Category Archives: The Basics

Before we went to Lost Angeles, we stopped in Phoenix to see Huw and Eric.  They have a totally fabulous place right near the Biltmore Hotel.  We ate lots of great food, went running and hiking and laid out by the pool.  It felt kind of like being at a resort.  They even have one of those Brookstone massage chairs!

We left kinda early the next morning but in the long run it was for the best because it took a quite a while to get to my mom’s house. 

I was bummed because Huw–who is a damn good cook–was going to make breakfast.

The past few times I have been in SoCal to see my mother, I’ve noticed that my quiet little hometown has turned into a wannabe upscale community.  When my family moved there in 1970, Thousand Oaks was a sleepy tract-home haven with a small outdoor mall and a friendly relaxed attitude.  Now it’s full of anorexic Crackberry toting soccer moms wearing those ginormous sunglasses that don’t look good on anybody except Jackie O.  The outdoor mall has become a “marketplace” and the Chevy Impala station wagons have been replaced by luxury SUV’s complete with Bluetooth® technology and a Get-The-Fuck-Out-Of-My-Way driver. 

There are so many people I know who just love it out there.  To be honest, I just don’t understand the appeal of living in Assholeland.  The people were pushy, well dressed and rude.  Everywhere you looked was a store or plaza or whatever the fuck they call them now.  We all know what they really are.  They’re strip malls.

Thousand Oaks was a beautiful place to grow up with rolling hills, ranches, 1957 Chevy pick up trucks and, yes, thousands of oak trees.  We lived in a sub division called Shadow Oaks.  Every year there was a big festival called Conejo Valley Days.  As a kid, I remember crawling out of my skin in anticipation when the event came near.  There was a chili cook-off, rodeo, parade and my personal favorite, a midway.  The best ride hands down was the Zipper. 

Conejo Valley Days originally started as a community circus in the late 1940s.  It was a reflection of the local culture.  It was always very rancher-cowboy like and probably the defining influence on my out of control gay libido.  Unfortunately it’s changing–Conejo Valley Days that is.  The libido is just fine.

During my visit, mother told me they did away with the rodeo this year and in its place they had some ConejoX Invitational Freestyle Motocross Competition.  They tried to cancel the parade but some company stepped in and paid the insurance bond.  They can’t do a parade because of insurance but they can have a Freestyle Motocross Competition?  Since when did marching in a band become so hazardous?  Lookout!  There’s a stray baton twirler!  Someone cover her with a blanket!

To make matters worse, they had a Radio Disney Concert Night with some teeny bopper all girl band.  Once Disney infects your local community fair, you’re fucked. 

While I sat and listened to my mother, I realized there really has been quite a long passage of time since those days.  Everything seems to be going faster and faster.  There’s no turning back…I am getting older.  A sudden wave of melancholy swept over me.  Mother looked at me and said, “Your hair seems lighter.”  and I said, “No ma. It’s just turning gray.”

It was house cleaning time last night.  Doesn’t that sound exciting? 

Ray and I have a deal.  I’ll do the vacuuming and dusting if he does the “better living through chemicals” thing. 

I can’t stand household cleansers.  Those scrubbing bubbles make my head throb–not in a good way.  They look so cute and unassuming in the commercials but in reality, they’re about as creepy and sinister as a circus clown.

And don’t get me started on the “safe” stuff either.  Simple Green?  Simple Gag.  I’d much rather stay on the other side of the room with my feather duster inhaling dead skin cells thank you very much.

We’re leaving for Lost Angeles today.  My mother is recovering from her knee replacement surgery so I figured this would be a good time to see her.  I’d flirted with the idea of going out for Thanksgiving and Christmas but after all the travel we’ve gone through these past few months, I just don’t have the energy or the desire. 

It’s always a trip going home to the 1960’s planned community I grew up in.  It’s one of those places where no matter who’s house you’re in, you always knew where the bathroom was.  At least enough time has elapsed to where it’s not quite so cookie cutter anymore.  Decades of landscaping has blessed the old ‘hood with its own distinctive personality.  Families have come and gone leaving behind a trail of room additions, cobblestone driveways and Malibu lighting.  The thing that really stands out is the ample parking.  I lived in Chicago proper for ten years.  You paid for a parking space.

My family moved to Shadow Oaks in 1970 when I was four.  Our house was on a small street that had a clu-de-sac on both ends.  Talk about a mind fuck.  You had to drive into the middle of our street to get in…or get out.

