My 5

Tonight I had a conversation with my pastor about my dating life.

Among topics, I asked him for thoughts and advice about male vs. female initiation in dating. As usual, he gave me a well-thought out response that comes not from memorizing rules or mastering a particular argument, but from years and years of counseling couples in real life.

He challenged me to think not about the dos and don'ts, but to think about what I really want. He encouraged me to think about my top 5 deal-breakers, and think about what's actually going on in my relationships, rather than seek a formula for relationship success. When put that way, it cuts the crap and gets right to the point.

It was a helpful conversation, and by the end of it I realized he didn't necessarily tell me anything I hadn't already in some way concluded myself. But it was empowering to remember the responsibility I have in solving my own dilemma. Yet at the same time, I felt him unknowingly call my bluff. My excuses have generally been sung to the tune of, "all of the attractive, interesting guys I'm interested in will never ask me out." But what are my 5 deal-breakers?

I have to admit, I can't say that I know for sure. And I feel a bit of discomfort at the thought of figuring those out. Just a little bit.

I Heart This Show

...not just because it has both Jason Segel and Neil Patrick Harris, or because they acknowledge things like the girl with crazy eyes or unspoken rules between bros, but because it's fun watching people on TV go through what every single person goes through (well, more or less).

Marshall rules.

Hot Insecure People

I don't think we will ever fully understand the phenomenon. We all know the hot guy who only goes for crazy women, and the hot girl who only goes for losers. And what about those of us who go for that hot guy? Does that make us the crazy in that equation?

Which came first, the chicken or the egg? And where are all the normal people?

Farewell to John Hughes

When the news broke that John Hughes died a few days ago of a heart attack at the age of 59, news articles across the internet have been accompanied by testimonies of former Brat Packers and other stars who were put on the map because of him or were admirers from afar: Matthew Broderick, Molly Ringwald, Jennifer Grey, Jon Cryer, Steve Martin and even Roger Ebert.

If Michael Jackson's music was such a part of the soundtrack of my youth, John Hughes was by far the filmmaker who helped me fall in love with movies and influenced my sense of identity and humor. He had a true affection for the underdog -- or in high school terms, the geek. Although our hearts throbbed for Jake Ryan and Ferris Bueller, the real heroes of his movies were Farmer Ted, Cameron Frye and Keith Nelson (I had to look up that last name -- I don't think they even mention Keith's last name in "Some Kind of Wonderful").

At one point, I think I had all of the words memorized to "Sixteen Candles," "Pretty In Pink," "Ferris Bueller's Day Off," and parts of "The Breakfast Club." I admit, I wanted to be Molly Ringwald. When my classmates all wanted Acura Integras, I wanted a purple Karmann Ghia. And I will always remember a day in junior high when I proudly went to school in a funky-styled outfit I had put together myself only to get made fun of by the popular girls. Though mortifying at the time, in looking back I suppose it was a true Andie Walsh moment.

Hats off to the man who championed us off-beat kids and teens, who ever needed someone to validate our cause. Thanks, John. We'll miss the screwball jokes interlaced with profound moments of tenderness that were your films.


1. You can never go too far.
2. If I'm gonna get busted, it's not gonna be by a guy like that.

Fireworks and The Man in the Mirror

Just over a week ago, Michael Jackson, the self-proclaimed King of Pop, danced his last signature steps in a rehearsal on the grand stage of the Staples Center, then went into cardiac arrest and breathed his last breath not 24 hours later. I was at work running from one meeting to another when a co-worker alerted me to the news before CNN or the LA Times had confirmed it: Michael Jackson was dead.

Since then, DJs have dusted off old LPs of album cuts or singles not played in years, radio stations have created tribute mixes and dedicated days to all-Michael play, television specials on his life and music have been popping up with a quickness only possible for someone with such a prolific career of music and video volume over the 40-year career of his 50-year life. And I, in my own car, have had "Michael" and "Jackson 5" as my two most played artists on my iTunes, processing the death of the man who provided much of the soundtrack of my youth. Videos from the "Thriller" album bring me back to watching Video 1 with Richard Blade in elementary school, songs from "Dangerous" were the anthems of my high school dance production numbers, and the list goes on.

