that they spread so much fear over a single issue that more than half of American Catholics voted for Trump--a man who defies every value that Catholics claim to uphold. I am angry that there was no condemnation for Donald Trump's unabashed hatred, while there was plenty of condemnation for anyone who dare step out of line when it comes to their pet issues.

But I'm not just mad at Donald Trump, a sexist, racist, narcissistic lying conman, and the Republicans.

I'm mad at the United States and all of our politicians who have ignored the reality of poverty in this nation. I'm mad as hell that America has the worst income inequality of any major developed country. I'm mad that the gap between the rich and poor is worse than at any point since the 20s. I'm furious that 58 percent of all wealth generated since the '08 Wall Street crash has gone to the top one percent. I'm sick that Americans are working longer hours for lower wages, and countless numbers of our fellow citizens are working below the already laughable minimum wage.

Do I sound familiar?

The Democratic Party ignored this reality. They ignored the very valid and very real anger that, ultimately, won Donald Trump the presidency.

I'm angry that the working class can't afford to put food on the table. That jobs are getting shipped overseas and that as manufacturing jobs and jobs in the coal industry have shut down and automated, there has been no investment in the infrastructure and education that could have helped these communities stay afloat.

I'm enraged that the situation has gotten so bad that the working poor throughout this country were so desperate that they let themselves get manipulated into believing that a man who was born into privilege, who blew his first million, who has never wanted for a damn thing in his life, who regularly stiffs his workers, who proudly shipped jobs overseas, who pays less taxes than the hated "illegal immigrants," was going to save them.

Because, let's be honest, we both know the manufacturing jobs aren't coming back.

I'm sad for every immigrant kid and family I got a chance to briefly know in my time in Los Angeles. I'm heartbroken that their struggles are deemed as less important than traditionally white manufacturing hubs. I'm sick about every LGBTQ friend and mentor I've known in my life who now sees in this country a place of rejection and hate.

I am disconsolate that governors and congressman of coastal states said, "Yes, please," to a man who denies climate change--a catastrophic danger that poses very real threat to their constituents' safety and the livelihood of their tourist industries, and thus, the economy of their states. I cannot believe that our politicians deny science and forsake my future, and the future of any children I might have.


I'm mad at myself for doing nothing but smugly thinking that America was "better" than this. That we were smart enough to see through Donald Trump.

I underestimated the real anger, and real hurt that so many in this country feel. I was as blinded by my privileged place in American society as anyone else. And I was blinded to the depth of hatred of minorities and women.

But I refuse to believe this election is a referendum in favor of the worst of America. Yes, the white supremacists had their voices heard. Yes, they got the man they wanted--a puppet who would do and say anything to grovel at their feet just so he could win and stick it to all those people who never gave him his Emmy. But I believe when they realize that Trump doesn't care about them, when they all realize they got conned by a two-bit carnival barker, they'll feel as sick and angry as I do for the thing that they helped give birth to.

So if you are not angry, if you are rejoicing today--just know that I and all the others like me are not going to "get over" this. I am not going to stop being angry.

And we should not stop being angry.

I am not going to stop fighting against hatred and fear and the blatant lies peddled by this national disgrace. I am not going to stop being a voice for the marginalized, who now risk being even moreso. I will be a voice for compassion, and not just for them--but you too.

I'm going to stay angry, and I won't forget that we are all in this together--and that we must find a way to heal all of our gravest national sins: poverty, racism, sexism, and hate in all its forms. If this election has taught me anything, it is that I can not be complacent in the assumption that things will work themselves out on their own.

"Solidarity"

I finished up my year with JVC last week...but this is something I wrote a couple weeks ago in my journal. I may perhaps update again with some general thoughts on my year.

I am not poor. I have never been poor. One of the goals of JVC is to foster a sense, a feeling, of solidarity with the poor. Standing with them. Of course, I am not really poor. At the end of every month I knew another $100 is coming. My housing is paid for. Heck, I even got a car to get me to work that I pay no bills on. And if anything really serious ever came up, I knew I could ask my parents for help. So I've never felt what many people in the neighborhoods that Verb serves undoubtedly feel.

