So tomorrow marks the beginning of my twenty-ninth year on Earth, and it has been one of the best rides yet in retrospect. It all rang in with a lovely sushi dinner with a great group of friends about a year ago. Since then, I have made some interesting stops along the way.

There has been book club - which had the greatest meeting discussing sex on the Cheesecake Factory patio in Brentwood.
My first L Word Dinner at Falcon, where "Like A Lesbian" became the new "Like A Virgin". I mean, is all lesbian sex that good?
Tori at Royce Hall - never a more magical concert experience ever!
Palm Springs at Bubby's - the legend of Imaginiff was born there. Laying out and drinking vodka red bulls all day - taking a midnight walk through the golf course sprinklers - good times. The countdown to Bubby's 06 is upon us.
Kelly C at The Wiltern - yes Scotty, I cry at everything!
My first great horseriding adventure - my own personal Brokeback.
Nicole Kidman in the 4 Seasons elevator. "Hello", she said. I just smiled, and then fainted. Seeing my friend Danny get married - he and his new bride running off into the trees together - my first college friend saying, "I do."
Driving with the girls to see Coldplay in Irvine. Riding a ferris wheel. Screaming "The Scientist" at the top of my lungs underneath a magnificent full moon.
Moving to Silverlake.
Seeing Shannon in that gym teacher outfit with that wig!
Meeting Jake G and his Puggle - could life get any better?
A weekend trip to Vegas with Jess - walking the Alladin drunk to Gwen. Wheel of Fortune gave me no love, but Jess pocketed some at the ariport.
Brokeback opening and getting the world to see it. Reading the testimonials at my desk and crying.
Xmas with the family - best Xmas ever - my mom beating her cancer - my dad giving a teary speech at the dinner table - us feeling like a family.
The New Year's to end all New Year's. Tradition maybe? Seeing some things about myself clearly for the first time.
Hugging Heather goodbye. It was fate that brought us all home this past year. So true. Miss your beautiful face!
The Oscars. An experience. Glad that I had it. Glad they are over.
Boxing. I love it. Thank you Katie.

And more. And more. I love the people in my life. I look forward to the next year. I look forward to writing more. I look forward to dancing more. I look forward to ringing in the thirtieth year. I really, truly do.

What about it?

Going to the gym is my favorite time of day. I love it because it is my 'me' time. When I don't have to answer phones or emails. I don't have to worry about what anyone wants for lunch. I don't have to talk business with strangers. I don't have to talk at all. It's also a place where I go to gather my thoughts on the life that I am trying to live when I am working. And the life I would like to create that can someday co-mingle my work with my life's goals. I get inspired with clarity in the blank moments that make up my eliptical run. And I get to spend time with my best friend, Phoenix, my Ipod. Yes, I have named my Ipod Phoenix. It's a long story.

So anyway, yesterday was this day where I was tripping on what to do with my job, and this possible offer that I had for another job. It was all quite mind-numbing, and I needed the work out to clear my head. I emptied my mind of thought and got on some machines. And in the breath of a back set, it hit me what I should do. I had spent the last few years afraid to move towards a career that could make me passionate. And I had stifled my passion in favor of safety. This is my life, and I don't want it to be looked back upon one day as a life that was lived safe. I don't preach safe. I don't believe in safe. So, how can I live safe? I would have to leave behind the security blanket I had wrapped myself in and try exploring a life that could possibly allow me closer to the one I had been dreaming of for so long.

And then Phoenix gave me Madonna's "Jump":

"There's only so much you can learn in one place
The more that I wait, the more time that I waste

I haven't got much time to waste, it's time to make my way
I'm not afraid of what I'll face, but I'm afraid to stay
I'm going down my own road, and I can make it alone
All work and no fighting
I'll find a place of my own

Are you ready to jump?
Get ready to jump
Don't ever look back, oh baby
Yes, I'm ready to jump
Just take my hands
Get ready to jump"

Madonna offered me consolation. As well as the great conversations I had with some choice friends who know me all too well. I turned down the offer. I am starting the search. And tonight I am going to see my new boxing trainer. So not only do I get my workout meditation time, but I get to hit things too.

