It is a curious thing to experience, the realization that my family has fully transitioned into another phase of life. My parents are more GRANDparents than parents. My brothers and sister look like real adults. There are growing numbers of little people around and they ask me questions like, "Are you my dad's sister?" in a tone that implies their heads can't really stretch big enough to grasp that their dad is also a brother.

I've been thinking a lot about how much history my parents and my grandparents have that I've never heard. I never asked. I think about the fact that there is a very good chance, likely even, that I will never have children and I'm basically OK with that, except that I always wish I had someone to pass our stories and common history to.

Every time I've been out to visit my parents, I've been purposefully asking them about their past and about their parents and grandparents. I want to know more than just the few stories I remember from when I was a kid (many of which I'm not even sure are true stories or if I imagined them...for example, I swear my dad told me I was related to Amelia Earhart, but he looks at me like I'm crazy when I bring that up now.)

My dad woke up early on Saturday to drive Bonnie and I to O'Hare airport to catch our flight back home to Providence. After our Dunkin' Donuts coffees were near finished and we were awake enough to start chatting, I asked him for more details on how he met the two Vietnamese boys that are now my adopted uncles.

Here's the story:

My dad was drafted into the army near the end of the Vietnam War and was stationed near Saigon. Identical twin Vietnamese boys, roughly around the age of 7, lived among the soldiers on the base. The story at the time was that they were orphaned, but whether they were deserted or were runaways is still unclear. In any case, they learned to speak English and hung out with the soldiers all the time. A family in New Jersey was supposed to be working on adopting them, but that fell through and the soldiers they had befriended started to get reassigned.

My dad, who had mentioned the boys on several occasions in letters to his parents, recorded a tape where he laid out the failed adoption attempt and before he even got to asking, my grandpa had turned to my grandma and said, "Before this tape is over, he's going to ask us to adopt these boys and that's going to be a big decision that's going to require serious thought."

Sure enough my dad asked if they would adopt the boys. My grandpa said he was prepared to think long and hard about it, but about five minutes after they had listened to the tape, he came to the conclusion that they had already had five children and they never had to stop and think long and hard before having any of them. So they made up their minds then and there that they were going to adopt these two Vietnamese boys.

Of course, it wasn't like there was a legal process to adopting Vietnamese street kids. It was always a matter of knowing who to contact and who to pay.

About a year and a half went by and my dad had either been assigned elsewhere or was already back in the states and they lost the whereabouts of the boys. My grandpa asked my dad about them and my dad told him to let it go. There was no way he'd be able to find them. They have no permanent address. None of them spoke Vietnamese. It would be difficult to get them here legally, etc. Grandpa Garrett said, "Look, if those were my sons, I would never give up looking for them. I'm going over there and I'm going to find them."

He brought along one of my dad's army friends, flew to Saigon, and knowing that the boys hung out at the zoo a lot, went straight there to start asking street kids if they knew where to find identical twin boys who knew how to speak English. It's unclear who did the talking; I assume the army friend knew enough to talk to people. Within six hours he had found them.

Understandably, the boys didn't trust that some Americans were there to adopt them, so one of them went to meet the visitors while one hung out around the corner in case it was a ruse. They recognized my dad's army buddy though and realized it wasn't a trick.

My grandpa went to the American embassy, which only granted visa's on a day-by-day basis. They denied my grandpa a visa to stay long enough to work out a way to get the boys to the US, which required a lot of phone calls to an Illinois representative (who I don't know). Luckily, my grandpa was the editor of a town newspaper The Mendon Dispatch-Times and simply told the people at the embassy that he was staying until he had those boys on a plane to the US and if they threw him in jail, they could explain to the media why. (I'm sure he was rougher than that; my grandpa has a reputation for getting his way.)

He got his visas and worked it out so that they adopted the two boys. My dad suspects his unauthorized time away from work contributed to his losing his job shortly thereafter, but that's all I know about that.

I'm glad I asked.

