Prince's Superbear XLI

At the end of my last post, (which was eons ago, I know), I mentioned that my childhood BFF, Erin G. and her family were coming to Southern California for a trip. After we moved to Mundelein, IL in 1993, both my sister Alison and I found great comfort in our new best friend, fourth sister, and neighbor, Erin G. Her family was our surrogate family. Erin was a year older than Al, and 3 years younger than me. Her younger brother Freddy was 1 year younger than Al and 5 years younger than me. We used to make short films together, play dress up (even Freddy), walk to the local D.Q., and go for bike rides. I used to babysit Erin and Freddy when I was 13.

Briefly, a Tangent on Babysitting

In order to be a babysitter certified by the state of Illinois, I took a course at Condell Hospital. The class taught us import things like CPR, the Hiemlich Manuver, diaper changing, and a completely random gem: should a child ever have a blunt object lodged in his or her eye, do not try to remove the object--lest fluid/blood then squirt from the eye--leave the object in, but cover it loosely. There was also a diagram of this in our manual!

I remember my first day babysitting Erin and Freddy. The old babysitter was there to ease me into the job; she played Mario Paint while I did a safety inspection, babysitting manual in hand. I noted the location of a fire extinguisher, emergency numbers, and any food allergies. I checked things off my checklist. I was on top of things. Freddy had been eating apples all night, and since he was eating fruit, what was the worry? However, a few hours later he emerged from the bathroom clutching his stomach and muttered, "I threw up." I went into the bathroom to find the cat dining on apple puree. Horrified, the other sitter and I shut the bathroom door and put Freddy to bed. The was the first of many memorable babysitting experiences.

The Gardners, originally from Houston, moved back to Texas when I was 16. Erin and I have kept in touch over the years and she called me the week of January 21 to let me know that the family would be in San Diego that week: Freddy was graduating from Marine boot camp!

A Family Reunion

I hadn't seen the Gardners in roughly 7 years, but it hardly seemed so; Erin and I talk on the phone about once every-other-month, and we have always had a deep friendship. Her family knew me at my most awkward and troubled, and I've always loved them for it. Freddy was always a wild boy: sometimes when babysitting, I would agree to play "Royale Rumble." We would wrestle in the front yard and he got too crazy, I'd pretend to cry to gain the upper hand, then sit on him until he was subdued. As a teenager he had sought out the military as a way to bring discipline into his life. I hadn't seen Freddy since he was a squeaky-voiced boy. Now he was a man graduating from boot camp. All at once I was confronted with how quikcly time passes. I felt so much older, and I realized that I was both literally and figuratively miles away from Birch Court, and my days as a girl. I felt old enough hearing Freddy's man-voice over the phone; how would I react to seeing him all grown up?

I called up Susan and planned my trip. She lives in La Mirada, about 45 minutes south of Los Angeles, and about 2 hours north of San Diego. The graduation was Friday morning at Camp Pendleton in San Diego. I would drive to La Mirada Thursday night and stay with Susan. Friday I would dive to San Diego and then spend the night in La Mirada. Saturday I'd be back in L.A. I was very greatful to Susan for opening up her home, and for the tasty Korean food I would get to eat while visiting.

Wednesday night I went to the Build-A-Bear workshop at Hollywood & Highland and made a bear for Freddy. I put the blue Marine uniform on the bear and he was cute as a button. Thursday night I drove to La Mirada, which was a quick trip. Susan and I watched a little Grey's Anatomy before going to bed. I woke up Friday around 6 AM, dressed, and hit the road. I'd burned a few CDs for my trip (I'm too poor for an MP3 player) and sped south on the 5 freeway, blasting early 90s dance music. I have a tender place in my heart for early 90s dance music. I hadn't realized how much the music would take me back. Suddenly I was back in 1995 at the 6th grade dance. I thought of my friend, Julie. We had many adventures throughout Jr. High (that's another blog altogether). We had sleepovers where we'd practice dance moves, namely the Electric Slide, read Seventeen Magazine, and listen to (what used to be) Chicago's dance station B96. I remembered childhood with the Gardners. This CD is actually pretty amazing. If you wish to relive the magic, here are a few of the key songs you'll need to include:

1. "Rhythm of the Night" Corona
2. "Be My Lover" La Bouche
3. "Runaway" Real McCoy
4. "Rhythm is a Dancer" Snap!
5. "Show Me Love" Robin S.
6. "Tonight is the Night" Le Click
7. "What is Love?" Haddaway (Everytime I hear this song I think of Ricki dancing at the World Happiness Dance on MSCL, not that horrid SNL sketch).
8. "Dreamer" Livin' Joy

After 2 hours I reached Camp Pendleton, which seemed to be a station in the middle of the desert. I talked to a Marine who informed me that the graduation facility was in San Diego, near the airport, and that I had about an hour more to drive. I got back on the 5 and sped into town. I arrived just in time, and Erin met me in the parking lot. Immediately I felt at home with her and as if we still lived on the same block. I felt the same way with all the Gardners as we exchanged hugs and kisses. It turned out that the Gardners had been at Hollywood & Highland when I was making Freddy's bear the night before--Mr. Gardner had seen me. He had told Erin that he thought he saw Eileen, but she didn't believe him! They were sightseeing before the graduation in Hollywood, and I was shopping in my neck o' the woods. What a small world. Erin and I sat in the bleachers and I passed out the chocolate chip cookies I'd brought while we waited for the ceremony to begin.

