One Year in Baltimore

A persons work space is like a tarot card or tea leaves. They reveal something. Dee and I moved to Baltimore exactly one year ago today and this is how my desk looked then. How does it look today? There are some subtle differences.

The Ableton Push has relocated to an auxiliary shelf in order to clear up some table top. Although the desk is eight feet long, it was kinda tight. So now there is space for Dee and I to spread out as we savor our dinners and look at art. It's way more social.

The curtains are another significant change. The hodgepodge fabrics are thicker these days which helps tone down the sunlight. I was getting too much reflection on the laptop and this wasn't helping my editing. I think my photography is better today than it was a year ago so the curtains were a nice adjustment. I've taken 3,550 photos since living in Baltimore and I've edited most of them while sitting at this desk. The rest were edited in motels when I took my road trip to Los Angeles.

The last notable changes are the handmade gifts I received from Dee, which are mainly bits of paper with happy illustrations on them. She also makes tiny trinkets bursting with love energy. Dee is constantly working on her witchcraft. My talismans live on top of the stereo speakers. Basically, good vibes all day for us.

I should mention that the two paintings on the wall above the desk were painted by my brother and I when we were in elementary school back in the 70s in Los Angeles. I've always been fascinated by our aesthetic choices. It’s no wonder I painted outside the lines and used a ton of adolescence to murder the daisy. Coincidentally, Dee painted a portrait of us about a year ago to commemorate seven years of being together and her water color is hanging just above my brothers painting. Dee's portrait includes a bit of fancy numerology having to do with the date of our anniversary (10-6-2013) and how it magically and mathematically involves the number four. It's deep. Something about 10+6+2+1+3 = 22 and 2+2 = 4. And on the fourth day, God created the sun, the moon and the stars. And speaking of, here is one of the first photos I took of Dee in Baltimore.

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Dee at the Inner Harbor | Baltimore, MD | 2020

So what does all this tell you about me? Fuck knows. But I'm hella organized. I believe change happens gradually. And, I guess I have less artistic rage.   

I wouldn't hurt a daisy anymore.

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A Portrait of Anthony, Fear and Compassion

I was on day three of an indefinite road trip. The mission was to drive from Baltimore to Los Angeles to visit my Pops—and then drive back to Baltimore when I was good and ready. The once in a lifetime trip lasted exactly 27 days, 5,728 miles and I never turned on the radio. I drove in silence. When I rolled into Oklahoma City, I checked into the Red Roof Inn and immediately dubbed my room, The Porn Suite Deluxe.

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Motel Life | Oklahoma City, OK | 2021

Sexy faux leather, a warped California King and carpet so nasty I had to keep my slippers on. Oh baby, spank me good! But I needed to take some pictures while there was still light, so I grabbed my camera and leaped off the balcony for an adventure. 

The OC neighborhood mimicked the motel. Slim shady for real. Although I was dying to get a beer at the Circle K across the street, I had just lit some reefer and I didn't feel like confronting the kids lingering out front smoking cigs, so I sacrificed sips for the sake of art and social anxiety and headed in the opposite direction. After walking through a series of endlessly dense parking lots, I discovered an urban oasis.

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The Oasis | Oklahoma City, OK | 2021

Whoa. I was digging this. And I forgot all about the sketchy motel room. As I lined up the shot and crouched down a bit for the perfect angle, I noticed some folks checking me out across the lake—and when I see someone rubbernecking, this is generally a sign to click and move on. But I was too late. I saw a dude walking my way with a serious sense of urgency. Oh fuck. He was so fast I just had to deal with it. When he approached I said, "Do you see this?" And then I pointed to the tableau. He shook his head as though he didn't understand. "The reflection, it's so dreamy." I showed him one of the 14 pictures I just took. He studied the image but was mildly interested in the art. He wanted to tell me something. So I stalled. "What is this place? Do you live around here?" His name was Anthony. He said, "Yes, I live right over there. You see that stuff on the sidewalk, it's mine, and I'm trying to get someone to take me to my storage unit before it closes." I asked him what time it closed. Anthony said, "9 o'clock. Can you take me? It's only a few blocks away. It would take just five minutes." I looked at my phone. It was 9:05 p.m. I said, "I think they're closed." He said, "But if we go right now we can make it. I know Amy. She's cool. But we'd have to go—right now." 