As a DJ, I mourn the death of one of the greatest musical talents in history. Though he hasn't produced a hit in a few years, the finality that Jackson's distinctive, soulful vocals will not appear on any more new releases is a sad thought. As a Gen-Xer, I mourn the closing of a genre -- in a way, Michael was his own -- so closely tied with the development of my musical taste and love of dance growing up. But as a human, I mourn the downward spiral of his life over the years. Growing up literally remembering nothing but being in the public eye, and with a fiercely applause-hungry, over-critical and crazy stage parent of a father, Michael confessed once that the only place he felt safe was on a stage before thousands of people. As impressive as his presence was on that stage of dancers and flashing lights, there appeared to me to be a child who never grew up, and struggled with self-hate and was scared to death of people and relationships. All of this culminated in child molestation charges, excessive plastic surgery and increasingly frequent public displays of weirdness.

Michael's music may have been big enough to cover the multitude of his deep issues, and many will remember his glorious laundry list of #1s over all of the freakishness. But as many thousands there are mourning Michael the King on Tuesday's memorial service at the Staples Center and Nokia, I could bet the number of individuals who actually knew Michael the man could be counted on one hand.

Still, as I watched fireworks celebrating the Fourth of July tonight, my friends and I were sitting too far from the show to hear any music. And in my mind, the silent, spectacular show - like many things - would have been perfect set to some good ol' MJ.

A Fine Bro-mance

Last night I went to see "I Love You, Man," a bro-mantic comedy -- or the latest blockbuster formula in Hollywood. Paul Rudd plays Peter, a chronic boyfriend -- sensitive, honest, thoughtful, and more comfortable with the opposite sex (we all know that guy). When he gets engaged, his fiancee encourages him to fill out their wedding party with some of his best friends, and he embarks on a series of man-dates in search of a BFF.

When Peter finds his match made in heaven, it's in the free-love, free-thought, intuitive quasi-bohemian Sydney, played by Jason Segel. But unlike the romantic comedies of yore, this friendship is all about embracing their testosterone-driven, lustful inner animal. Unlike Peter, Sydney is way in touch with his man-side, and encourages Peter to yawp and masturbate his way there as well.

This is not the first time I've walked out of a movie about love and relationships realizing that I am no longer the target audience. It follows a string of male-centered romantic/friendship comedies dominating screens big and small. Characters like Turk and J.D., Andy the 40-year-old virgin, and just about anyone played by Josh Rogan are in good company. They encourage bachelors everywhere to throw the Prince Charming of the female genre out the window, and give them the real man in all of his imperfect, unfaithful, impulsive and sometimes downright disgusting tendencies. (Hey, in spirit of bromance, I'm just keepin' it real.) They thank Greg Behrent and Judd Apatow for helping them get their balls back.

I find it a fascinating turn in our culture that the bromance points to. After the metrosexual phenomenon has become everyday, and more and more men are just as concerned with their appearance as women are, it turns out they have also become just as obsessed with the perfect girl as we are with the perfect guy -- and their fantasies just as full of issues.

Although I have mixed feelings about the overall message bromance is trying to make (about as mixed as my feelings towards the female version), I gotta say the former is way more entertaining to me overall. I don't know what that says about me. I've never been much of a traditional romantic, and maybe I'm finding myself feeling out-womaned by men.

A Very Rainy Day

Today I found out my good friend DJ Hideo has been diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer, which has also spread to his liver.

After spending a good part of today driving in the rain in tears or fighting them, I can't describe how sad this makes me, or how terrifying it is to even think of losing another loved one. In a world full of competition and lack of regard for others, it is rare to find someone who genuinely cares for others and who's pleasure it is to do so. At times I have felt alone in the world of the DJ, or like even friends are more motivated by self-interest. But despite his credentials of 20+ years as a professional DJ, regarded well by his colleagues around the world, Hideo has always been a presence of joy and safety to me, and true friendship. And the thought of his life being at risk is deeply saddening to me.