First the band came out, and played a few ditties. There was much marching. Then the graduates came out in 3 groups and marched and marched about before taking their posts. It was a procession of tradition, pagentry, and pride. The uniforms were crisp, and the men did look good! It is the uniform isn't it? I think the haircut too. There were a few brief speeches and they honored some veterans as well. I was moved by the ceremony, and of course it made me think about the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. So often any talk of being "pro-Peace" is equated with being "anti-troops," and "supporting the troops" suggests that you support a war. It all stems back to Vietnam and the reception many of the soldiers received when they came back to the States. It's a sore spot for many, and a wound from the past that has never fully healed. We won't even get into the socio-economic backgrounds of a high percentage of enlisted men, or the political underpinnings of it all. I guess, what I was really thinking about during the procession was that the men and women of the Armed Forces follow orders. That's what they do. They don't and can't question, and they trust that the orders they are given are correct. I'm not saying that this excuses them from free will--look at Abu Ghraib--I guess what I'm saying is that in order to have a dialogue regarding so many of the problems facing the country, we have to be able to see the issue at hand from various points of view. I don't know what I'm trying to say, or rather, I think what I'm trying to say is far too complicated for the space of this humble blog. Just a thought. I guess the darker thought is that Nationalism gives people something to die for or a justification for their death right or wrong. But then again, by deciding to live in society as opposed to a State of Nature we must make certain sacrifices. Maybe this is all relating back to my ongoing existential crisis. Again, a larger discussion than I care to have at this time in this space.

After the ceremony, I got to see/hug/stand next to Freddy for the first time in 7 years! He is taller than me now! We took many family pictures and walked about the camp. The Gardners had a flight to catch back to Houston in roughly 1 hour. We bid farewell, and I my heart swelled. I felt so very happy that I was able to see them all, even for a short time. I could sense how much I'd grown, and in more ways than one.

Tijuana

I hadn't planned on the early departure of the family. It was roughly noon and I was alone in San Diego. What to do? I called Kristen Bongiovanni, who had recently relocated to the city, hoping to catch lunch. Unable to reach her, I decided to do the next best thing: drive to Tijuana. Mexico is about a 7 minute drive from San Diego. I've never been to Mexico; why not go? I called Susan to explain my plans. She suggested I leave my car in the U.S. and take the train into Mexico. However, I wasn't planning on staying long, I'd just drive around and grab a burrito, no harm done, right?

Getting into Mexico was easy, you just drove across the border. No security check, no nothing. I drove around for about 15 minutes. I wanted to get to the "nice part of the city" but I had no idea where I was going. I also, apparently, had no idea what I was thinking. It was unfathomable to me that just 10 miles south of San Diego--one of the richest cities in California--there was such poverty. The roads were spattered with potholes and uneven, the cars were shabby and humble, vendors lined the streets trying to sell anything to tourists: candies, blankets, icons, baskets, fruit, soda. There was a sense of lawlessness: cars cruised through red lights, and barely stopped for stop signs. I felt I could easily find myself in an accident. It made me sad, and I thought to myself, how can anyone blame an illegal immigrant for crossing the border when 10 miles north there is so much more? The disparity in such a short distance blew my mind, certainly therein is another long discussion about what makes one country one way, and what makes another another way. To be fair, it was my first and only trip to Mexico, and I was only in Mexico for about 2 hours, and I was in Tijuana of all cities, but it still was a thought-provoking experience. What parent doesn't want a better life for his or her children? If that want involves running across the border, I see that as an act of selfless beauty; not a crime. I'm writing this update on May Day, and of course today there were several large immigration marches across the country. Again, a larger discussion than we have time for, but thought provoking.

I didn't feel comfortable leaving my car to get food, so I drove about and decided to head back to America. On the way, I passed the Purple Rain Bar! I'll have to go back some day for a dance or two. Getting back into the U.S. took about 45 minutes of bumper-to-bumper traffic. Vendors weaved between cars, selling anything they could. I felt bad denying my dollars, but I didn't need to buy anything. I was starving though, truth be told, but I didn't want to eat food off the street, especially since I'd be stuck in a car without a reliable restroom. I ended up talking to a vendor in a wheelchair in Spanish. He asked me how long I'd been waiting in traffic and followed me along for a little while. I bought two peanut butter candies off him for .50 cents, and then gave some change to a nurse who was collecting money for a local hospital. I watched the drug-sniffing dogs circle round the cars. When I finally reached the check point the U.S. official asked me why I'd come to Mexico? Because I've never been before, I replied.