I have two blogs, one on livejournal and one at blogger. I created two because I had different friends that generally used one or the other, so I just save identical posts on each one. I just uploaded a bunch of photos to my blogger account, but it will take more time than I'm willing to spend to upload them here. So instead, I am inserting a link to my other blog post that you may choose to follow if you would like to see some fun examples of some Photoshop projects I worked on this summer.

http://redlunchbox.blogspot.com/2008/08/projects-from-my-photoshop-class.html

Google is asking people to sign a petition requesting the FCC to open up the unused radio airwaves for general usage after all of the TV networks switch over to only digital in February. Oh god that would be amazing.

http://freetheairwaves.com/

I need to write about Chicago's Don's Coffee Club.

In late 2001, my now girlfriend had just moved to Chicago from Greenwich Village, NYC. She had the luxury of living there when there were still a significant number of grungy coffeehouses and lots of hole-in-the-wall diners and assorted venues. She loved to discover the lesser known hidden gems of Manhattan.

So she brought that same energy with her to Chicago and scanned the neighborhoods for new places to stake out.

She discovered Don's tucked away in a small dingy building in the Roger's Park neighborhood. The neighborhood was borderline safe, the kind of safe that exists in a neighborhood that is bleak, blighted and it hasn't made up its mind whether it is enjoying its last hurrays before it is completely forgotten and neglected, or if it was just pre-gentrified. It could have gone either way. There were artists tucked inside some studios and some business life, but you didn't walk around alone and you avoided eye contact with just about everyone.

She went there by herself the first time she tried it out. We were experiencing one of our Cold Wars, so I was not in the picture that time. A little while later though, when her and I were in a better place, she brought me there to meet her first Chicago friends, a motley-looking crew who invited her to join in their game of cards and smoke cigarettes for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

This became the epicenter of our social life, as this group was somehow ALWAYS sitting on a small raised platform in the front window of Don's like some sort of real-person window display. Smoking, playing cards, and talking about everything.

We never called to meet up there; we just showed up knowing that they'd always be there. Don wasn't even the owner by the time we came on the scene; it had been sold twice since then. But it was still the same old smoky tiny place that you think must only exist in old movies, with jazz music playing and maybe five other "customers" at any given time.

I have no idea how it stayed in business as long as it did because one of the best parts about it was that there were so few others. It was always our place and it was awesome. The owner at the time, Bob, wouldn't even ask us to pay for our drip coffee that he refilled while we hung out for hours. It was as though that was his offering to us for making the place appear to be a functioning business. I remember that we all had to keep track of how much we drank and owed, because it wasn't like Bob was ever going to actually ASK us to pay.

Around the same time, Bonnie also happened upon a truly disgusting diner a block away from her studio called Standees. Its sign consisted of a huge red arrow surrounded by flashing light bulbs pointing to the door. There was a small Formica-covered bar, maybe 8 orange booths, and a kick ass jukebox.

$5 bought fifteen songs and we'd stay there with a few of our other young regulars until our net worth was under $2. There was a guy named Dennis who was ALWAYS sitting at the counter near the tv. He never really spoke, but once we came in often enough to qualify as regulars, he'd do that head nod thing. And then there was the waitress Julie, who was basically Tammy Faye Baker with a smoker's voice, a bitchy attitude and a police officer for a husband who ticketed any one parked for too long in front of Standees. For better or worse, it was another home away from home (which says a lot about the state of my living situations in Chicago).

One day, Bonnie was sitting there when one of the workers was chatting with her about life in general and asking her how she was enjoying Chicago. It was an older guy wearing a Hawaiian shirt and he asked, "Have you ever been to Don's?" To which she replied that she had and in fact she went there all the time.

"I'm Don!"

"What?"

"I'm Don! That was my place!"

And so, Bonnie met the famed Don of Don's Coffee Club during his brief stint working in one of north Chicago's scrappiest diners. For anyone familiar with these two joints, you understand how absurd this is. As described by Rob in the film version of Almost Famous, both places "attracted the bare minimum" of customers. Lets just say that they were both places that are not easy to come by (and I still can't really figure out why Don was ever working at Standees in the first place.)