I have never had to worry over when a next paycheck would come. If I qualify for government assistance. If my EBT will cover the food for my children.

But I do feel a changed perspective--a more nuanced understanding. I know the frustration of relying on publi transportation in a sprawling city wiht an unreliable schedule. The tenuousness of plans when they rely on such a system. Even how it can cost someone their job. I have felt a small (tiny) dose of the shame that comes from not being able to afford things. In a consumer society so much of a person's value is inherently linked to what they can afford. And for a man that is so intrinsically linked to ones masculinity and perception of self. You grow bitter not being able to take your girlfriend out on a date--embarrassed, less self-confident. This I've struggled with a lot. Our sense of self is so tied up with wealth or lack thereof.

How can we, as a society, criticize the poor for providing their children with video games or smart phones when so much of our society expects and pressures people to conform to certain standards. We judge people based on their possessions, so how can we stare down our noses when a parent tries to spare their child the shame of not-having? I see this sentiment so often and it breaks my heart.

Until you cannot afford those things you take for granted, how can you understand how wrapped-up our sense of worth is tied to our net worth? How can you judge another for trying to escape the shame placed on them by the people who have--the people who decide the norm?

It's embarrassing to not have money. I don't know how to even describe my money situation this last year. I feel vulnerable, open to mockery or just at risk of not being understood. I am trying to explore the danger of associating my self worth with my income. And yet I so often fail. I worry about dates, housing, marriage in the future, kids, careers, vacations...the things I want down the road, and so I tie myself tighter to these destructive ideals. A man's worth especially is so intimately entwined with his bank account in our society.

"Solidarity" is a sometimes frustrating word and increasingly meaningless to me. I honestly couldn't define it for you at this point in my life. I know I am not truly standing in the same place as those I have served this year. If I were I'd live in gang territory. I'd feel persecuted for the color of my skin. I'd know someone dead from drugs or violence. All on top of the normal consumer desires thrown at us constantly on tv, in music, and every other facet of our popular culture. And I'd know I can't afford any of it. Not if I'm going to stay off the streets. But the world teaches our young people they need things. To fit in. To be judged as acceptable. We are shamed into spending our money, and the poor are villainized for trying to conform.

I only know a little of what it feels like to feel the shame of being "poor." But I do know that as a society that so defines itself on its wealth is a society that needs advocates, that needs analysis and change and greater equality and understanding.

Sara Came to LA!

A week ago, I said good bye to Sara for the last time this year. Today, I am happy to say I'll be seeing her again in 17 days! It was a sad end to an AMAZING week. But it also had a silver lining: it was going to be the last time. And that felt nice.

One of the hardest parts of this whole year has been being in a long distance relationship. Calling on the phone, Skyping, it never has the same feeling of just hanging out and being with someone. The visits I've made back home have been wonderful. Something about having Sara here, though, was special in a much different way! Maybe just having her come and see the city, my house, my work...knowing she has some kind of perspective was nice. It made the whole year seem more real in an odd way, to have someone from home here!

It was a very nice vacation for the both of us,  I think we both needed some time to just get away from everything! Having it be together was even better.

So, what did we do? So much! I keep forgetting. Well, when she first arrived:

!!!!

We went from LAX to the Santa Monica Pier to see it at night. It looked pretty cool all lit up! We tried to get a photo with the ferris wheel.

RIP Beard

 The next day, we visited Verb so Sara could see the place. It's undergoing  construction this summer so it's a bit of a mess, but she got the idea! And saw my offices. After that, we drove over to check out the Watts Towers, which I have been wanting to get a good look at all year. They are pretty cool! Made up of recycled material. Sadly, they don't really let you walk around it so I just got a few camera shots from Barney and read about it from the signs. Still...pretty cool.

 Then we went to the zoo because Sara really wanted to see something new there!

Hopefully those aren't the explosive beans Rhinox ate in Beast Wars...

 oops. That's not right.