My childhood experience was dull and colorless like a set of faded double prints.  The only excitement was the yearly trip to Disneyland– which, I admit, is very exciting for a kid but it’s a whole different experience as an adult.  Little did I know that I would grow up and become turned off by the giant corporate machine that is Disney sucking what money it can from one generation to the next by re-releasing the same “Classic Special Edition” movies over and over again.  You’re going to have happy memories with Disney products.  You’re also going to pay for them.  Since we did not have much money, I relied on TV for my happy Disney memories every Sunday night.  They were free because they were brought to you in part by Kraft.

So there I was growing up in suburbia unaware that it would later become the punchline of social opinion. (See Weeds–it’s on Showtime!)  

 My mom has a picture of me riding my bike in the Conejo Valley Days parade wearing my cub scout uniform.  Maybe that’s why the memories seem faded.  The only things I really remember are things that have an old photo associated with them.

My dad was the soccer and baseball coach.  The end of season pool parties were always at our house.  Everybody on our street knew each other and if Mrs. Abbondondola yelled at you it was just a valid as if it were your own mom.

I have ambivalent feelings about those years.  It was safe and fairly normal.  My parents didn’t divorce until I was in jr. high.  That’s not so bad.  It could have been worse.  I could have been a little kid.  My brothers and sisters were all fairly level headed.  No one got pregnant or crashed the car.  If anything, I was the black sheep getting expelled from school and doing other assorted things I don’t care to discuss anymore.

What really sucked was being the only adopted kid out of six and knowing at a very very young age that I was gay.  That was scary to say the least.  I was sandwiched in age between to alpha male brothers who along with their friends threw around the word faggot like they had Tourette’s.  I lived in fear that if they found out why I was so fixated on the men’s underwear section in the Sears catalog they would find me defective and trade me in for a new kid. 

Thankfully, those days are over and I am going back there as an adult where none of those scary things can get to me anymore.  They’re all just memories that blur out more and more every year.  Someday, I won’t be going back there at all.  Some other family will move in and a new kid will have to fight his way up through the trenches of suburbia.

Ray and I wanted to get some decorative stones for our yard.  I just figured we’d have the same people who sold us the gravel for the driveway deliver a bunch of random boulders.   I was wrong.  You have to go pick them out.  You have to go rock shopping. 

Having never picked out rocks, I wasn’t sure what characteristics to look for.  It’s not like you can hoist one up and thump the side of it like a cantaloupe.  We spent about an hour with a paint pen marking the rocks and boulders we wanted.  Some of the stones were small enough to pick up ourselves so we decided to take them home in the trunk.

To pay for the rocks, they weigh your car, you load it up and then they weigh it again to determine how much to charge.  While we were loading up, I saw a small stone off to the side that had unusual markings on it (see photo).  It was small enough to fit in my hand.  I liked it a lot so I tossed it in.  Now I’ve got this rock and I don’t know what to do with it.  I thought about using it as a paperweight but I don’t use much paper in my line of work.

I’ll probably find a special place for it in the yard.  Perhaps I’ll put it in an unusual spot and then when people come to visit we can play, “Find my Rock”.  Hmmm, that didn’t come out right…
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Bummed
Yesterday marked two weeks without alcohol.  I thought I would be more energetic and that those few extra pounds would be dripping off of me.  It’s just not happening.  I feel really quite blah most of the time.  To make matters worse, there is an extreme lack of motivation impeding my day to day duties.  It’s so hard to get going in the mornings and after lunch, my eyelids get so heavy that I just want to crawl under my desk and take a siesta. 

I have been working out though and man is it hard.  It feels like I’m pushing a boulder up a hill–so to speak.  The final buzzkill on all of this is that every time I pick up any sort of news, there is an article about how fucked up your life gets after forty.  Augusten Burroughs wrote in Details last month about how he had to go on a testosterone supplement because he was at the age (40+) when a man’s body drastically reduces its hormone production.  I was also reading an article about a gay adult film actor/producer who said he had to retire from the acting part because, “…it’s just too hard to keep my body in shape after turning 43.”

Aaaahhh!!!  I’m just not ready for that!!  It’s like the moment I really decided to do something about my body, all these people are telling me it’s too late.  It doesn’t matter how much effort I put into it, I’m destined to be forever flabby and grow man-boobs. 

I’m too young to feel this old.  Actually, I don’t feel old at all.  My mother just had her knee replaced.  She’s almost 80.  We were talking about aging and she said “I just don’t feel 78.”

They say you should use mental imagery to focus on your workout goals.  I’ve got the image alright–me with boobs.