Don seems to be a bit of a legend amongst a quiet cadre of writers. I was reading "The Time Traveler's Wife" by Audrey Niffenegger and all of a sudden her two main characters are meeting over coffee at Don's Coffee Club and Don, complete with Hawaiian shirt, makes a guest appearance. She described him quite accurately, but nothing compares a short piece that I read on McSweeneys: (scroll down to the headline "A Don For All Seasons".)A Don For All Seasons

Standees bought an espresso machine, which I think was what made Don quit. He grimaced at it every time he looked at it. It was just "too much!"

I went to a baby shower on Sunday. Baby showers have a way of making me feel REALLY queer, in two senses of the word. There is the awkwardness of trying to converse with strangers when the only thing you know about them is that they happen to know someone that you know. "Sooooo, how do you know so-and-so? Oh that's great! We work together." I don't really care how they know aforementioned so-and-so, and I also know that they don't care how I know aforementioned so-and-so. But it's just how those things go.

They also make me feel uber-homosexual, and not because there are tons of women there. It's because there are tons of straight women there. There is a sort of assumed female bonding "girls only" sort of thing that happens. The talk usually revolves around babies, the differences between men and women and related topics. I always get the weird feeling that I am like a guy that is eavesdropping on the bonding rituals of the other half and its not my world and I'm not supposed to be there.

I don't really do dresses, or shopping, or boys, or babies. I'm not judging! I'm just sayin', my life is largely void of such topics. I always feel completely out of my element and I feel like a poser. It's so weird. Other situations that make me feel similarly queer: Bridal showers, mall shopping (particularly anything that involves dressing rooms), and wedding receptions.

Speaking of feeling like a straight poser, is it cheating to go along with people when they talk about thinking some male movie star is hot? I was recently talking about the movie Chocolat and a female acquaintance said, "Oooh, and Johnny Depp was so hot in that!" And I was like, "Oooh yeah." But then I realized that this woman probably doesn't know I'm a homo and doesn't understand that I actually mean, "Ooooh yeah, he is totally hot...but I wouldn't actually want to sleep with him." Is this dishonest? I know what I mean, but I also know that it probably reads completely differently and maybe I have some sort of obligation to make myself more clear? I don't know; I've just been thinking about it and I decided that if I feel like a guy is hot, I'm still going to say it, even if it makes me sound way straighter than I actually am.

---

Mmm, I'm so enjoying having a lighter schedule now that school is over (minus my one project that is still due). I actually finished a book! I read "The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao" and I highly, highly recommend it. It's about a painfully nerdy/geeky boy(Oscar) born in the Dominican Republic who is the exact opposite of what a "typical" Dominican man should be. He's not macho. He sucks at sports. He speaks Elvish. He's an unhappy, overweight virgin. Then he moves to New Jersey...and nothing gets better. It's basically a character study (and not just of him, but several members of his family as well). If you can handle using context clues to figure out the heavy dose of Spanish words and phrases thrown in (never mind if you are already down with the Spanish) and if you don't mind an occasional interesting footnote, then I think you'd like it. I wouldn't understand you if you didn't.

I'm also half way through Twilight by Stephenie Meyer and enjoying it. The writing isn't the best, but I like the characters a lot and its pretty funny, so it's still a good read.

I've been thinking a lot about my values and the choices I make on a day to day basis. Maybe it is simply that I've left the urban lifestyle behind after six years and now live in simpler parts, but it seems to me that the general population is much more aware and concerned with the environment than even a year or two ago. Energy conservation seems more mainstream again. I'm sure that the price of oil is a huge part of the awakening consciousness. I've seen a lot less SUV's out on the roads. There are still quite a few trucks, but I understand that a lot of people need those for the type of work that they do. But who really needs an SUV? I have a neighbor who has five SUVs. FIVE. I find it hard not to judge him fiercely.