 The giraffes at the zoo recently had a baby! It was cute. The zoo was nice, although it was really hot that day and shade doesn't exist in LA. All-in-all, I think we agreed that it doesn't stack up to the Philly Zoo! Although, there was some fun to be had. The chimps were having a ball and their cute little ones were playing around. And who can resist a six-foot-baby giraffe?

Then, since we weren't far from Burbank, I decided we had to go see this one particular site I have been dying to see since I knew I was going to be in LA!

 This is the outside of the Warners Brothers Animation Studio--awesome, right?! It was pretty neat to be there where so many tv shows and some of my very formative childhood (and adulthood) cartoons were made! I even got a glimpse at the WB Lot Water Tower... That's where the Animaniacs were locked up.

We finished our day with Man of Steel.

The next day we headed out to the beach! Neither of us are super beach people, so we didn't stick around all that long. But when someone visits LA you've got to go...right? Unfortunately, Sara's bathing suit decided to break so we couldn't get in the water! Oh well, it wasn't that hot anyway. We also walked the bizarre Venice Beach Boardwalk which was...well, we didn't love it! I expected more performances to be out, but maybe we went on an off day. Certainly a "cultural experience..."

We did see the pretty Venice Canals, however! These canals span a couple blocks instead of roads and surround some REALLY EXPENSIVE looking houses.  It's very scenic, and I enjoyed getting a glimpse at them.

 Later, I was looking at the Observatory in the distance from my block and realized...WE SHOULD GO THERE! I heard the view is killer and seeing the sun set over the city sounded pretty cool!

 The views were, indeed, pretty amazing. We even got to see the sun set over the Hollywood hills.

 At the Observatory once it got dark we waited in line to use the telescope, and it was well worht the wait. Saturn was apparently uncommonly visible in the sky and we got to get a good look at it. I love space!!

Then things got dark and we got a really amazing view of the city at night. There was a ton more than just this. If you're in LA ever, you should really check out the observatory in the evening. It's crowded, and parking is rough, but the views are worth it.

 Then, I took Sara to LACMA (Los Angeles County Museum of Art) so she could see the Urban Lights exhibit, which is where a scene from her favorite movie was filmed!

 The next day, I originally planned to hike to the Hollywood sign. But after the views from the Observatory I thought it would be less-than-impressive. Instead, we got to sleep in a little bit instead of go on a four-mile hike (probably a good idea!)

We took the bus over to Hollywood Boulevard and ate lunch at this cute throwback place, the Disney Soda Fountain! It was a lot of fun. The food was pretty good, got flavor-infused soda, and shared a milkshake. One of my more winning date ideas, I think.

 Then we walked Hollywood Boulevard a little. Checked out the Chinese Theater and the handprints, and went into the shopping center that is Egyptian themed maybe? I don't really get it. But, they have this huge candy store there that has a STAY PUFT MARSHMALLOW store included. I was blown away by this.

We've been going about this all wrong. This Mr. Stay Puft's okay! He's a sailor, he's in New York; we get this guy laid, we won't have any trouble!

 Then, we headed back to the house, got about an hour of relaxation and took public transporation down town to catch Grease in Pershing Square! This was definitely one of the most enjoyable times I've had in the city proper and actually kind of made me appreciate the area a little bit! Any other time I've been in this area it's just been swelteringly hot and normally, Pershing Square just looks like a slab of cement in the city, but this set up was nice and the weather was beautiful! We got Subway, hung out on a blanket for about an hour before the movie began and then enjoyed the show. There was trivia before the film started, and I brought our team half of our points!

 Saturday, we went around Downtown some more and enjoyed some sight-seeing. We started our morning with a delicious and socially just meal at Homegirl Cafe. As usual, their bread was exceptional. Then we hopped over to Angel's Flight and rode the oldest railway in LA! This short trolley ride up Angel's Knoll is a super-cool throwback and super-short, but well worth the 50 cents! We had some cute little kids in the car with us that made it even more enjoyable!

We got off the trolley and headed off! First, we went to the Walt Disney Concert Hall! The Concert Hall is this really bizarre-looking place, architecturally, but very, very cool!  There's also a cute park up top that we explored. Then, we marched up over to Grand Park, where we stopped for some Starbucks and to enjoy the cool air and moisture from the fountain! It was a pretty hot day so lots of families and little kids were running around playing in the fountain area. It was a nice respite and we had some fun chatting and people-watching.

