The crew has been touting the joys of Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle for the past year or so. I have resisted. The whole pot culture for me is such a bore. I was never engaged in the whole Cheech and Chong culture in the 70s. My father snickered at it when it was on HBO, but I didn't get it. Revisiting it in college when it was considered a "cult classic" didn't give it any graces for me. Stupid pothead jokes shall forever remain stupid pothead jokes.
Call me a square.
But, when Michelle said that she was playing it this evening at Joe's house, I bit. A quiet evening of lovely dinner with Ben, Joe, Michelle and the gorgeous lions Sierra and Rocky. I had to see what the hype was about and after exposing myself over the last year to Team America, Dave Chapelle, The Aristocrats, and Sarah Silverman: Jesus is Magic, Harold and Kumar comes off as a clever buddy film. There are clever levels of wrong in it. And I hope everyone GOT them.
None of us wants to be boxed in. This films highlights exactly that. The quiet Asian guy at the office is not in love with number crunching. The South Asian guy (no, not all are Indian, by the way) does not have a natural proclivity to be a doctor. And, yes, there's a lot of foul sh!t that some white guys do AND get away with. In fact, the ignorant white dude is the butt of a lot of jokes in this movie.
I loved that the Asian dude was into a Latina chick. (Hey, man. How do you think I got here to California?) Kumar was such the random rebel who was TOTALLY leeching off his dad. I wanted to hate him because he could do such a thing and live in a PHAT apartment, but he was too clever. You had to forgive him trimming his pubes in his roomie's room. You had to forgive a LOT of things he did.
There was a liberating moment for women's crassness during the Battlesh!ts scene. I very much appreciated that women could enjoy their stool time as well as any men, and were hot as hell. Right on, ladies. Princeton in the house, ladies and gentlemen.
Because of the makeup of the crew, this movie strikes close to home. Because of Jersey, this movie strikes close to home. Because of White Castle, this movie strikes close to home Although I am ashamed to say that even though I lived a significant part of my life in New York, I NEVER have had a White Castle Burger. Insane, no? I will make that a priority next time I hit the big Apple.
Our meal to celebrate the film consisted of Niman Ranch burgers grilled with monterey jack cheese. The buns were toasted and we had guacamole and salsa to garnish. I have been in a bacon mood all day and my cravings were answered by a lovely smoked bacon to enjoy with the burgers as well. Our vegetable need was satisfied by grilled vegetable skewers of Zucchini, Mushrooms, and mini Bell Peppers. Finally, if the burger wasn't enough, Apple Sausage.
Yes, I know it was a bit much, but I admittedly was hungry and enjoyed every morsel. I have enjoyed Niman Ranch lamb before, but I have to say this is the first time enjoying their beef. And it was quite yummy. Yay, free range.
Tomorrow I need to get more packing done and figure out my luggage for Thursday to visit mami. I'm going to see my mami and papi, and if I am lucky, my nephew (even though he hasn't spoken with me in over a year). I wonder if my brother will come around?
It's strange to have gotten the phone call from my father appreciating my calling him. I know my nephew going to his new program is leaving him really lonely. My father loves his grandson so much. They were buddies. His grandson filled his home with love. My father isn't doing well with an empty nest and I wonder how it will impact him. His health isn't so hot.
When I visited family last year, it was strange to see the diabetes paraphenalia in his bathroom. My father hates the site of blood. (He was no hero when we hurt ourselves growing up.) Knowing that part of his daily routine is to prick his finger to denote a glucose level is strange. My nephew learned how to admiister it. I wonder if he will let it go, like he's let lots of things go recently.
I parallel my father in this holding on to by-gones. I recognized this once I saw in a very real way what the M. thing really was. It was a 3-year, nebulous, not really having to look at myself thing. Unsustainable, and a really weak camouflage to hide feelings from myself. I have looked back at my pattern since ending the relationship that brought me to California. Man, I haven't really trusted myself with anyone...not within a 2 hour radius. Mary Ann has tried to tap into this and I have been so resistant.
After getting to such a raw place over Christmas, I'm not ready for it. I'm ready to open up and talk about why I put my personal fears as excuses to prevent me from being close to men romantically. They are my dearest friends, but I take such an espionage role when it comes to them. I separate my friends. I make sure that certain circles don't cross, like the Ghostbusters beams. It's silly. It's so much work. I'm done. No more hiding.
I tell my students to think about it when they call me open. I tell the people around me a LOT of things. Many people tell me I am among the most open people they know. This is the illusion I want to project. It takes the heat off of my deepest places, the places where I feel most vulnerable.
I jedi-mind trick by telling people:
- I think sucking toes is sexy,
- Preferences surrounding certain sexual techniques,
- I think drugs should be legalized to get the tax money,
- My sister used to chase me around with knives,
- I have lived in my car,
- I have posed topless,
- I have taken a pole dancing class,
- I believe in the feminine side of god,
- I have had whipped cream licked off my body in public with a team of people doing the licking,
- I have re-enacted doggie-style with a woman in public view for a scavenger hunt,
- I have kissed a girl once...
Truth or Dare means nothing to me, unless you ask me what I think of myself or my accomplishments. Ask me if I love myself and see how I struggle with my response. Ask me the last time I have been in love and watch me squirm. Ask me what I fear most and notice how I use humor to deflect an answer. Smokey Robinson's "Tear of a Clown" is a theme to this side of me. Without an audience I become introspective and a prisoner of ghosts in my mind.
Hrm. It's 1:28 and I didn't know one could get this deep after Harold and Kumar.