Besides, I'm no green angel. I take long hot showers. I turn the heat up higher than I need it. I honestly would probably be too lazy to recycle as much as I do if I didn't have a thoughtful girlfriend who calls me out whenever I choose convenience over principles.

But I am improving and I'm definitely thinking about it a lot more. There are really easy small things I've been doing. I have lit a fire instead of turned on the light and heat (although, the smoke that it produces makes me question the value in this tactic. Anyone know which is generally better?) I use cloth napkins. Bonnie bought these good reusable cleaning rags that I've used a lot more for cleaning. We carpool when we can. We use the more gas efficient car (even though the sterio is broken!). We try to buy organic and local, etc, etc.

Working at a book store, I have the awesome power of book display and have wielded that power for the greater good. All of last month, the first thing friendly (and a few unfriendly) patrons saw when they entered the store was a lovely display of environmental books. A few were moved to buy. Who knows if they'll utilize some of the ideas in the books, but a seed was probably planted so to speak. One cool thing happened last week when a regular family came in and the dad asked me where the kids version of the Inconvenient Truth book was moved to because he saw it on the display earlier and wanted his kids to read it. Score.

I can't remember how I came upon this family (I think it was in a newspaper I was reading), but they are a relatively young couple with a 5-year-old and a 6-month-old and they are donating the vast majority of their possessions and making a life changing move to live sustainably. They are chronicling their experiences and experiments on a blog, Cage Free Family. They are at that very scary pivotal period right now where they are making final arrangements before they go for it. Apparently, there have been a fair amount of ridiculous negative comments directed at them from stupid people. Why would anyone have a problem with someone at least attempting to live their life in a better way? No one is perfect, but thank god some people do what they can to make good choices. They need support (and they are also needing to barter some stuff, so if you have something you think they could use, leave them a note).

I'm glad whenever I find people that are actively embracing a move to the simpler way of life. Sometimes I feel like I'm weird for not having aspirations for a bigger house or better cars, like it seems like I either don't expect good things for myself or I'm too simple-minded to know that there is better out there. But I'm actually just happier living relatively simple. I remember when I moved into my first studio apartment, I was so happy to live in a space where everything I needed was within 15ft, no more of that annoying having to run upstairs to get something I forgot or search several different rooms to find something I lost. Life was just easier. It didn't mean I became more simple-minded, I was just less distracted by stupid stuff. And I have never understood the concept of working to gain more money. I work to sustain my lifestyle. I'd eventually like to earn enough that I will be able to afford health care for myself and/or Bonnie when the need arises. I'd like to be able to contribute my fair share in taking care of my parents when they are too old to do it for themselves. That's why I work. I don't work solely to buy more and more and more stuff.

I have lots of memories of moments growing up where I felt confused or disappointed when I didn't see what all the fuss was about when other people acted like something was such a big deal. Weird examples: I vividly remember Michael Jackson being a household name, someone as popular as the pope or the president. I was at a neighbor's house setting up Nintendo when a video of Michael Jackson's came on the tv and she told me that was Michael Jackson. I honestly didn't believe her, because, well, he was just a dude. He sang and danced really cool and all, but still, he was an entertainer like thousands of others. I didn't get why he was such a big deal. I felt that way when I really understood that to be a model meant you get to be one of those people that pose for advertisements in magazines. I mean, really? Why do we care? (Before I get hate mail, I should admit that I understand the underappreciated art that goes into fashion and fashion photography and a lot of work that models do.) I just don't see why it is on such a pedestal and why anyone would spend so much of their lives trying to be one. For some reason, I expected a model to be way cooler, like being Miss America (which, actually, was another disappointment). I can feel myself being vague and weird right now, but I'm not sure how to fix that. So...moving on.

The point is that I'm getting more and more aware of and comfortable with my real values. And I understand that a lot of people feel alone or weird for not being too materialistic or for not being a workaholic or whatever. But that's just silly.

