Listening to: Elvis Presley, "You've lost that loving feeling". I had no idea this was Elvis' song. Watching the video, he is really The King.

I'm psyched to be heading to San Francisco on Saturday. I'm going for a few weeks, a month, maybe more. No agenda, no purpose, just getting away from San Diego. I have the notion that I'll go up and start looking for work (unemployment runs out in January) and to figure out if I can actually make a real move up there. There's nothing really holding me to San Diego at the moment and I really didn't want to spend the end of 2008 still slumming it in SD.

My original plan was the get up there by early November but that was put on delay as I've had to finish a few projects, host a few out-of-towners, and generally lie low and um, play Warcraft a lot. I've been having trouble sleeping recently. Going to bed at six am, waking up a few hours later, and then feeling like I don't want to sleep again. But then I'm too tired to actually do anything productive so I listen to a few podcasts, pop in a movie, and inevitably waste my semi-waking hours anyway. That all changed this past weekend as I suddenly acclimated myself to a normal schedule (not on purpose) and now I'm up before nine and my head is filled with excitement and energy.

I think my body is telling me it's done hibernating and ready to be productive.

Recently one of my best friends came to visit with her fiance and our friendship refrain is that we never spend any actual time together. Out of our eight years or so of friendship, we've probably spent less than three months of it actually hanging out. They came on a West Coast swing to see if they could possibly move out here after he finishes this part of residency.

I really like her fiance a lot. I've never met her previous serious boyfriends because there's a part of me that doesn't like to own up to the fact that she's not "mine." But this one is her one and he's a really solid, great guy. That's the struggle with having close friends get married. I like to conceive of certain friends being "mine," of extending an ownership blanket over them, but when they get married, that all changes. I know, I know, you can't own people, not fairly anyway, but that's just how I think about some friendships.

George had this to say about the anniversary of dad's death. ("Anniversary" seems like a weird word to use in this context).

"i dont know why but i always feel as if on his anniversay i should be staying home, alone and reminiscing on past memories and then when i dont, i always end up feeling guilty about it. i feel guilty that somehow im being a bad daughter and because for the other 364 days of the year, i dont really think about it or it doesnt really play a big part of my daily life and that for just one day, just 24 hours, i should pay my proper respects."

Since I was actually in San Diego, I accompanied my mom to the memorial park. We packed up a plastic trash bin full of flowers and headed over there as it rained slightly. Generally speaking, I don't visit the grave because it's not a place that speaks to me of my dad. Instead, I mostly go when prompted and even then I'm slightly resistant. It's not because it's hard or difficult, but rather because the physical resting place doesn't hold much meaning for me.

I used to imagine going there by myself and sitting there in the nice grass, thinking deep thoughts and maybe clearing my head or heart or something. It doesn't work like that. Something seems deeply artificial to me about going to a cemetery by myself, or with anyone actually. It's hard to overlook the gardeners, the obvious economic benefit of the tiny plots, and the general sense that this is less a place for resting than a place to be put away.

When we go, my mom is always insistent on cleaning the memorial plaque and removing the dirt, twigs, and debris. My paternal grandmother is buried a few rows up and to the left of my dad and it's usually George and my job to tend to her plaque and to fill her flower pot. I'm ready to leave as soon as we dump the flowers off but my mom usually will gather us together for a moment or two of silence and "talking."

I'm not even sure if anyone is talking to my dad except for my mom. I dunno, do you talk to him George? I'd bet neither one of us does. In this I feel like we're the same -- even in if nearly everything else we're opposites. One of the first inklings for me that we may be more alike than different was in the seemingly emotionless way we both dealt with my dad's sudden departure.

I don't think either of us really cried, at least in front of each other. Actually, I think I did, maybe at his Chinese funeral. Regardless, both of us were more similar in our non-reaction than our obvious grief. Which surprised me because I'd expected her to be a crying mess. Shows what I know.

I think the problem I have with a day of remembrance or a day of grief or mourning or whatnot is the whole ritualization of it. In time it starts to lose its meaning and the actions come to mean less and less. By doing such and such in this or that order, you preserve the moment but lose the meaning. At least that's the way it feels. I've never asked any of my other friends who have lost parents if they feel similarly. I should I guess, because I feel like both of us feel a bit abnormal, whereas it might very well be perfectly normal to be cooking bok choy at home and going house dancing at night in remembrance.