I only met Hideo in 2006. It is amazing how quickly a person can find a home in your heart. Kindness is a powerful thing, and as easily as it binds people together, the strength of it makes the thought of loss all the more painful.

Please join me in praying for Hideo and his family.



At Barcopa, my first residency given to me by Hideo

America's Top Knight

Yesterday, Barack Hussein Obama was inaugurated as the 44th President of the United States -- as if you needed me to tell you that. It was probably one of the most publicly viewed inaugurations of all time, and certainly the most by far in my own lifetime. I confess, it was the first time I have ever cared enough to watch. One of my own housemates was among the throng of some 2 million witnesses to the event live in D.C., braving freezing temperatures overnight that they might catch a glimpse of the ceremony inducting the first beloved politician in decades.  After prayers, songs and oaths were all given, the new President gave his winning smile and waved to the crowd -- certainly the millions gathered thought that wave was just for them.  Later in the day, as the motorcade drove down Pennsylvania Avenue, Obama and his first lady stepped out of their luxury Cadillac to walk a bit, and cameras subsequently caught fans running to keep up with the car in the off chance that their hero, the President, might step out of the car again and acknowledge them.

I am a supporter of Barack Obama and was not shy about casting my vote for him back in November. But as inspiring a speaker, as charming a personality, as well-rounded and diverse a background and as great of a leader and thinker he may be, he is still just a man -- a man I've never met, and a politician at that. I would be so bold as to say that that relationship is true for most of the world that is doting over its newfound obsession.  And yet, when Obama speaks, people not only listen, they cry. 

What this tells me about our country is a few things. I will attempt to generalize here: One, that we have felt so starved of leadership we trust, having so long tolerated leadership (beyond the Bush era) that seemed defensive, deceitful and at times completely nonsensical.  Barack Obama stepped into history at just the right time. Had he come onto the ballot even one term earlier, I don't think our country would have been prepared to put the first half-Black man into office. And as much as I feel for George Bush, who just about became the laughing stock of the world by the end of his presidency, his perfect storm dilemma of multiple red-alert crises and bad leadership decisions made us feel that desperation for something new all the more. 

Two, that for the majority of us out there, Daddy didn't love us the way we needed. Though he may not know it, Obama has been adopted by many as their surrogate fathers. Like our favorite celebrities, he is perfect from afar -- but even more so, because he wants to take care of us. We love his courage to stand up for the ideals of this generation, we love that he thinks like us -- except he's way smarter. We love his humanity, the man seemingly always before the politician. We love that he can adore his wife, talk about his kids' allergies to dogs and address the crashing economy and foreign policy all in one breath. We love that he listens to Stevie Wonder and Jay-Z. He has become the knight in shining armor, the perfect guy saving the day at the end of a cheesy movie, the authority who finally gets us.

As extreme as the hysteria over this one man has become, and as much as I generally oppose extreme hysteria, I, too, have hopes that Obama will be a better leader than anyone we've had in a while. As far as change goes, if Obama's greatest accomplishment is to breathe new hope and excitement in leadership into our country's culture of disrespect and distaste for authority, that is pretty monumental in itself.

New Year of Acceptance

New Year's has always held more personal significance to me than Thanksgiving or Christmas. Though meaningful and special in their own ways, I grew up associating those holidays with concepts like lots of food, or the prospect new toys or gifts -- all good things, but more mature adult concepts like gratefulness and the birth of Jesus never really set in my consciousness fully to replace them. New Year's Day is something that has made more sense to me as an adult: It represents both the end of things and beginning of things at once. It has made me pause and say goodbye to things I've grown out of, and welcome in new hopes and prospects of what may come. It is bittersweet and thankful and reflective.

A year ago today, I received the news that a friend of mine was killed in a tragic car accident. Yesterday, my friends were on my heart and mind, and I think they always will be on New Year's Day. As I look back on the year that followed, I realize that death -- or endings -- was somewhat of a theme that carried throughout. Friends married or drifted, new relationships I had hoped would work out a certain way didn't, and I found myself accepting things as they really were, maybe for the first time. Somehow through it all, I ended the year more at peace, if a little more wistful, than a year ago.