I'm in my final Dreamweaver class right now. I thought I'd update on here because its the easiest way for me to remember a few things he showed us since my pen isn't working and I know I'll never save it in my email.

www.projectseven.com: A dreamweaver plug-in website
Adobe exchange: Extensions for Adobe software
lynda.com ($25/month)
www.css-discuss.org
www.experts-exchange.com ($13/month)

*I also need to create a library of reusable code.

Random Thoughts this Monday, May 19, 2008:

-We made sausage and eggs for breakfast, which means that Franco is pretending to be my pet friend and act like he's snuggling up to me for my attention, when in reality he is sneaking up to the uneaten sausage on my plate.

-My sanity is expected to improve this week, since it is the last week of classes. I'm finishing up some final projects (two of which are not due until a week or two after the last classes this week), and then I'll have many more hours to myself until June 17. Then begins my summer class: Photoshop! I feel like I have a relatively good grasp of photoshop in the sense that I can make photos web safe; I can crop and resize and all of that, but I'm not so good at the fancy work. I'm mediocre at using the tools and special effects. So this will be a good class for me to take this summer. It's two days a week, two hours each class and it costs lots of money. My first choice for my summer class was Javascript, but I signed up too late and now I'm first on the wait list, so I'm taking Photoshop instead. Such is life.

-Did you know that cat whiskers shed just like regular cat hair? I didn't know that. I learned that this morning when I awoke to find Elliot smashed up against the back of my head. He managed to take advantage of my lack of consciousness by taking over my pillow and letting me sleep at a really weird angle that has left my neck feeling a little "blah" right now. When I reclaimed my pillow, there was a huge cat whisker on it. It actually scared me for a second because I thought he was probably in pain, but then he jumped back on the dresser and started using his paw to knock over the lamp. He's fine.

-My sister sent me an email with a photo of her pregnant belly. It is very weird and awesome that my twin is pregnant. I can't wait until October. Her and her husband are moving into a new house over the next two weeks. I'm mildly sad and happy about this. I'm sad because their current (or former?) house is comfy and I have good memories there. But they are really excited about the new house, so I am happy for them. They were having some issues with their neighbors too, so it will be nice to move away from that creepiness.

-Bonnie and I are only four episodes away from being caught up on Lost. This is such an amazing show; I can't believe it has taken me this long to give it a try. Thank you Joe Roch for threatening the end of our friendships unless we started to watch it. Real friends don't let friends miss Lost.

When we decided to pack up the kids and head east to the scary-sounding hamlet of Hope Valley, RI, I expected to have to make a few internal adjustments.

I'd have to get used to the quiet.
I'd have to accept the fact that the majority of people wouldn't be my kind of people and deal with it.
I'd have to contain my road rage.
I'd probably be bored at least once a week.
I'd miss culture and have to make a pointed effort not to become too easily pleased with crappy television and mainstream movies.
I'd have to avoid family restaurants and frozen dinners.

Well. I was only about 50% right. Compared to New York City, it's quiet. But only in the sense that there aren't sirens so often that I don't notice them and there isn't Dominican music shaking the foundations of my building at 3am on a Monday night. However, there are A LOT of sounds and 80% of them come from the variety of wildlife in the area. There are birds. Cranky-sounding birds. Birds that sounds like they're dying. Birds that sound like they're in love. Birds that sound like they're easily amused by the repeated sound of their own chirps. There are squirrels. Lots of squirrels. They run around on the roof and its loud. They also manage to attract the attentions of our three cats, who in turn meow and dart from window to window knocking over any salt shaker or wine glasses in their path. There are peep frogs. Owls.

And then there are the man-made sounds: a town fire alarm that is tested at 7pm every evening, a church bell that chimes on the hour and plays Christian tunes for several minutes around noon on Sundays, school bells ringing, kids on recess, high-pitched creaking of playground swings, chainsaws from the neighbors who are clearing land to build a new house.

I don't have to get used to silence. It doesn't exist here. The major difference between here and the cities I have lived in for the past six years is that most of the sounds are a pleasure. Generally, I find myself trying to listen more than I try to block out.

