Do you think that it's funny that I just plagiarized my Twitter profile from the Wikipedia entry for Benjamin Franklin?

"a leading author, printer, political theorist, politician, postmaster, scientist, musician, inventor, satirist, civic activist, statesman, and diplomat."

Sick

I never get sick. 

Even though my sister offered to poach me an egg that morning, I ate cottage cheese for breakfast. An hour later I drove to the best taqueria on Sunset. I normally order three tacos: two carnitas and one al pastor but the carne asada looked particular interesting today, so I opted for four tacos. I talked to my friend about his Kickstarter project while we ate a dozen tortilla chips and disappointingly mild salsa. The tacos arrived and for the first time in over a week I consumed meat. 

We have four factors that could have solely or in tandem contributed to my eventual sickness. The first culprit was the cottage cheese. There is no way around it, cottage cheese is disgusting. Curds of white cheese in a sea of yogurty semi-liquid. It looks like someone bleached their own vomit. My mom likes to eat it with cereal and fruit as a substitute for milk. Apparently it is healthy for you. 

Eating three tacos instead of four is a classic example of overeating. The type of scenario that sends Roman nobleman to the vomitorium, and then sends me to Wikipedia to discover that this is a common misconception, a vomitorium is actually an architectural feature of an amphitheater. Notwithstanding I ate too much.

Another contributor might have been my overindulgence in recently fried tortilla chips and a collection of salsas that were muy sabroso but lacked the picante that I’ve come to enjoy. Had it been spicier, I would have eaten less. But as I soon discovered the salsa’s relative mildness was beneficial to my esophagus on its return visit to my mouth. 

Binging on meat after several days of relative vegetarianism has in the past resulted in nausea. When I was in the fifth grade I dabbled in not eating meat for two weeks around the time of the Northridge earthquake. My father catered his birthday party from a delicious bbq joint, so I threw out the salad and ate beef ribs, that night I threw up the beef ribs. I suspect a rich meal after so many bland ones makes you barf. It could have also been earthquake nerves. 

After lunch I went to get a non-reggaeton haircut at the Echo Park barbershop that was the setting for this year’s YouTube video about me getting a reggaeton haircut. Casanova’s #2 provides satisfactory haircuts for $6 cada lunes a miercoles. She buzzed my hair and beard in a way that makes me look like Popeye’s adversary. This is still the best deal in town, because by Friday my hair will look okay, and I will still have an additional $14 in my wallet, which wouldn’t be there if I had gone to Rudy’s. 

I walked out of the barbershop thirstier than I’d ever been after a haircut. Lunch had dehydrated me, and I needed bottled water from the grocery store. By the time I reached my car, I wished that I had bought more than one bottle. The drive to Orange County was uneventful except that I unexpectedly missed the 405 and had to detour through the least scenic part of Pacific Coast Highway. I cruised passed burger stands and Wienerschnitzels, then crossed a bridge through miles of industrial warehouses and rail-yards at the Port of Los Angeles. 

I was back on the 405 for a few minutes, when I started to feel tired. The type of tired you feel at 2:30. If I worked in an office I’d pound one of those energy-drinks advertised on Hulu but since I was going back to my bedroom I felt like I should just take a nap. As I started to merge onto the 73 in Fountain Valley or Costa Mesa I burped up some bile. That’s gross right? Well it happened, and I thought “hmm this doesn’t happen very often--If I end up puking I’m totally blaming cottage cheese, and never eating that sucker again.” 

I landed my car in the parking lot, brought the rice cooker upstairs that my mom bought us for Hannukah, and laid down on the couch. Motionless. I didn’t fall asleep, but somehow my dreams were WILD. WILD stands for a wake-initiated lucid dreams. I watched my friends with cat whisker makeup talk about a spaghetti restaurant they worked at along the highway that connects Studio City to the Pacific Palisades. It was a toll road, so obviously I would never have heard about it before. 

I woke up when my girlfriend came home. I was happy to see her. She told me about her trip to the bay area. I was oscillating in and out of consciousness. She thought that I was mad at her, but later realized it was because my haircut made me look like a tough guy. Tough guys get sick too. 

