exciting julys

Weird stuff happens to me in July. I used to think July was unlucky or something, but this last one got me thinking maybe no. Here are six things in five Julys over 11 years:

JULY 1997
I decided not to pursue a career in classical and contemporary ballet after 13 years of training and performance. This was not an incident but a decision -- it didn't happen to me, I happened to it. It was hard. It was the right decision. No luck involved.

JULY 2001
A summer job at an architectural antiques showroom was cut short when the building fell down owing to dodgy construction. The owner had not gotten the proper permits and, in fact, had been told to cease construction twice. During the collapse, I was on the roof (which was unaffected). I was supposed to be on the 3rd floor (which was very much affected and would have meant a three-story drop alongside and under marble mantlepieces, ceramic bathtubs and sinks, and glass chandeliers). After I gave my statement to the police, I stopped to get a cup of coffee, realized I'd left my bag (with my wallet and paycheck in it) on the roof, broke down into tears, and discovered that the person behind me in line was a psychologist specializing in post-traumatic stress disorder. My aunt, herself recovering from a spiral fracture in her femur, said I was the luckiest person she knew.

JULY 2003
After being in Cambodia for over a year (drawing comics, tending a bar I co-owned, and freelance architectural drafting), the Assistant District Attorney of New York rang me up. He was finally bringing the building-collapse case to court. (The original court date was scheduled for September 12th, 2001, a.k.a. The Day After 9/11, in the courthouse across the street from the World Trade Center.) In a third-world country with limited phone and e-mail access on the other side of the world, I was the only employee they could find. "Where the hell did the other ones go?" I asked the D.A.. It got me thinking about going back to the States and provided the beginning of an exit strategy. I told them that I would testify if they would pay my airfare to New York. They agreed. Lucky.

JULY 2003
On a four-hour taxi ride from Phnom Penh to Sihanoukville, Cambodia, the driver fell asleep at the wheel. The taxi hit a guard rail, flipped forward twice, and landed right-side-up again. I was in the passenger seat with no functional seat belt. The seven (7) people in the back seats were not injured; they were packed in too tightly to have room to bang around. I broke my arm, fractured my shoulderblade, and broke two toes, one of which was later amputated. On my flight back to the States, already booked for the court appearance, I got an automatic upgrade to first class, which was 14 hours of loveliness on Thai Airways. But I should never have agreed to travel four hours in a car with no functional seatbelt in the first place. No luck involved.

JULY 2004
Will, my sister's ex-boyfriend and at one time my good friend, died of a drug overdose at the very end of the month (he was found in the first days of August). I was sad and angry. This complicated, brilliant, troubled person who had acted very, very badly towards my sister, the sister who is my hero, who has saved my ass on many occasions, who is smarter and kinder and more everything than I will ever be ... he was suddenly a saint in the eyes of many. And I couldn't tell him how mad I was, hold him accountable for all the shit he'd pulled in the last months of his life. HOW DARE HE. No luck involved.

JULY 2008
I went on vacation. An old friend confessed his undying affection. I was laid off after two years to the day. I went to the ER with a kidney infection. All this happened in the space of two weeks. (The undying affection did die, after I pointed out we have nothing in common, including but not limited to values, humor, tastes.) It forced me to re-assess what I do, what I'm good at doing, what I want to do, and where. And why. Still doing all of that, especially the "what I want to do" part. Good luck, mostly, though I can't say anything good at all about a kidney infection.

Five Julys, six incidents. Three were lucky, and three were luckless -- neither lucky nor unlucky. I netted out lucky, and I have some good stories. I think I'm ready for some boring Julys, though. Maybe for a long time.

root beer floats

My good friend Tek, one who tosses off spot-on advice on a regular basis, recently mentioned root beer floats in a night-out tweet. It reminded me of a period of several days when some bike-riding friends of mine (did I mention I ride bikes?) were planning a ride on the freeway during rush hour traffic. "If you rode a bike, you'd be home by now." People wore capes.

Debate raged about the ride's legality, which is absurd. Naysayers suggested skipping the ride entirely, and Yaysayers (or Sayers) looked for loopholes and suggested playing dumb. But why play dumb? This was my response:

I suffer from infrequent, short-lived, and severe bouts of insomnia. Once every three or four months, couple days. They give me very lucid dreams when I finally sleep, and then I remember the dreams very well. I dreamt about this ride last night. We fought up until the second we got on the freeway, but then the ride went without a hitch. Very slow traffic meant lots of weaving, lots of waving, lots of startled people but little anger. More like disbelief followed by honking and nervous laughter and even some cheering. Then, "If you rode a bike you'd be home by now!" and they were less cheerful. Then traffic picked up, and cars could actually move to the side to let cop cars through, and they did, and we hightailed it outta there. Then we got root beer floats. Well. I'm not sure if the root beer floats part was the same dream, or the next dream. But we should consider them. They were really good.
I'm being flip. But I'm also being serious. Yes, there are dangers, and most likely it will not happen as smoothly as I dreamt. Drivers will be mad, and maybe aggressive and confused, and they'll probably call the cops on us if the cops aren't already waiting. People will probably get arrested. I, not being the fastest rider on this thread, will probably get arrested. It's more a matter of whether or not I'm willing to accept getting arrested or not. People on this thread have gotten arrested for far less.

But think about it. Do you want to have it on your record that you got arrested for biking on the Santa Monica Freeway? I do. It's absurd and delicious and perfect, and it makes my nose tingle, and it makes me laugh, just like a root beer float. Of course I want that.

I think they must have been the same dream.

The results of the ride were a lot of hooting and hollering, mixed reactions (but a lot of support) from motorists, one law-enforcement warning (footage of the cape-wearing rider getting that warning at the end of this video), and no tickets. Some riders went out for root beer floats afterwards.

And I still want that ticket.

happy earth day

So I've been biking to work for months. I can't remember when I started -- in the summer, for sure, but not every day. I think I started biking in every day in September or October.

But sometimes I have to work offsite. Usually in Santa Monica, so I can still bike there; I just have a longer bike ride at the end. Hey, I love biking, so this is a good thing.

Except for yesterday, when I biked to the office like usual, then got a call ten minutes after I was supposed to be at a sound edit, cursed my apologies into the phone, glared at my bike (poor Doug), and hailed a goddamned cab.

First time I've been in a car in weeks. On Earth Day. Neat.


Fuck the environment, I'm late.

bitch

I don't know that I've ever been called a bitch before. I've been called plenty of other things, but not a bitch.

Or maybe it's just that I don't bike enough on Saturday nights. On the way back from some Los Feliz thing, I had a perfectly delightful ride. Really good, in fact, until about a mile from my house, at which point a Jeep driver was compelled to impart his opinion.

"Bitch!"

I was doing the bike driving thing (acting like a car in the absence of a bike lane), in the right lane. They were in the left lane. Then the light turned red. I passed them, they passed me. I gave them the "I'm looking at you because I want to not hit you, but I'm looking with cold, dead eyes." Then, this:

"GET ON THE SIDEWALK, HIPPIE."

Wow, wrong. I would have expected "hipster" before "hippie," but hipster's not right, either -- I do bathe. Most accurate would be "Nine-year-old boy!" because, well, I dress like a nine-year-old boy. Or "Fashion-Lazy!" I would have taken that. Or, like, "Rigorous with your Political Beliefs, in your Words and in your Actions!"

Oh shit, I am a hippie.