Whatever the new year may bring, I feel more ready to go through it and less afraid of what that may include. I have much to be grateful for, and feel like I have nothing to lose that I cannot keep.

The Failing Economy of Dating

Our major investment banks, stock market and job market are not the only things plummeting in the United States. There is also the matter of the slow decline of resources in the world of Christian dating.

As a single Christian woman who is neither white, nor affiliated with the fundamentalist religious right, nor merely a nominal Christian who's beliefs have no bearing on her actual life and views, from an economist's standpoint it could be said that I entered the market already at a deficit when it comes to number of options. Add in a timetable of those small resources slowly declining, and though you may not get a sudden market crash, a girl can get the feeling that this country didn't end up being the land of opportunity she thought it could be.

She might find herself having thoughts more regularly like, "I really am both the oldest and only single person in this room," or "Are there really only losers and passive men left?" and find a sinking feeling that the salad days of yore are never to be returned to. Unlike the fiscal economy, this pool of resources doesn't cycle back up.

Though it will take millions of jobs and dollars to bring our country back to a functioning, thriving level again, it is sometimes easier for me to believe that is possible than that there is any one guy out there for me. Money that already exists can be reallocated and channeled in new ways to invigorate an economy. The same cannot be said about the endangered species of men who would be right for me.

I do believe though that hitting rock bottom is necessary for both kinds of economies to improve. While our country is at a point where we want to learn from the mistakes of the Great Depression, and take informed measures not to repeat history, I'm hoping my rock bottom has already hit and that I, too, will learn from the mistakes of my past and be more open to a future that probably involves a significant amount of change. The country may be waiting for new orders from our new president-elect, but I await a word and act of redemption from my God.

Nibbling

Most days, I'm at least somewhat able to hold onto hope that something good out there awaits, whatever that may be. I'm grateful for what I have -- a job I enjoy with coworkers and a boss that I respect and like, a community of friends that I know love me and would be there for me in a minute if I needed them, parents who raised me to value authenticity in myself and in those around me, and the list can go on. 

But once in a while, the wear and tear of disappointment or loneliness that sometimes comes with growing in different ways than those around me can get the better of me. Once in a while, there's a long-term wear day.

But as I sit in my room tonight, feeling the weight of future "what-if-nots," I know that somehow this will all help me love and suffer with people better in the end. Somehow it's the difficult stuff that makes the most difference once you get through it. And I can at least hope in that.

Waxing Obama

There may be some who foolishly believe that Barack Obama is some magic savior that will solve all of the country's many abysmal problems. There may be some who voted for the celebrity of Obama -- probably the first presidential candidate to substantially infiltrate video games, rap songs, pop radio stations and SNL. He is definitely "cooler" and "hipper" than McCain -- who Chris Rock recently described as "OLD-old." Others may just be relieved just to have a coherent, thinking Democratic president in office. And still others may see that he represents a new generation of adults that are now the voters and contributing citizens of America, and a change in what we need from a leader.

But in the weeks leading up to today, and as I stood in line this morning waiting an hour at Greater Page Temple down my street to vote with many neighbors I'd never met before and who rarely leave their houses, the impact has struck me of what it might mean to have a Black president for the first time in American history. I thought of the people I've lived right next to the last 10 years who struggle so hard to believe even graduating high school and going to college is possible, or the people my roommate defends in the LA courts everyday who are victims of racial profiling, little knowledge of their rights and corrupt law enforcement. These are among the people who Obama has somehow ignited with hope for the success of their own lives and renewed a sense of patriotism and respect for leadership.

Though the actual hard work of realizing hopes and undoing the mess this country currently is has only just begun, I never thought I'd see the day when a leader would arise that the neighbors around me would feel advocated by and believe in. Not because of what he can do, but because of what his election represents, it was a miracle that Barack Obama got elected. And I feel proud to be an American -- maybe really for the first time -- for how we cared enough to vote today and elect the unlikely candidate that will help inspire people in this country who have been starved of hope for so long and give them a sense of ownership for what their futures could be. A black man as president is no longer just an idyllic fantasy of TV and film. Also, it sure is nice to think that we now have a chance, as Sarah Silverman puts it, to no longer be known as the assholes of the universe.