I drove back to San Diego and drove around the Gas Lamp District, a pretty, manicured square in downtown. The wealth sickened me after my detour south. I couldn't bring myself to get out of the car, nor did I want to buy anything. I decided to head back towards La Mirada. By now it was about 3PM and I knew I would hit nasty traffic. I made my way up the 5 Freeway, and got off to drive around the UCSD campus for a bit. Then back on the Freeway. I pulled off at a strip mall to get some coffee and a biscoti for the trip back. Then back in the car. I made my way back to Susan's house in La Mirada and was greeted by her mother. I changed into my nightgown and passed out on the couch. Susan arrived home around 7pm and I stuffed myself on her mother's Korean cooking: bulgogi, kimchi, and tasty noodles.

Susan and I went to the $1.50 theater to see Borat, and we were carded! Someone thought we were under 18. How flattering! After the movie I passed out, exhausted from the adventures of the day.

Saturday in L.A.

I drove back to L.A. on Saturday morning. Earlier that week I'd decided to throw a last minute Superbowl party in celebration of the Bears and Prince. I wasn't sure I'd be able to pull it off: I'd be in San Diego/La Mirada part of the weekend, I still had to buy groceries, money was kind of tight so I had no business throwing a party, my apartment might be cramped if I had too many guests, and reception would be provided via rabbit ears. However, my love for Prince prevailed and upon my return I headed straight to Party City and Food 4 Less to prepare. I ordered a few helium ballons in blue, orange, and purple, bought plates, cups, football candles, chicken wings and ingredients for Jell-O shots. I was going all out. I spent the day cleaning, shopping and upacking, and stayed in that night and rearranged our living room furniture to allow for maximum space.

Prince's Superbear XLI

Sunday I was stressed. I was cleaning, I was cooking. I was doing everything at the last minute. Everything was from scratch: I made 2 9-inch pans of spinach-artichoke dip, I baked a white cake and dyed it purple for Prince, I made orange and blue Jell-O shots for the Bears, I assembled a vegetable plate, I made a huge bowl of guacamole, and I had chicken wings to prepare. I freshened up, changed into my orange dress, and then I had a mini freak-out. Sarah and John were supposed to drop off a carton of buttermilk so that I could dredge the wings. However, Sarah was busy making guacamole for a Guac Bowl she was attending that afternoon. Kick-off was rapidly approaching and I was without Buttermilk. I screamed and all but hung-up on John. I couldn't get ahold of Robert, and I didn't have time to go to the grocery store. Thankfully, I was saved by Adam Sobel, who ran to the grocery store for me. Thank God! Robert showed up and helped me hang purple streamers. I was a crazy hostess. Aaron arrived as the wings were going in the oven, and I was finally able to drink a beer and calm down.

We had a modest gathering, and there were just enough seats. It was a good group of NU folks: Li-Wei, Deirdre, Adam, Morgan, Robert, Sarah, John, and Aaron. The food went over smashingly well. After halftime I presented the cake in all it's glory: purple cake in the shape of a football with orange and blue frosting, and football candles! I do enjoy the Superbowl. (Or maybe I just love hosting.) For many years I hated it, and saw it as nothing but a day for our Dad to hog the TV. However, in recent years I've come to appreciate it as a day to eat all the greasy foods I want while watching better-than-usual commericals. And football players have some nice asses.

On to halftime. Suffice it to say that I had an orgasm on my living room floor. There were witnesses. I screamed. I cried. I clapped. I screamed. I sang along. I cried more. I rocked back and forth. I stood up. I sat down. He blew me away, and I've seen him live. He blew me away, and I got to dance onstage when I saw him live! I was shaking. Trembling! Really, it was the most impressive Superbowl performance I've ever seen. I remember the year after nipplegate when they had Paul McCarthney singing "Hey Jude" on the piano. In my opinion that was some boring crap. Superbowl performances are about pyrotechnics and spectacle. Prince gave a performance! He engaged everyone in that stadium! He had everyone singing "Purple Rain," and he played his guitar like a Hall of Fame icon in the pouring rain! In heels! He wore a do-rag to maintain a perfect coif for the finale! That's my baby! The teal suit! Stunning! (God, just rewatching the video is making me moist as snack cake). I was shrieking by the end, and all my guests could do was agree that it was the best performance they had ever seen, and watch my freak-out in awe. My phone tinkled with the arrival of text messages. I took post peformance phone calls outside. It was fucking amazing. Perfection. Flawless. He killed every song he performed. The tent at the end? The shadow? The love/symbol stage and guitar? Orgasmic! The greatest! Honestly, if you didn't enjoy his performance, you have to be a foul human being, because that, my friend, was complete bliss. Heaven. His performance was just so smooth! Last year at the Rose Bowl flea market I bought a Prince button from a vendor and he shared his two cents on how smooth Prince was. His comment on the Musicology Tour was something akin to: "After hybernating for a few years, Prince just decided to release a record and make a couple million dollars, then go back to doing whatever it was he was doing before." I think this statement sums up the Superbowl performance. Prince just decided to come out and resurrect the Superbowl halftime show for the American people. We had been in a fog of shitty performances after nipplegate. The networks were picking safe acts, and the FCC was on the prowl. Then Prince came down to Florida, blew up the fucking stadium, and went back to doing concerts in Vegas. Game, blouses. Bitches.