I read a geography coffee table book and learned that Arizona’s oft-forgotten nickname is The Valentine State, because it was entered the union on February 14th, 1912. I knew that learning random facts about geography was simply delaying the inevitable. So I walked into the bathroom and entered ‘child’s pose’ on the floor next to the toilet. I thought of those tacos that I’d eaten earlier, and even though they weren’t inherently gross, it was a source of my discomfort. I thought about all those tortilla chips and mild salsa, and how disgusting cottage cheese really is, no matter how heart-healthy the doctor claims it to be. I started to gag, and then I coughed, and then it all came out. The chips, the salsa, the meat, the cottage cheese. After several rounds of coughing and screaming, I’d evacuated everything that made me feel sick. The bland chiles didn’t cause my throat didn’t burn, my mouth just tasted like onions. Vomiting isn’t as painful or disgusting as I’d imagined it would be. 

I let go of all that nastiness, and felt better.

I recorded myself in a lucid state, while my girlfriend was buying me Pepto Bismol at the pharmacy. Then I fell asleep for twelve hours.

/// im hungry but i dont want to eat / my hunger is longer than my feet / i walk around stadium away and get back on the freeway / back down the road im in chinatown / on sunset / i find my restaurant thats what made me sick / i ate an apple got a haircut took the 110 instead of 710 / there wasnt traffic on either / i got off on the 1 and i drove through santa pedro / san pedro / saint peter / saint pedros cathedral / cathedral san pietro / my feel t are cold i wish i could get up /  turn on the heat and make my cold feet warmer / i’m dreaming of the elephants stuck in the tarpits on wilshire blvd / who wouldn’t be?

http://mashable.com/2011/11/14/tumblr-infographic/

That's why I've been neglecting you Blogspot. You don't have the same social power as Tumblr has!

A dispatch from the Summer 2012 Community

Five months ago, I proposed a plan to mobilize one hundred creative and diverse young people to a small North American city for the summer. Over fifty people responded with interest. The summer of 2012 is fast approaching and we need to figure out where we’re going and who’s coming with us!


“The rent is too damn high” in Echo Park, Bushwick, Wicker Park, The Mission, Capitol Hill or wherever you’re paying a premium to live. Let’s sublet our apartments and together we can celebrate the summer somewhere more affordable. It’ll be like summer camp but with more potlucks and no curfew!


This summer you’ll save money while you: record your next album, write your novel, postulate 5th-wave feminism, grow your own produce, practice yoga, whatever you want to do! This community will provide you with an audience and potential collaborators.


You don’t have to quit your job. Perhaps you already freelance from home or maybe a sympathetic boss will let you work remotely for the summer (telecommuting can even save the company money). We’ll be moving somewhere with strong broadband connectivity. And the talent in the community we build might help you to create the next stellar web start-up, or serve as a social network for finding new jobs in the future. 


Though this idea took shape before Wall Street was occupied, OWS resonates in our thinking about this project. Outrageous rents are the result of a system that rewards greed over people. When our privileged community gets priced out of previously trendy neighborhoods and moves into cheaper, previously undesirable ones, the process often displaces poorer communities of color who already live there. Underground dive bars pave the way for gourmet cupcake shops that turn into Starbucks franchises.


Our project doesn’t do that. We are following the national migration trend of moving back to the center of the country because it costs less to live there. We will only stay for 3 months. Our impermanence will not leave a lasting physical footprint in this locality (though we hope our ideas will linger).


We’re going to replicate the things we enjoy about living in hip neighborhoods, in a place we might otherwise find boring. We urbanites will meet locals and discover that people from the heartland are more than just caricatures. And we won’t be surrounded by concrete sprawl--bringing us closer to nature.


This is a social experiment in creating a temporary intentional community which will teach us a lot about ourselves, our friends, our communities, and our society and we’ll have a great deal of fun doing it. And if you don’t, at least you payed half on three months rent.


Our first order of business is figuring out where we want to move.