"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation."
-Thoreau-

The other day I was talking to James and he had a conversation with a mutual friend and he asked him, "Are you happy?" Which is one of those super generic questions but it took the friend by surprise because people so rarely asked him that. Like his life is full of friends, activities, and general happiness but beneath it lies a lot of unrest and skepticism about the direction everything is going. What was lacking was a purpose. For example, I don't want kids, I'm essentially devoid of a career, and I'm not tied into the idea of finding marriage or a life partner, so at the end of the day, what do you live for? I guess the short answer is that you have one life to live so it's always worth doing something versus nothing but without anything tying you down, it can be a very transitory existence. You make do and try to accomplish what you can and search out joy wherever you can but that's almost pointless right? Like the same as just idling and hoping time passes?

It's about finding purpose, I guess.

I didn't participate today in the most historic of days and I don't even have a good reason why. Someday, maybe my children will ask, "So did you vote for Obama?" and I'll hem and haw and maybe say, "Yup, sure did!" just to be a part of the action. That was probably my best reason to vote actually, to join in the movement. After all, this is one of those things that will define our lifetime right? "Where were you when American elected its first African-American president?"

Nearly everyone else I know voted. I have friends who have thrown their all into this election and are going to bed tonight with success and joy in their hearts. I wish I could give a good coherent reason for why I declined to vote. It's not like I didn't have the time. There are a lot of stupid often trotted out excuses and none of those really apply to me. I just didn't feel like it. But it's not just about the presidency since there were other issues very worthy of support. Same sex marriage in California might be overturned and if just a few more people like me had gotten off their asses, maybe it wouldn't have been this close.

I think if you neglect or choose not to vote, you also give up your right to have opinions about it. Or rather, your opinions on people who voted the other way. Like today on Facebook everyone was donating their status updates to Obama or McCain. In my mind I'm going "You're voting for McCain? Really?" But who the hell am I to be able to say that? I didn't do shit. Overall it's probably indicative of a sideline posture I consistently adopt in life, where by not doing something, you do absolutely nothing. Which means I lose, I guess.

Anyone else wonder what was the point of the hologram interviews they were having? I have to say I was mighty suspicious if it was really a hologram or just some TV gimmick that made it look like a hologram. I mean, didn't it look way too Stars Wars-y to you?

Oh wait, that was an opinion I shouldn't be allowed to have. Fuck, maybe I should've voted.

Listening to: Bonnie "Prince" Billy, covering R.Kelly's "World's Greatest."

Tonight I spent time in the company of two close friends, but in such incredibly different ways. The first one was just a brief dinner, downtown with her, her friend, and her boyfriend. We ate pizza, drank wine, admired his cat's climbing abilities, and generally talked about Halloween and the Midwest. This particular friend represents a very important person in my life but at the same time, I have a hard time sometimes gauging exactly when/how we're close. There are things I'd inconvenience myself to do for this friend that I'd rarely do for others but a lot of that has to do with the fact that I've just decided I want to be this way for her. Like somewhere along the way in our friendship I've decided that I'd just be this person, ready and willing to say "Yes" to anything.

Now, does that mean that our friendship would falter if I wasn't like this? I don't know. Does it seem to go against tenets I've set up around my other friendships? Sort of. Truth to tell, oftentimes we're as much out of touch with each other's lives as acquaintances and there are times when it feels we are that exactly distant. From the outside looking in, I think other people would hardly know that we were friends, much less close ones. Only after repeated verbal and life affirmation would this fact be clear.

There's quite a bit of history to our friendship, much of it forged years ago and that's something that's always stood very prominently in my mind. And in a way, it gives me this foundation to unquestioningly depend and revel in this friendship, even when it seems like there are hardly any things to say at times.

The rest of my night was spent walking Coronado beach, with feet bare and frozen by the cold sand, and eventually settling on a life guard tower to smoke and talk. It's been a difficult time with this friend, my declared best friend, and we haven't seen or talked much to each other recently. In contrast to my experience earlier that night, there was a lot to say, and a lot of situational comfortability, but also this pervasive sense of not really knowing what we could and wanted to talk about.

I'd forgotten recently that the beach had always been our place. Dating back to high school, our typical hang out would consist of me picking her up, grabbing some coffee and cigarettes, and then heading to the nearby beach to catch up. The rhythm of our friendship was consistent for many years. No shared friendships, no cross-over lives, just simply see each other once or twice a year to talk -- and for me, solve.

Recently that rhythm has changed, to include hanging out or talking nearly daily and now that that rhythm has changed, the friendship is under a bit of strain. It hasn't been easy. But aside from that, in comparing the two experiences, one impersonally personal, the other personally impersonal, I couldn't help thinking about how these two friends represent very distant points on my friendship model and if there was something lacking in both.

Or something lacking in how I've been keeping all friendships. How is it that two people, both considered to be very close to me, can exist in such separate spaces in my life and in my interactions with them? And why do I have such trouble detailing those things to either of them? Or more accurately, verbalizing and identifying what I want/need from one, and what I can/can't give to the other?