Anthony had a lot of energy and he too seemed to be catching some kind of buzz. Maybe liquor. I said, "Man, I just smoked some weed. And I just drove 500 miles because I'm on a journey to see my father in California who just had a stroke and he's dealing with Alzheimers, and. I can't get back into that truck right now." "I'm sorry to hear that," Anthony said in earnest. "Thank you." I continued, "Yeah, my friend Doug just died from the diabetes and I wasn't able to see him and when my mom passed in 1997 I wasn't able to see her, I tried, but she died when I was on layover in Texas, so I haven't had much luck with family, when, you know what I mean?" He shook his head. I looked him in the eye and waited a sec.

So we got to talking. Anthony is a father of three and his oldest is 38. Like Pops, Anthony was in the Air Force and served 10 years as a medic. He knew a lot about medicine, and although he still did a bit of meth, it was the drink that got him into trouble. He was in prison twice for a total of nine years. He was released from his second conviction just two years ago. In the meantime, a rat bastard stole his identity and his money and he planted a bug inside Anthony's head so he is watching his every move and literally driving him insane. Anthony is working with the FBI to track him down. He wants to move out of Oklahoma City but he's not sure where to go. He's been shifting around from motel to motel and is currently living at the extended stay shown in the photograph above. You can see one of his roommates, Ray Ban, on the left side of the photo sitting with the stuff Anthony wanted to take to storage. He is sitting next to a shaggy woman who is also sharing their room, which consists of a queen bed, a sink, a shower and a toilet. Ray Ban and the blonde were the peeps checking me out when I initially discovered the oasis. Anthony wanted to put all his stuff into storage because he's sick and tired of people stealing his shit. I told him I was staying at the Red Roof. He said, "Yeah, I've stayed there too." Although I was getting a deep sense of paranoia from Anthony, something about him was legit sincere. I trusted him. I said, "My middle name is Anthony." "That's cool," he said. I slowly continued, "Although it's a bit late right now, I would like to drive past your room tomorrow morning after I wake up and have coffee. I want to help you with your stuff. Maybe around 10 a.m.?" We hugged and he said, "That would be great. I really appreciate it. I just need to get my life together."

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Blackout Curtains | Oklahoma City, OK | 2021

I couldn't sleep a wink that night. I started to doubt myself. Am I being too compassionate? Is this dangerous? What am I thinking? The last thing I need to do is invite a total stranger into my truck with all their baggage. I convinced myself that it would be best to just roll out of OC and never look back. But I was conflicted. I was just trying to get to California, man, and I had a long way to go. The rain was pouring when I finally had the courage to get out of the California King and make a cup of in-room coffee. I was even beginning to tolerate the taste of stale grind. OMG, what is happening to me? I packed up my shit, left the room key at the front desk and started up the truck. No radio, just the sounds of the wiper blades jerking back-and-forth. I stared at the Circle K across the meridian. No one was there. I thought about Anthony. Hey, we are both Anthony. Isn’t that wild! He just needs someone to help him out right now. He talked to me when I wasn't so sure about myself. He shared intimate things about his life. He was honest and tender. And I told him I would be there. Fuck.  

When I pulled around to Anthony's room there was an Uber driver parked outside his door with his trunk open. When I saw Anthony I waved and said, "Good morning, sir. Sorry I'm late." Anthony was happy to see me and he told the Uber driver that I was his ride and he didn't need him anymore. The driver was furious and asked for $5. Anthony didn't have any cash on him. I offered to pay the $5 but he didn't want my money. He just glared at me and sped away. 

Anthony meticulously put all his belongings into the bed of the truck as Ray Ban and I stood around and watched. Anthony was frantically looking through his bags when Ray Ban said, "What’s wrong?" Anthony said he couldn't find the keys to his storage unit. I started to pace a bit.

"Oh here they are."

Phew. So I drove Anthony to the facility which was a few blocks down the road, as promised. On the way he said, "So are you going to drive 500 miles today?" I told him I'd like to. He said, "Well, that should take you through Elk City, then Amarillo, then Tucumcari, then I think you'll end up in Albuquerque. That should be about 500. Text me when you get there so I'll know you're safe." He was right. It was 536 miles by the time I rolled into New Mexico. I texted Anthony when I arrived and let him know I was good.

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Storage Unit | Oklahoma City, OK | 2021

I eventually made it to California to see Pops. We spent 13 days together. The last time I saw my father was on Halloween, 2016. Me and Pops aren’t super close. We never seemed to really connect after he and my mom divorced in 1984. That was a bitter situation. We stumbled to reconcile the memories over the years, but it was awkward. We just didn’t seem to have the right words, or tone, or affection. The most time we spent together since the 80s was maybe one or two days. For a second, I thought we might spend 19 days together but an unfortunate bit of quarrel shortened my stay. We left each other without saying goodbye and we ended at 13—an omniscient number, perhaps—signifying the end of one thing and the beginning of another. There is hope for us.