We want to move somewhere that is inexpensive, warm, walkable, close to nature, has sympathetic residents, solid Internet connection, and abundant (temporary) housing. The destination should have between 20,000 and 70,000 residents, so that we can be visible without disrupting the dynamics of the city.


Our best bet is a college town because students vacate their apartments in the summer. I created a chart of potential locations based on this list of college towns to help us figure out where to spend the summer. Once we decide where we are going, we’ll connect everyone with resources to help you find accommodations for the summer.


Population is based on metropolitan area when available.





We aren’t limited by this list. The decision of where to live and all other decisions this summer will be made by consensus. Our process is inspired by the General Assembly model of the Occupy Wall Street movement.


We’re excited to move forward in our planning and we need your help.


Are you interested in coming this summer but don’t really have the time to plan it? That’s totally cool, we want to get an early headcount for the summer. Send me an e-mail with the subject: INTERESTED / joshuaheller [at] gmail [at] com


Which of the places on the list provided are you most excited about? Which places are less desirable? Are there any other small cities that might fit our needs that should be added to this list? Send an e-mail to the group with the subject: LOCATION / Summer2012 [at] googlegroups [at] com


Do you want to take a more active role in planning this summer? Join the facilitation committee and we’ll have ongoing conversations about how to organize the summer. Send an e-mail to the group with the subject: FACILITATION / Summer2012 [at] googlegroups [at] com


See you all in a few months!

Walking in LA 10/11/11

• A cumbia club with a sign that read "No ropa roja, no huaraches" -- No red clothes, no sandals --  No gangsters, no hippies.
• Cops were mad that I asked for advice about whether or not to buy the day pass, because they were busy being distracted by a beautiful woman. 
• A bald guy on the train combing his hair -- that's not a comb, it's a razor -- a guy on the train shaving his head.
• A club promoter tried to get me to go to his club. I said 'no.' He saw my phone, and told me he could get me a better deal with Sprint. I said 'no.' He said 'I'm a great business man.'
• I jokingly blamed someone for a slow internet connection instead of the infrastructure -- I realized that's exactly how conservatives approach politics.

Occupy LA, Opening Day

I parked on a street with no restrictions, a few blocks from the Echo Park basement I lived in at the beginning of the year. I hiked a mile downtown with my sleeping bag attached to my backpack. In front of the courthouse I pulled out the sign I wrote on the back of a cat food box. I could see the commotion ahead. Two women leaving the protest asked me to take a picture of their signs “we are the 99%.”

I watched people across the street surrounding City Hall chanting and holding signs. As we waited for the light to change, the woman next to me holding the “capitalism has failed us” sign said “I can’t believe we’re actually waiting for the light to change, so we can practice civil disobedience.”

I passed a demented Uncle Sam on stilts as I walked on to the grass. I surveyed the area. I walked to the steps and stood next to The Billionaires (formerly For Bush) they held a sign that echoed the Mitt Romney sentiment that “Corporations are People.” I held the sign I’d written behind them “corporations are not people (people are people.)” Photographers took our picture as I ‘berated’ the billionaire for believing that conglomerates are more important than individuals. As I walked away, I gave him a wink so he would know that I wasn’t completely stupid.

Across the grass someone was holding a sign that said “From the Arab Spring to the American Fall”. I watched a high school student talk about the inequalities that he faces at his school. “It feels like a factory! No one cares!”

I sat on the grass to watch the crowd. A guy in a “don’t bomb Iran” t-shirt handed me a tray of grapes. They made my hands sticky. He said “all politicians are corrupt, the only person worth voting for in 2012 is Ron Paul." He asked me what I thought about capitalism and “all of these communists here.” I said that I’m not a socialist, but I lean towards wanting the government to regulate the economy and create social safety nets to protect people in need. He said “cool” and started talking to the guy to his right.

I was surprised at all of the niche groups at the demonstration. Sure I expected red-and-black-flag waving anarchists and Bob Avakian book-hawking Revolutionary Communists, but I didn’t expect 9/11Truthers, ‘anti-Illuminati’ activists, or End the Fed-ers. Maybe I should have them, this is a movement that reflects a diversity of viewpoints. Most people occupying Los Angeles or Wall Street or Wichita aren’t affiliated with an organization or ideology, they’re just generally discontent with a society dominated by an aristocracy. This is a populist movement. Everyone is welcome.