What about it?

I have embarked on my last week of The Artist's Way, the creativity workbook that is supposed to aid in the unblocking of one's flow. I am glad that I have almost gotten completely through the workbook, like I intentionally set out to do. And I do feel like I have gotten some clarity on how I see myself as an artist with the help of this book. Also it is good timing as I ready to step out into the world of perusing for a new career.

Now there were some circumstances at my current job that were foremost causing me to feel the job switch coming. But I recently received news that enabled me to possibly stop the search, or at least postpone it. However, in reading my chapter last night, I uncovered a type of artist roadblock called the "Test". I wondered as I read last night when I would see this "test" in my life. Well it hit me today in a meeting that I already have.

According to the Artist's Way, the "Test" occurs just as you are about to make an important creative decision in life. Basically it means that when you finally decide to leave that creatively stifling job/relationship/living arrangement is just when you are offered a promotion or a ring or a cutdown on the rent. Now this phenomenon is not scientifically proven, but I can say I have experienced it. A little over two years ago, when I finally decided to leave New York and come back to L.A. in hopes of getting into film and reconnecting with the family, I was offered my own apartment in Manhattan for practically nothing. Though tempting, I declined. In my eyes, I passed the test. And I am so happy to be in L.A.

So thanks to this workbook, I was able to recognize my next test as I stared into the wall of the conference room. Though I could have some security here right now at this job, I may have to follow my heart and go into the darkness of some territory I do not know. IF I want the future I have creatively pictured in my head for the last eleven weeks, there really is no other choice.

Man, I always hated tests in school. And they don't stop when you enter into adult life. They can get more harrowing with tougher grading curves and greater consequences if failed. I hope not to fail. And a tutor would be nice.

A really hot tutor.

What about it?

Sudoku is a logic-based puzzle that involves the strategic placement of numbers in a grid. According to Wikipedia, "completeing the puzzle requires patience and logical ability." On another site devoted to the game, Sudoku is described as "fun" and "challenging". I have never played the game, but I have seen it discussed at work, and I have gained a grasp on the idea of what it is. So, my brief knowledge of it allowed me to laugh when my friend and I got into a hearty discussion about relationships.

"Okay sudoku, I know."

"What?"

"Go on."

"Did you just call me sudoku?"

"Yes. When it comes to love and sex, you're sudoku."

I was brought back to college when I got into a huge fight with the person I was dating. "You are intangible, and you always will be. You will never let anyone get within four feet of you, emotionally." Or something like that. Those words haunted me forever and caused me such a complex. Was I intangible to others? It was further related to me that what was meant was that I only allowed people to know my persona and not my actual self. I remember defending myself with a comment along the lines of, "Well, you can never know someone as his or her private self." That was met with rebuttal. "You can if you allow someone in completely. That's a relationship." Ours ended very soon after that.

Now in all honesty, I took the sudoku thing lightly. In fact, being compared to a game that one enjoys while passing the time in a doctor's office forced me to realize that I probably need to lighten up entirely. When it comes to my outlook on love and relationships, I can be a puzzle that requires patience and logical ability. And let's face it, love and sex and all that business can be pretty damn sudoku. So it certainly doesn't need my crazy ass to complicate things more. I'm over sudoku. From now on, it's all Go Fish to me.

What about it?

Prologue - I am known to travel at great lengths when it comes to exploring my self-awareness.

Sunday, 10:30 PM, El Pollo Loco, Silverlake. Per Russ' suggestion, I have just ordered my starving tummy a burrito when the woman behind the counter asks, "Would you like a churro with that?" My quick basic response to such a question is "no", which is what I answer with. But my mind quickly flashes back to the morning, and I change my response. "Actually, I would love a churro." Excitedly, I turn to Russ and explain how that morning I had made a list of things that make me happy, and churros made the list. I was in need of a happiness booster.

Russ: You made a list of things that make you happy this morning?

Me: Yes.