We headed over then to the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels. It's a huge building in Downtown LA that was pretty recently constructed. There's also a courtyard that, for some bizarre reason has a lot of animal statues! Naturally, we played around with the animals.

After that, we went over to Olvera Street, an authentic Mexican flea market kind of thing and looked at the wares, then headed back to the house where we relaxed for the evening, had a glass of wine, and enjoyed the cool evening air.

Sunday, we went to mass at Dolores Mission, enjoyed a meal on the plaza, and took it easy. We also packed a picnic and enjoyed dinner in the Exposition Park Rose Garden up by USC. A pleasant evening! We finished our day up by watching 10 Things I Hate About You, starring Heath Ledger and a young Joseph Gordon-Levitt! Two Batman actors...!

Monday we went to Six Flags Magic Mountain! We didn't take any pictures together, so enjoy this picture of me with my favorite version of the Batmobile! Magic Mountain was a lot of fun and it has some really intense roller coasters! My favorite had to be BATMAN! And not just because it was Batman themed...it was just a ton of fun!! I may or may not have spent the entirety of the ride just yelling BATMAN!! over and over.

Another cool ride was Green Lantern First Flight! As you can kind of see there, it's a very bizarre looking roller coaster. That's because you're strapped into this wheel that spins you around! Sara and I were facing backwards so we could never see when the drops were coming, which was pretty hilarious. And it also spun us around a few times!  For $40 ticket price I'd say we got a good day of fun out of the deal!

That night we watched 500 Days of Summer. I haven't seen the movie since I've lived out here and it might have actually made me appreciate LA a little bit! And who can resist Joseph Gordon-Levitt? uh...

Tuesday, sadly, we had to say good bye. :( That was hard. But it was such an amazing week and it was so nice to just spend time together. It really reminded me about how important my relationships are to me and made it even more clear that I can't wait to be home!! It's been so tough being away from the people I love, and I know one thing for sure after this year: I never want to do THAT again!

I'll be coming home shortly, though, and it's nice to finally have something of a weight lfited off my shoulder, having a firm return date and knowing it's so close, especially.

So, all in all, it was one of the BEST weeks I've had in a long time! Because even the best day when Sara isn't here still feels incomplete somehow... But we did a ton of fun stuff, and most importantly, we were together!!

So that's 3 zoos in 3 different states, and 2 amusement parks 2 summers in a row...I think we have some traditions starting!

Year's End

June 6th was graduation day for the students at Verb.

It has been nearly two weeks since the school year ended, and I have thought about writing several times, but never did. I guess I haven't been sure what to say. There have been a lot of great memories this year, and despite all the difficulties that came with working at the school, adjusting to it, and feeling competent, when I watched the students cross the stage and receive their diplomas, none of that mattered.

Because it's not about me. Yes I came here to help in some way, to contribute something, get to know students, their situations, their life, but it's not about me. Everything that is done at Verbum Dei, everything I have worked for, it isn't for me, it is about giving these students a chance to go onto something better.

I sat and watched some really amazing young men take those first steps into a new, uncharted future. And with each step I could see them breaking long cycles of poverty, violence, drug abuse, gangbanging, and generally unjust living situations. I believe in a world where graduates of Verbum Dei will work to make the world a better place for their children, who will fight and work hard to make a difference so that others do not have to overcome odds that they had to face just to graduate high school.

I was privileged yesterday to sit in at a meeting for the Kairos leaders for next year and listen to them share their stories. Stories of families plagued by violence, unemployment, drug abuse, fighting, and the threat of gangs in the neighborhood. It brought home to me how INCREDIBLY AMAZING these young men are. They are so truly, truly amazing. These are some really good students, leaders on campus, and just generally lively, friendly, motivated young men. We forget so easily here some times just how much horrible stuff the boys deal with on a daily basis. Compared to some of their stories, school must seem so unimportant. But they persevere, and do it, and do well.

The same can be said for so many of the Verb boys.