I passed a “Cops are the 99% too” sign as I walked around City Hall. I saw a circle of people form on the ground. An animated man in a kilt was leading the group in an exercise that would help us “break away from language.” It looked like fun so I joined them. We echoed the gibberish that came out of peoples mouth by way of the human microphone.

“dooba dooba dooba” “skeeeee skeeee skeeee” “aruhuah aruhuah aruhuah.”
We meditated for peace and solidarity and sent good vibes to the 99% nationwide. The guru said this would enact lasting change on a metaphysical level. We continued repeating each other. Now people recited optimistic messages in English.

“We are the change” “Solidarity” “We are brothers and sisters.”

I shouted “This is fun.”

From outside the circle a man yelled at the group “are y’all against the Fed or what?” The group ignored him and continued the ritual. He flipped off the circle and said “you’re all crazy!”

The group chanted “we are peaceful, we are peaceful, we are peaceful.”

I tried finding my friends at the pirate-themed bar up the street. A man in a sleeveless orange jumpsuit and his friend in sweat pants followed closely behind. We’d seen each other at the protest. Where are you headed? We’re going to the pub to have a pint. The pirate bar was closed so we walked to the cantina around the corner. The man in orange bought me a Tecate. He was an English punk rocker who’d lived in the depths of the San Fernando Valley for the last twenty years. We all agreed that the world was fucked, the revolution had begun, that it was fun, and that it could really change things. We did not reach consensus on this patio being too hot. The man in sweats defected to air-conditioning.

I told the man in orange that I was on unemployment and that I call it my “arts grant from the state of California”. He smiled and said that early 80s Punk and New Wave in Britain is directly the result of Thatcher-era unemployment. “Everyone was on the dole and they used that time to work on their music.”

I meandered back to the demonstration and followed the protesters to the south side of City Hall, where earlier in the day I saw tons of cops eating catered Italian food at an afternoon picnic. The space was now occupied by people giving speeches and reading poems through tiny amps. Some of the poems were inspiring, others were not. I decided not to be critical, because I was at a protest not the 2011 National Poetry Slam.

The speakers were interrupted by a guy with a much louder megaphone. He was wearing an Anonymous t-shirt and babbled about the eugenics campaign being perpetrated by the New World Order. The organizer with the quiet soundsystem thanked him, and asked to borrow his megaphone. He acquiesced.

A teenage Latino Ron Paul supporter talked economics with a man wearing a wave cap. As they talked the kid looked decreasingly confident about his viewpoint. Afterwards I saw that he had put his sign away. He lost his ideology but was in the perfect setting to choose a new one.

I ran into my friend who was building a structure out of wood and cardboard. It was supposed to be a place for people to openly discuss their views in a salon-like setting -- but right now it was being used by people trying to discreetly smoke joints.

Someone noticed a news chopper in the sky. There was a collective move to the sidewalk so that the group would be visible for Fox 11’s 10pm broadcast. The group cheered as they raised their signs into the air. Someone yelled “let’s take back the streets.” A small contingent of people began walking back and forth in the cross-walk. An organizer tried to convince them to stop. “We can’t block traffic or the police will crackdown on us.” There were teenage sighs and murmurs of “who made her the boss?” But she gained the support of the majority and suggested that instead of taking this to the streets, everyone should march around City Hall. The group dissipated, leaving a dozen dissidents in the streets. They were mostly teenagers holding anti-Illuminati signs with the fervor of a Mountain Dew commercial. Intensity without substance.

A girl who looked equally confused at the situation started talking to me. We discussed our politics which did not include fears of a New World Order nor wanting to dismantle the state with the Revolutionary Communists. She came here because she knows that something is wrong, but isn’t quite sure what it is. “Maybe being here will help me figure out what exactly I believe.”