Russ begins to laugh. "You just opened your eyes, rolled over in bed and picked up a pen. Today I think I'll start with a list of things that make me happy." He was laughing even harder now at the thought of my actions. I started to explain how I was into this Artist's Way thing and how it was part of that, but his laughter was contagious, and the thought of it was kinda funny. Some guys wake up and wank. I wake up and think about the fact that a drive along the 1 to SB is a complete smile inducer.

Monday, also about 10:30, Edendale, Silverlake. Becky and I sit having wine and damn good calimari. I recount the story to her, and she tips me off. "See how you at first rejected the churro?"

"Yes", I agree. We decide that I am conditioned into denying myself of what makes me happy. I mean, really, we have had two glasses of really good wine. And we end up laughing about it, and joking about how I need a churro tattoo on my arm to remind me. "Remember the churro." But in all seriousness, it is good insight.

Based on the crap we taught ourselves as children, we can at times deny ourselves from what we really feel compelled to attain. Sure, we want to be directors, but there is this issue and that issue and it could never really happen anyway. So we become real estate agents. Or yeah, he's so damn cute, that one across the room, but he would never talk to me. Your friend says, "You should just go talk to him." And "No" you say. "He seems like he's into that guy over there. and he probably likes guys who are taller than me." We can easily give up. We can easily be conditioned to give up. So we elude the possibility of defeat for the sheer blind bliss of complacency. And we can then just let things happen to us, rather than take on the opportunities some moments may present.

The churro may not be the best and most healthy manifestation of "choosing happiness", but fuck it. It made the list. And the moment presented it. So why deny myself a moment of happiness when it was being offered to me. And of course, you may make a movie and it may suck. The guy might have no response to you, or be as interesting as a conference call on office supplies, but still, you made the jump.

Gwen says, "You never know, it could be great... take a chance you stupid ho." And I say, "Hear hear!" From now on, stupid ho no more. I will be daring ho. A risk-taking ho. Who says yes to the churro whenever offered.

Epilogue - Making a list of things that make you happy will allow you to be more aware of them when they appear in your daily life.

In high school, I was voted "Sweetest".

Sure my name sort of lends itself to a gentle disposition. And I think being teased as a kid forced me to overcompensate with kindness as I got older, so that I could deflect any sort of negative behavior from coming at me. But now that I am adult, I am beginning to see that this whole "nice guy" thing can at times be a tiny bit of a detriment. Luckily, I am in the training ground of the business we know of as Hollywood, so Maria at NAICC is unfortunately getting my untested wrath.

See, some guy in a disgustingly large Ram hit my parked car when I wasn't around last year. His good samaritan girlfriend forced him to leave a note and take responsibility for his actions. I know this because weeks later when he finally showed up at my place with a few drinks in him, he told me. "I would have just kept driving if she hadn't made me stop." I was pissed, but I still found gratitude that he had stopped. I thanked him and sent him on his way.

Now, a couple of months later, I finally have my car back, but his crappy insurance company - again NAICC - refusues to cover all of the costs incurred. And given my "sweet" demeanor and outlook on the world, I had already fronted my bank card information as a back up, "in case the insurance refused to pay." I was assured that rarely happens. Well, it has. And almost nine hundred dollars are now gone from my account. From my life. From my new birthday outfit fund.

I want to bomb the NAICC. And I want to be mean.

I think back to about five years ago when I was hit by a car speeding off the freeway on Laguna St. back in SF. It was a total hit and run, and I was lucky to come out of it alive. But a week later, as I laid in bed recovering, my friend came in to see me and asked me how mad I must be. I said not really. I was just glad to be okay. These things happen. She was furious at me. "You need to get mad", she said. "What good does that do me now. The person who hit me is not here." But she felt that if I didn't get mad now and at least let that energy out, it was gonna show itself later. I mean, what did she want me to do? Was I supposed to be hitting the therapy pillow?