And so it was with pride that I watched the seniors graduate--knowing how much they've overcome. I remembered stories and moments I've had with so many of them, and was incredibly thankful for the chance to know them, to spend time with them, and perhaps contribute to a tiny portion of their high school experience. I'm just so thankful to have gotten to witness and learn so much from them. To have laughed with them, and to congratulate a few of them.

Baccalaureate mass was Wednesday, June 5th. It was a very long ceremony where all the academic awards, scholarships, and everything were announced. Lots of really great achievements on display. Every year the school also recognizes its JVs, and I was presented with a big bouquet of flowers, but more appreciated were a couple of cheers I heard in the crowd. It made me feel like maybe I had done a little OK.

At graduation salutatorian and valedictorian spoke, and both gave good speeches. I got to say congrats to a couple of the students, but most of them were busy, understandably, with family. I got a few thank yous in psasing, though, that were sincere, and it was moving.

The end of the year is strange... In a lot of ways I hate to leave. Really feeling as if I only found my footing halfway through. But the thank yous, the compliments as the end of the year approached, (including being told the next JV has a lot to live up to by one of the students...sorry Laura :)) and even the sense that a few of them were sad to see me go made it all feel worth it.

I don't know if I'll ever see the boys again; I'd like to come back at some point and visit if I could. At the least it would be nice to go for graduation or something.

But who knows? All that I am sure of is this: I am incredibly thankful for my year with Verbum Dei. I am incredibly proud of all of the students, and have learned so much from them.

Commitment Day

On May 3rd, Verb celebrated National Commitment Day with its fifth Commitment Day Ceremony. It was a chance for the seniors to celebrate their four years of work and proudly stand up in front of their teachers, peers, family, and media and declare where they would be going. It was an awesome afternoon. One student began to tear up at the emotions of the moment and was embraced by his classmates. It was a moving moment, and one I was not at all surprised to see. These young THUGS have proved to me over and over how much they are there for one another and have challenged their gender stereotypes many times over.

The ceremony is also a great moment for the underclassmen to see what is in store for them in a few years. Soon, they'll be up on that stage! I wonder which one of them'll be crying (although, it could be a transfer student...)

Verb has boasted 100% college acceptance for its graduates the last few years. Now, not all of them are four year universities but that's still some impressive statistics! Especially for where this school is located. So it was exciting when all the students got up there. There were students accepted all over the country. One student is heading to Georgetown, several to St. John's in Minnesota, one to Seton Hall, two to UCLA, several HBCUs and a number of Cal States, UCs, and community colleges.

One of my favorite moments was finding out one of the students would be going to study at Le Cordon Bleu! This guy is one of the most complex young men I have ever met. He is a former gang member and has a bit of a tough streak to him, but he's also a class clown. And then he was a Kairos Retreat Leader and had some truly beautiful insights and a deeply caring and compassionate soul. There are times I think about him and my heart breaks... to be a former gang member in high school? To have lived such a hard life, to see friends die, and then to be as genuine and encouraging and open with his classmates as a leader on Kairos? Now to see him planning to go to Le Cordon Bleu and do what he wants. To be a chef? That's damn cool. He has been one of the absolute gifts of this year. And although he is currently worrying over whether or not he's going to pass his math class and actually walk in graduation, he's still going to graduate and do what he wants with his life. It might not be the easiest road, but he'll get there. He helped me more than I could express to him on retreat, but his awesome work with our small group and with all of the other students on Kairos, the sharing of his story helped me to realize how special this year was. It helped me to realize what is possible in this kind of work. His honesty opened my eyes to realities I didn't know existed, and he put a human face on it. A human face of perseverance, laughter, and compassion despite hardships.

Back to commitment day:

Like I said, it was a really exciting afternoon. There was a bittersweet tinge to it, though.

Yes, most of the students will be going to college. Some may not. That is a shame.