Now, time to roll up our sleeves.

My George Costanza Year

One of my favorite episodes of "Seinfeld" is the one where George Costanza decides he's tired of being a loser, and that the way to remedy the situation is by approaching everything in life the opposite way he would naturally be inclined to.  As the episode goes on, he finds that as he's taken this approach, everything is starting to go his way in all areas of his life.

I feel this is a George Costanza time for me in the area of my singleness.  Clearly whatever I've been doing or not doing has not been working.  Maybe I've picked the wrong "type," maybe I'm not looking in the right places, maybe I've closed doors to people or avenues that felt distasteful for wrong reasons.  Whatever it is, I know there is still no guarantee that everything will turn around.  But feeling a little burned by my own tendencies, I'm willing to try doing the opposite of me for a while.

Top 7 Good Feelings

7. Around 5:30 PM everyday when I'm getting off work -- especially Friday

6. Spinning a DJ set and getting in the zone

5. The feeling just after cleaning up for bed after a long day

4. Finding the perfect clearance deal on an item I've been long looking for

3. Unexpected gratitude expressed by someone you have worked hard to care for

2. Watching a great movie that helps me have a breakthrough about my own life

1. Realizing that God made something really good out of a really shitty situation

A Very L.A. Dilemma

When my roommate moved in two years ago, we got an all too familiar notice on our door informing us that some filming or other was to take place on our block. She was very excited that the cast of a TV show she loved was actually going to be just down the street from us.

Just a few months later, the novelty wore off quick when she realized that this happens once every few weeks. The street is overridden with trailers, portable high-wattage lighting and cops. Woody Harrelson, Queen Latifah, R&B group Cherish and the cast of Heroes have all spent time on my block. Once in a while we might see a small check for our inconvenience, sometimes there is blaring music on repeat for hours, and always we lose all of the parking on our street. I won't lie: It sucks.

I live in the historic West Adams district. The neighborhood that began as the wealthy center of L.A., now home to mostly lower-income Black and Latino families, has apparently recaptured the attention of the upper class.  

I do find it fascinating that this dynamic exists here in my lower-income hood, on the north border of South Central. Only in L.A. would the poor find themselves so regularly displaced and inconvenienced by movie stars. 

Forever High School

In my time, it was the Brat Pack. But through the decades, it's clear that whatever the form -- from "Grease" to 90210 to High School Musical -- high school drama sells. There's something about high school that captures the beginning of our understanding of individuality, socialization and relationships that is unique to most other experiences people willingly enter into. Beyond graduation, we disperse further into segregated, specialized environments based on wealth, ethnicity, class, religion, and interests. But in high school, the sportoes, motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, wasteoids and dweebies (as coined by John Hughes), one and all are stuck on one campus.  

But though we all leave it eventually, our issues often follow us right off the school yard. Whoever you were on campus, many can't seem to shake the ghosts of their high school past.  Guys chase that cheerleader they felt like they could never get, girls pine after the people-pleasing football captain or ASB president.  Or sometimes we are also drawn to the person they used to be: fat or nerdy or on the outside, converted to socialized, improved adult cool.  We chase those images of strength or beauty that we feel make will make us feel like one of the cool kids, when if we just took care of our own inner children, we might grow up and realize those dynamics should have been left at the senior prom.

The problem is, even the head cheerleader can never actually do the job of getting rid of your ghost. If we can't get to a point where we can grow up out of high school ourselves, we can't get someone to do it for us anymore than we can do it for someone else. But plenty of us try. Relationships and even marriages are built on these dynamics, and people can make them work -- as long as they both commit to staying in high school...for as long as they both shall live.

Obama and the Unexpected

This year, my best birthday wish came from my friend Kevin, who wrote to me, "May God bless you this year in so many ways that you don't expect."

The words speak directly to the law of diminishing returns between expectations and age. As each year goes by, and certain hopes are continually deferred, I need to be reminded that God can surprise me with just what I need when I least expect it. And that sometimes it only takes a moment for things to change entirely, one way or another -- for better or for worse.

