Happy Birthday to Me

I'm oddly nonplussed about my birthday tomorrow. Maybe going to dinner with Rachel in Hopewell. That would be enough, but may hook up with Philly cousins Sunday.
"Hooking Up" is the title of a book of essays by Tom Wolfe. The first time I heard it was at Boston College with friends. I couldn't figure out what it meant. Sex? Making Out? Just meeting someone? I thought the term was stupid in its inexactitude, but now it's become part of the common lexicon.
The one thing that's hard to believe is that guys now text girls messages like "want to come over and hang out?" at 3 am on a Saturday night. What do girls think they mean; come over and watch old movies and eat popcorn? It's all part of the routinization and dullification of sex, the lucky little bastards.
No deep thoughts tonight. I'm working on a writing project I'll describe if it pans out. Otherwise, just thought I'd note that I'm not dead yet.

Ghetto Paradise

Single-family detached stucco bungalows, usually one story high. A patch of grass in front. Palm trees in the background. This is the South Central LA ghetto pictured in John Singleton's "Boyz in the 'Hood" (1991).
What confuses both the film's viewers and foreigners who actually visit the area especially is that it doesn't look so bad at all. It's only the behavior of some of the "boyz" and the easy availability of even automatic weapons that is bad.
Mike Davis, LA's expert on LA, writes about when he took a Middle Easterner around South Central. The man admires it; "all villas (detached houses), no apartments."
But then there were the sickening images of the 1992 riots, especially the trucker being pulled out of his vehicle and having his face and head smashed in with a fire extinguisher by a rioter who did a little victory dance around him, seemingly for the benefit of the news helicopters.
A friend whose work was transferring there from DC was more than a little alarmed about the prospect. I told him the hard racial truth about LA: stay on the Westside, where his office and all the LA glam is, and you won't even know South Central exists. He came back and told me he saw about two black people the entire time.
But even the boyz had access to cars. In the shadow of Malibu and Beverly Hills, I guess it's all about relative deprivation.

Best reply to rapper idiocy goes to Lux. Back in the day, I was singing "Ice Cube/will swarm/on any motherfucker in a blue uniform."
To which Lux replied, "does that include the mailman?"

Heavy Metal-Leg

It's a compound fracture in two places on my right leg. As of yesterday my ankle-area there has been filled with some kind of metal and screws. Six to eight weeks to recover, and it's my driving leg.
Shit. Ice. There goes plan 259-b for getting out of this place. I was ready to work as a busboy in restaurants in New Orleans whose owners my family knows. The one job requirement, however, is being able to move.
The funny thing, of course, is that I like ice. I see it and think of the Clash's "Straight to Hell." It's about the Amerasian kids born in Vietnam after our presence there. They think of the north and it's "clear as winter ice, this is your paradise." There is apparently a group now called "Clear As Winter Ice." Google it.
Last year was so snowless I went all the way to Stowe, Vt., to cross country ski through the mountain woods of the Van Trappe (of Sound of Music) family's lodge and land.
I still highly recommend Stowe. No commercial chains are allowed, so there are great local places. I wonder if I can ski one-legged.

Ow! Foiled again with a broken ankle

Broke my ankle in two places last night after shoveling my father's front sidewalk. After I was done, I took the driveway to the back, since the snow was packed. Unfortunately, it was also hiding a sheet of ice beneath it. My right foot twisted around and I was down.
I'm writing now with my leg in a wrapped up temporary splint from the hospital until I can see an orthopedic guy tomorrow.
This kind of puts the Kibosh on my escape plans, either to New Orleans or LA. New Orleans regulations require that, to get a tour guide license, you must have lived in the metro area for a least six months. LA seems to be the only city where they may be hiring, plus the rent is relatively cheap if you live away from either the Westside (W. Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Santa Monica, Brentwood, the UCLA area etc.) or the beach, or hip areas like Silverlake).
Plus, it would be kind of funny to live in the San Fernando Valley, since so many movies and TV shows are filmed there. Its also known as "Porn Valley," since almost all domestic pornography is produced there. I'm too fat to be lured into gay porn, and too small where it counts to replace Ron Jeremy.
In fact, I don't think I'd be allowed in Southern California at all at my weight. They stop you mid-flight and demand that you parachute down into the Midwest where your kind belong.