I love my Pops. That’s just the way it is.

One of the last things my friend Doug said to me was, "Wig, everything doesn’t need to be perfect." I can dig it. I suffer a bit as I compulsively attempt to line up all the pieces. This was one of the seldom discussed motivations for my road trip—to just, let it go. Improvise. Trust the path.

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Pops | Thousand Oaks, CA | 2021

My brother texted me the other day and said, "Hope the road trip was a good experience."

Indeed. And I’m grateful. 🧡 There’s work to be done. But I had a lot of time to meditate as I patiently weaved in and out of traffic. Very mellow. And I took 1,300 photos with varying shades of nuance. It's a beautiful country. And the feelings. Oh, how the feelings influence everything. Art. Love. Compassion.*

When I finally made it back to Baltimore, I took a deep breath and turned off the engine.

The silence was familiar—and friendly.

* Say a prayer for Pops if you can. Wish him well on his journey.

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Different Color Socks

It's been three months since my last confession. 

I think about him every day. Sometimes it's when I'm dancing with Dee or when Melissa texts me and says she's cooking onions and Mr. Angleton is telling her to "Leave em alone, leave em alone, leave em alone." And she does. Melissa leaves them alone, for a second, and then she forgets. 

Doug never turned down a good meal or an invitation to go dancing. Sometimes we would eat before showing off our latest spins and twirls but most of the time the eating came after the dance. Late nights at the French Roast—open 24 hrs. We would get there around 3 am and sit at our favorite table. We'd order breakfast. I'd get a coffee and a side of swerve. Then we'd shuffle a well worn deck and settle in for a long match of Cho Dai Di, which means "The Big Two" in Cantonese, or in street vernacular—"Crack." Damn. That shit was hard to put down. And we were both fierce competitors. Thankfully we kept the fire contained with thick slices of french toast, eggs any style, a pile a home fries, a side of bacon—plus the links. Have mercy. I haven't played Dai Di since the summer of 2015 which is when Doug moved back to Tucson. But some things you never forget. It might take me a hand or two to get back into tournament shape, but for now, I'm satisfied with the memory—of spanking his candy ass! Just kidding. We were well matched and we would graciously pass the crown back-and-forth. I mean, eventually. We'd mope around a bit at first, and our laughter would feel a bit insincere and forced. And then there was the awkward silence as we sopped up the last drips of maple syrup. "Oh look, the sun is coming up," I'd say. Doug would slowly turn his head towards the window and we would sit quietly while meditating on the passing traffic. And then the words, "Gosh Wig, I really love dancing with you." I would smile and peek underneath the café table. Doug prided himself on never wearing the same two socks. We were born 12 days apart. Sagittarius. So yeah, when I say I'm satisfied with the memory, how does that play out exactly? I'd like to break it down.

"So how are you doing?" which is what I'm asked. It's a fair question and one that I might ask someone else who just lost a friend. I guess I'm doing ok. The first time I grieved was when my mom passed in 1997. I've come to realize that grieving is pretty much forever. And now I have Doug. All our lives we stack feelings. That energy of competition that I felt with Mr. Angleton when we were living the dream in NYC was playful—but it was also full of machismo. I grew up surrounded by the tough guy. That mentality became a part of me. That's what grieving 2.0 is all about. It's a mirror that's pointed directly at my inner compassion and it's whispering, "Be kind now." The new grieving is poetic—if you lose a loved one, it's a sign to reflect and let go of something you no longer need. So today I say goodbye to my inner macho man. There are future generations of tough guys walking the streets, but there is one less today. Me. I'm officially a flower child. And so was Doug. Memories of his camaraderie are not only satisfying, but they are essential to the preservation of spirit. I could have been kinder to Mr. Angleton. The best I can do now is to be kind to his memory. This is a life mantra learned from living—and grieving. Be kind now.

I will start with a gentle meditation.

I tell Dee that I love her very much. I also tell her that I am happy and sincerely grateful for my journey. Lastly, I tell her that I love the life we*** have lived—together. Then I kiss her on the forehead and we prepare our dinner. And if there is enough time, we'll dance. 

So yeah, that's how it plays out.

*** Everybody & everything

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