A few months ago, when it became clear that Barack Obama would be the next Democratic candidate for President, I had an odd reaction. I had voted for him in the primaries, and been a strong supporter, but realized in that moment that I had a very low expectation that he would actually get the nomination in the end. Obama was the least likely to succeed, even against a woman (though I can't not mention the political power and race card for Hilary). I found that I had hoped for and supported something I deep down thought was surely a lost cause.

But tomorrow night, Obama will officially accept the nomination of the Democratic party. And at this point, it's very possible he'll be elected the first Black president of this country, and the first candidate I've felt excited about maybe in my lifetime. To me, the hard part was beating Hilary. And when that happened, I felt strangely challenged to believe that anything could happen -- whether in the face of my utter lack of faith in the American people or my subtler lack of faith in areas of my own life that I want to hope for, but deep down find myself thinking are lost causes.

Though I have experienced unexpected things on the painful or disappointing end this year, I am fighting hard to get to a place where the deeper places of my heart that have given up will be revived and catch up with the hopes I still haven't lost in my head.

The Narrow Road

It is a terrible feeling when you realize you have given someone too much credit. It means that a person you trusted and respected on some level has disappointed you, and lost that relationship to you. Though it doesn't necessarily mean the end of a friendship, it does inevitably mean an adjustment to who they really are. I think in general I want to believe in the best in people, and sometimes this gets me into trouble. 

But if there's one thing I've learned about people -- both men and women, it's that as much as we want to believe that age and time bring about the same results for all, that is not the case. Growth is a choice, not a given.  It's a choice we make or don't make everyday.  And as time goes on and days add up of choosing or not choosing to deal with yourself, you reach your 30s and suddenly the difference between two people's cumulative choices becomes startling. Dynamics and issues you gladly left behind years ago are ever-present for someone else.

I'm glad for the choices I've made that have made me the person I am today, different from who I was 10 years ago.  But I don't forget that much of that growth has come the hard way. And so as I pick myself up and dust myself off, I'm determined to choose to grow from my circumstances rather than let myself shrivel into a bitter, jaded woman of 32.  Bitterness and jadedness were so last decade...for me.

That Olympic Moment

I have always been a sucker for medals ceremonies. Nothing gets me choked up like watching someone get something they have worked so hard for.  Whether the obvious glory of Michael Phelps, once an awkward student picked on in school now being called the greatest athlete in the world, or the quieter story of 33-year old gymnast Oksana Chusovitina, who has continued competing over the years just to financially support her son's leukemia treatments and just won a bronze for Germany, there are amazing stories of beating the odds for a full two weeks. 

But part of the excitement of the Olympics is never knowing what will happen. The very same athletes who are favorites to win gold could lose in just a moment.  The most talented, disciplined and amazingly strong people of the world are at their super-human best and very human worst.

As I watched my favorite gymnast, Shawn Johnson, win at her last chance at gold for the women's individual medal for balance beam, I found myself longing for the day when I can look back and see the fruit of hard decisions or circumstances in my life. When asked what standing on that medal podium with a gold was like, commentator and former Olympian Tim Daggot said all you think about are the failures, the struggles that brought you there and the many times you could have quit, and how all of it is worth that one moment where you've reached that goal.  I guess only the suffering makes the glory real and fully understood.

I hope that someday I can stand before God and many witnesses to how I well lived my life, rather than look back with a regretful list of getting caught up with things that didn't really matter, or only served myself in the end. A medal for hoping against all odds, or helping people know they are fully enjoyed and loved, or perseverance in trusting God even when it felt terribly lonely -- those are medals that would make me cry on the podium.  

No Words Required

I love my family very much, but they have never been ones to deal well with any sort of pain. But I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I'm one blessed girl when it comes to my friends. If ever I find myself feeling kicked to the curb, I know exactly who to go to. Sometimes all you need is to sit with someone that you know is feeling you, no words required. With a knowledge and love for me that comes from much conversation, prayer, laughter and tears over the years, I can share a brief summary of either disappointment or celebration, and they know just what it means to me. And at times when I have only questions and few words about a circumstance, it sure is nice to be understood.