So I thought I probably wouldn't dig most of the people out here. The truth is, I don't really dig most of the people anywhere. I'm not a huge social butterfly. I like my fantastic few and love them like family. I don't even need to hang out that often. I just need to know they're there when I need them. They're the kind of people I could probably not talk to for an entire year and I know that if I randomly called them up or wanted to hang out, they wouldn't be weirded out. And those people are available to me here as much as they are to me anywhere else. I don't get to see all of them as easily or as often as I used to, but really, that doesn't matter to me that much because my best friendships aren't the kind that would falter at the whim of distance or frequency. I've met a lot of truly awesome people out here too. Great people exist everywhere. In my life, the only place that proved that theory wrong has been Springfield, Illinois. While I didn't meet anyone awesome while I was there, I did sublease an apartment in NY from a guy who grew up there, and he was awesome. And my parents and oldest brother lived there for a few years too, and they're sort of awesome. Anyway, I work with some cool people. Some of our customers kick ass. I even like my elderly neighbors because they always say hello and how are you and they still give us a lot of privacy. I appreciate that.

As for the road rage, Rhode Island drivers are terrible and most of the roads here are single lanes. So generally, I've accustomed myself to leaving early enough to get wherever I'm going assuming that I'll be stuck behind a grandma going 20mph downhill. The main problem out here isn't that people are selfish or aggressive. It's that they simply don't pay attention. They swerve into oncoming traffic on an hourly basis. Most of the highway has rumble strips on the sides. They are way too trusting and way too distracted. And for some reason, everyone in Rhode Island freaks out on this one turn on the highway called the "Thurber's Avenue curve". It's true that it is a long turn and you can't see what is far ahead of you, but it really isn't even as intense as a common off-ramp. And why it causes so many accidents is beyond me because this state has some of the most windy roads I've ever experienced in my life. This turn is nothing in comparison. Rhode Islanders are still very much a mystery to me. But the road rage, generally speaking, is much better than in my Chicago days.

I'm not bored out here. Not at all. I wish I was. But I'm working full time, taking three classes, doing some freelance writing, and trying to do some housework and enjoy some free time as well. My problem is that there aren't enough hours in the day.

I haven't taken in much culture yet, but that's due to time constraints more than anything. In New York it was usually a money issue. Here, it's just a time issue. I've been reading the same book for about two months now. I've seen one movie all month (Stop Loss, very good). There hasn't been any theater, but I've never been a huge theater kid. I do have tickets to see Eddie Izzard on Monday...can't wait.

I have mainly avoided frozen foods (except pizzas, but that's nothing new). I have gone to restaurants like T.G.I. Friday's and Applebee's a bit more than I'd care to admit. The good news is that I've also gone to some really incredible places in our area and in Providence. It isn't that there isn't good food around. I've just been making lame choices and that can be changed.

My whole point with this blog is to say, I like it here a lot. Yesterday, I did yard work. I rowed a canoe in our pond. I went out for Chinese food. Today, I went to work and did homework. Tomorrow, I'll do homework and go to school. I'll then go watch an advanced screening for a movie I have to review by Friday. Now, I'm drinking some wine and I'm about to go to bed to read for a while.

This whole "moving to the boondocks" thing: It's a good gig. It's more than just knowing it's the right thing for right now. I'm actually feeling good at the same time. Score.

A day off. Pinch me.

I don't think I've even stopped to pull up a sock in three days. My life has been a constant go go go. Now the great thing is, I truly enjoy just about every part of my life at the moment. So it isn't like I'm miserable. I just wish I could stop time, sleep as long as I need, and then start time right where I left off so that I can feel rested instead of wired. I'd also like to read more, work on my Flash skills more, and clean my house more.

Last evening, I sat out in a rocking chair on our deck drinking wine, eating a stuffed pepper, and listening to peep frogs. I love old people activities. I'm just ahead of my time, that's all.