Many students got accepted to their top choice and cannot afford to go. That...that is what upsets me most. That these guys were able to do all the work they needed to do, they worked hard, did all sorts of extracurriculars, but are still barred from where they really want to go. Not because they didn't work hard enough. Not because they don't deserve it. But because they don't have the money. It's infuriating. This is the system. Most of these guys worked way harder than I ever did to get through high school, and still they are barred from entrance for purely economic reasons. It still makes me mad. It makes me so angry that they have to grow up in the neighborhoods they grow up in. It makes me angry that a lot of the students are affected by violence and drugs and the pressure of the 'hood. It makes me angrier the more I think about it.

Students are trying to make the most of it. They're still going to college. Maybe they'll transfer. Maybe it'll work out and this school that wasn't their first choice will be where they find their calling. Who knows? I didn't expect to be where I am today when I went to Cabrini. Heck, I never even expected to go to Cabrini.

The path that lays before these boys, though it may not be what they might have chosen, is still incredibly bright. Brighter than they may see right now, and still so much more than what so many in these country have waiting for them.

 And I am so excited for them and proud of them.

Beneath the Surface

It's a gray day today in Los Angeles. I don't know why it bothers me so much here. Like I expect every day to be sunny and warm here. Like the sun owes it to me to be always shining here. I come from somewhere that rain is common, where weather is seasonal. And yet here...any time the sun fails to warm the streets of this city, I get angry, like I'm entitled to be comfortable at all times simply because I'm in LA.

I think the sun makes people selfish here.  Maybe it's part of what contributes to the fictitiousness of the city, the surface-level, self-absorbedness of it all.

This city forgets itself.

What people know about LA--what people talk about is not the history, the truth of LA. The richness and texture of it.

I hate LA.

But I hate the traffic the industry the surfaceness. Los Angeles is known for one thing--Hollywood. The celebrities, the movie industry.

I saw yesterday photos commemorating the 21st anniversary of the Los Angeles Riots. I didn't even know they had ever happened. I had never heard of them. No one talks about them. I heard about the Watts riots in the 60s, vaguely, before I came, but never heard a thing about them since I've been here. The actual culture, the actual history, of Los Angeles is veiled by "LOS ANGELES," the Universal Studios, Beverly Hills, glamorous life that...doesn't encapsulate even a portion of what this city is.

I was reading Steve Martin's most recent book, An Object of Beauty, at one point he describes a view from a particular point in the city (emphasis mine), "The views that skimmed just over the top of the city gave sunsets an extra redness and positively affirmed that Los Angeles could be beautiful."

There's a poignant truth in there. There's hints of something lovely. Palm trees are nice to look at, it's right near the beach (but so is New Jersey...), there are some nature trails and hikes...but, as a whole LA is... freeways and brown grass. Stone buildings and gated windows. The things that I have found the most beauty in in LA is architecture; man made things.

The LA Riots resulted from class and race issues. Inequality and prejudice. Economic disparity.

Some of these things are better...race relationships have improved, in general. Gang violence is less than it was.

But class...class and economic disparity. That hasn't changed. Polls and surveys tell the story as much as anything else; people in LA feel that the economic inequality has only grown. And while there is not that same anger as a result of racial persecution and abuse of police power, people are still being crushed and oppressed by this city. By a lack of awareness, a lack of depth. There is a glut of consumerism and self-absorption.

But drive down South Central Ave and in seconds you see the truth... There is poverty and homelessness. S Central is nothing like Downtown, nothing like Beverly Hills.

Walk from the heart of downtown just a short ways and you hit Skid Row. The homeless capital of the United States.

But there are some beautiful things about Los Angeles...

There is Homeboy and Boyle Heights. There is Chinatown and Koreatown. The shops on S Central owned by families. Small shops. Local vendors. Latino cultural celebrations.

This city forgets itself. It could be beautiful, if only the sun didn't shine so much.


For more info about the LA Riots (I read a lot about them today)
The Wikipedia Page (centralizes a lot of news articles...fascinating.)
RIOT IN LOS ANGLES: Pocket of Tension; A Target of Rioters, Koreatown Is Bitter, Armed and Determined
George Bush's Televised Address about the Riots
Want to Understand the 1992 LA Riots? Start with the 1984 LA Olympics
Korea Town changes as a result of "Saigu"

The city during the riots in '92 Click for gallery.