back to normal

I only spent 11 years of my life in Florida but it left a mark that won’t ever go way. I’ve lived in LA for 26 years but I still feel like I’m from Florida — and I’m not even really from Florida, having been born in Oklahoma, then having lived in Bogotá Colombia it was, nevertheless, the scars of Florida that remain boldest on my body and mind. I have a deep and irrational hatred of Florida. Here’s why: the heat and humidity made life difficult. It was a time of straight spiky hair and the humidity left me with a frizzed out mop. I was constantly covered in a sheen of sweat and oil. My clothes had to be un-fashionable bags — light colors only and always a single layer. We lived in a dreary dull sub-urban neighborhood so suffocatingly drab we produced only domestic abuse, alcoholism , murder and suicidal isolation. You think I’m kidding? Every single one of my friends lived in a household where one of these things occurred. Upper middle class homes of desperation. My peers in school were hyper-sexualized children. My teachers taught the racist “lost cause” version of the Civil War as a part of the public school curriculum. We had race riots in middle school and high school. My teachers were arrested for bringing pornography to school, for having affairs with students, for bringing guns to school (my teachers). One former teacher went on a racist killing spree after I left middle school. My peers brought guns to school. There was rape, drug overdose and and constant violence. Large roaches called Palmetto Bugs would bite you during your sleep. Upper middle class, insulated life in Florida. Miami was the murder capitol of the U.S. when I lived there. We had headless bodies in dumpsters and bodiless heads in gift wrapped boxes on the side of the road. We had Santeria inspired ritualistic murders. We had xenophobic “English Only” politicians pushing punitive policy. We had radicalized militia both neo-confederate and anti-Castro fulminating violent overthrow at all times. We had Crack early. We had coked-out crazies running around, getting elected to city and state office, serving on the police force and performing surgery.

I was stabbed in Florida when I was 20. An upper middle class kid who was bored and wanted to have some fun with his friends drove around my neighborhood looking for trouble. He found me walking that night and punctured both my lungs with a filleting knife. Later his friends turned him in. His lawyers found out I was gay and used that as his defense. He stabbed me because I was gay? He was in a car, I was on foot. How gay was I that he had to pull over and stab me? Anyhow, in Florida that defense didn’t get him acquitted but he was given a one year probation for attempted murder. Because after all, my gayness was a huge threat to him in much the same way it threatens heterosexual marriage and attracts hurricanes.

This is why I live on the opposite side of the country in a city where I can look out my window on a winter morning and see snow on the mountains (see above). Los Angeles has problems. Severe homelessness and severe corruption in city government (our city government is bought and sold by the real estate industry  — hence the total lack of affordable housing.) But I do love it here. I do love California. The most beautiful place I’ve ever seen, Big Sur, is in my state. I love working in film and tv. I love that in a day I meet more people from all over the world than anywhere I’ve ever lived. I love our culture, our history and I even love earthquakes, so long as I survive them. I love our live and let live ethos. I love our “yeah LA is ugly and the traffic is bad, don’t move here” civic pride. In the words of Randy Newman, I love L.A. And yes, I know he was being ironic.