We sat on the grass next to a guy holding a box of bunnies that he found on the side of the road en route to the protest. The guy had put carrots in the box because his rabbit knowledge was based solely on cartoons. He’d successfully given away the meanest of the litter, and was trying to get rid of the white one with black spots by handing it to people and walking away. Maybe the rabbits will live with the protesters on the steps of City Hall they could become mascots for the cause.

I asked a girl wearing a sweatshirt with an anarchist symbol if she was an anarchist. She said “I wish, but I mean I use currency, pay rent, go to college, buy bus tickets -- you can’t really be an anarchist in America anymore -- this sweatshirt is for a band that I like.” She asked if I’d watch their stuff while she waited in line for Food Not Bombs. She brought me back a plate.

While she was gone a pizza delivery man came by and offered me “this medium mushroom and olive pizza and these Cokes.” He was equally confused about the transaction “yeah they just said find someone to give it to.” It was coincidental that someone had anonymously delivered a pizza to me, because a week prior, I anonymously ordered a pizza for the occupiers at Wall Street. That’s transcontinental karma, bro.

I gave out a slice to everybody that was around me. Including a high school slam poet and the man who’d been passing out water. He took two slices, which I felt okay about because he had been hydrating us all day.

At 7:30 we gathered at the steps of City Hall for General Assembly. This is the official meeting to discuss progress so far and to vote on decisions for the future. Making decisions in this environment takes time because they are based entirely on consensus. They went over hand signals. Hands in the air means you’re in agreement. Hands crossed over your head is a hard block in opposition.

Two people interrupted the speakers by screaming (without even doing the hard block hand signal.) The crowd repeatedly yelled back at the disruptors “Mic Check” which is the phrase used to call for order. Someone asked the woman to quiet down, and she screamed in his face “FUCK YOU DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO.” The security committee arrived and escorted her down the steps.

The General Assembly continued showcasing the various committees: food, media, logistics, security, empathy. I initially laughed when I heard “empathy committee” but I assure you that I am an avid supporter of empathy. After the committees were introduced they opened the floor to comments.

A queer latino addressed the group. He did not feel that enough people of color, women, or queers were adequately represented in the Occupy LA leadership. He also asked the group to recognize their privilege and to use it for good.

Someone proposed that the group not move to the sidewalk at 10:30 as suggested by the police. There was opposition by the organizers because that went against the plans. Another person suggested that some people stay on the sidewalk and others stay in the park. Someone else said that went against solidarity “we are a collective, not individuals”. “It’s too early for us to get arrested, we need to build the movement.”

They took a “rough temperature” and decided to move to the sidewalk. Consensus was not actually achieved. This continued to be an issue for dissenters. They stood in the park after the meeting arguing that organizers were not following the rules of a General Assembly, and that affinity groups were a better way to manager the protesters.

I met an organizer from International Workers of the World. I remember the Wobblies from my American history textbook. At the height of its popularity there were 100,000 members worldwide, today there are 12,000 members. They are working towards getting IWW shops in Los Angeles and Orange County.

A cumbia band played on the sidewalk as a shirtless man jogged by. He recruited a conga line of runners to circle the park. I had the strength to do two laps, he ran at least seventy.

I looked for a place to sleep on the sidewalk. I put my tarp down on the sidewalk between a lamp post and a palm tree. I laid diagonally with my feet on the curb. I was too tall for the space. I couldn’t decide if I wanted my feet in the street, which might become detached by a bus, or have my head in the sidewalk, which might lead to head trauma from one of these sprinters. I opted to get stepped on by a person.

It wasn’t very comfortable but I was able to fall asleep. At 5 AM the security detail woke us up and told us to move our things back into the park. I fell asleep on the grass. I woke up, a few hours later, and hiked back to my car. I left the occupation, but it’s not ending any time soon. I’ll be back.

art opening

I walked into a vernissage that was showcasing photo prints of my old neighborhood in New York. Inside of a side room a funk song was playing and repeating patterns were being superimposed over a map of Berlin.

A man was blocking the door. He seemed to be giving a tour. So I followed him to the next room. It looked like an installation of a kitchen with a sink full of dishes. I followed him to the next room. It looked like an office. He wasn’t showing art, he was showing off his apartment.