This is Parker.  She lives with us.  You can see that she’s very worldly and sophisticated by her 8X10 glamour shot–not!  She was so found-in-a-box at a bus stop in front of the health department. 

Ray and I found her while going to work one day.  There were three kittins in a box.  One of them kept poking its head up, trying to jump out.  It was very headstrong–a quality I don’t like in a pet.  (Really,  my idea of the perfect pet is a cactus.)  I had a feeling that we would end up with one of them and Ms. HeadPoppy was definitely not the one I wanted.

But she’s the one we got.

You should have seen her.  Her ears looked so big that she resembled a little alien kitty from another planet.  We both took turns cuddling her.  This was not a shy cat.  She just marched right in and made her place in our home much to the dismay of our other cat Kaiser (RIP) who was seventeen at the time.  Poor old Kaiser hissed and growled like like an old lady fending off a mugger with an umbrella. 

The two of them didn’t get along.  Parker would walk up to Kaiser and bump into her with intent to knock her over–which is exactly why I don’t like “personable” pets.  At first I thought “The little bitch“ but then I remembered Kaiser as a kitten and how nasty she was to Amelia, the elder cat Ray had at that time.  Chalk one up for Kitty Karma.

Over time Parker grew into her ears, Kaiser passed on and Ms. Thing became the Mistress of her Domain (or so she thinks).

It’s a story.
Of a town called Bisbee…

There is a group of us in Bisbee that get together on Friday nights for a happy hour/potluck sort of thingy.  It’s a nice mix of people.  We always have a lot of fun. 

When Ray and I lived in town, we went every week.  During the summer out here in the country, it’s kind of hard for us to leave our house when we can be viewing a beautiful sunset while lounging in the pool.  We have not been to a “Friday night” for a while so it was really nice to see everyone again.

There was kind of a hiccup with the group a while back.  Without going into too much detail, I can just say it was great to see everybody back together again the way it used to be.  Really, really great.

Last night was special because we were celebrating Kevin’s birthday at his house with his wife Carrie (who is a total scream).  Kevin is a mechanic-Jack of all trades kind of guy and has the coolest Man Garage complete with a drum set (see photo).  Their whole place is cool!  It’s full of kitchy stuff and has a vintage retro vibe going on.  They even have geese and an iguana!

We all sat around  a fire pit laughing and eating.  Kevin opened his presents while we sang Happy Birthday.  I ate way too many chocolate chip cookies and had a total sugar buzz going on when I got home.  It took me a while to fall asleep…

To all the people that used to visit the Lopaka Lounge before it became a blog, you’ll be happy to know that I have added a Potlucks and Parties link on my site and last night’s photos are up.  The crazy party pics are back folks! 

You better look out.  I got my camera with me!

I always feel like there should be some sort of photo element to support each one of my blog entries.  The only problem is; some days I just don’t have an image that goes with what I’m writing about.   I suppose I could get my camera and snap one of those ubiquitous one-armed blogger self portraits but a little of that goes a long way.  Believe me, you don’t want to see my face over and over from my one good side.  Perhaps I can post extreme close ups!  When writing about the tunnel on highway 80 leading into Old Bisbee, I’ll post a giant picture of my nostril and Photoshop an eighteen wheeler coming out of it.

Since I’m always taking pictures and have a vast collection of images, I’ve decided to post my own photos regardless of weather or not they support my entry.  Hell, I’m an artist and photography is my medium (one of them anyway).  The whole point of having a blog was to hone my skills as a writer and showcase my creative work.  I have to let go of my petty insecurities and there’s no time like the present.  Here’s what lies on the road ahead for my blog.

From now on I’m:
Posting my own creative photos if I don’t have one that goes with my story
Not going to worry about the accuracy of my grammar
Going to speak my mind even if it upsets my mother

That’s all.  Just a short list I had to get it off my chest. 
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Blogroll
While writing this post, I noticed Brian of Cheap Blue Guitar added me to his blogroll–that actually sounds kind of like a moniker.

I am Cobban of Lopaka Lounge!  Be not afraid.  Go forth.  Be fruitful and multiply!

Cobban of the Lounge of Lopaka? Lopakaland?  Nah…

Thanks Brian of Cheap Blue Guitar !  <<cue the trumpet fanfare>>  It’s quite a compliment to have a fellow blogger acknowledge your work on their site.  The two people who really got me into blogging Jimbo and Homer have also added me.  In turn I have created my own blogroll with these three gentlemen (hopefully there will be more in the future).