Well, talking to Maria from this idiot's insurance company, I get what she was saying. To a degree. I get that anger is good when channeled properly. And that if it causes someone to not like you, then so be it. They are in the wrong, and I don't like them or what they stand for anyway. Being "sweet" can sort of cause you to be a human doormat, and that sucks. The fact that they want me to pay for something I had no contribution to is completely ludicrous.

However, I also understand my belief in "kill them with kindness". I mean I am no Gandhi. I do know that when someone gets angry at me, I just want to see them suffer more. My ego gets in the way, and it can just sometimes cause more problems for everyone. So how does one handle this situation?

I told her to go talk to the shop and see if they can fight it out. And God bless me if I have to take them to small claims court, because I don't know if I have the energy to deal with that. I mean, is it worth it? Can I get that angry? And if Maria is there in person, will I be tempted to hit a lady? I have been a nice guy and "sweet" for so long that I wonder if as thirty approaches, I am awakening to a new me.

I mean, let's just say that if I had the chance to meet the person who hit me five years ago, causing me the permanent damage I have now to my knees, and found out that "it" was a "she", she would get at least a slap from this Mr Van Nuys High "Sweetest" 1995.

Therapy pillow anyone?

What about it?

So at the end of a relatively wonderful date the other day, the moment I like to think of as "Kiss or Goodbye" occurred. This is when the two of you are having a good time and there is nothing but intimacy left, so either the two of you have to embrace it without fear, or embrace fear and flea. However, this particular time I had the pleasure of playing "Kiss, Goodbye, or Discuss".

Basically, the question came up of intentions and what mine were. I made him go first. He stated that he was not looking for something "serious serious, but that he wasn't opposed to sex." Well, what gay man isn't? And what does "serious serious" refer to? We can date, but not get too emotionally attached and exclusivity isn't necessary? I wasn't sure, and in the moment, I didn't think to ask. But I did remember going to see this reader last year who told me I was on the verge of meeting a "life partner." That I was looking for that right now. And that is true. So her words rose in my head as I thought to respond to him.

Was I willing to settle for just one "serious"? I could have just went for the fun way out and said, "That sounds good." I mean, he was cute there lying next to me, his head mashed into a pillow on the makeshift floor couch. And there was this unavoidable feeling all day of familiarity that just resonated beyond any physical attraction. So a roll around and a good makeout wouldn't be awful. But I didn't. I said that we appeared to be looking for different things, and then I put my shoes on, gave him a hug, and I left. I called up my friend who was just getting ready for bed, but who is always ready to be roused. I picked him up, and we went for a churro and then a beer, and managed to shared far too many laughs to recount. I told the story to him and asked, "What do you think he meant by something not "serious serious"?" He responded with, "He was probably just looking for a regular f**k buddy." And in the world of gay sex and dating, that very well could be right. In so much of my dating experience, there is a lot of, "I can't handle an emotional attachment right now" or "I don't know what I want right now." Is it all just code for, "I was hoping you just wanted to mess around"?

I am looking for the single word serious. Not immediate wedding bells or a trip to meet the folks. But someone I can rely on to find me across a crowded room at a moment's notice. Who doesn't need to have a discussion with me before a kiss can happen. And certainly who isn't looking to me to just be a "regular" anything or isn't attracted to me solely because of the fact that I'm Latin or because I wear dark-rimmed glasses.

They say it comes when you are not looking and least expect it. I however am an eternal romantic, and I wonder if the few of my breed ever stop looking. I can certainly let the search go. There are plenty of other aspects in my life to focus on, so my gaze on romance has shifted for time being. I mean for one thing, 29 is so soon, and I don't have a thing to wear.

What about it?

Three weeks from today is my birthday. A lot of people don't like to make a big deal out of celebrating. I mean last night, we were out celebrating a friend's birthday and when cupcakes adorned with candles were brought out, I thought he was going to douse the flames in his vodka and cause an explosion. Another friend of mine particularly asked for us not"to make a fuss", as it's just another day and birthdays come every year. Now as far as I am concerned, birthdays are a day to jump up and down and rejoice.

You see, I love me some life. Ever since two days after my birthday five years ago, when I was hit by a car and told by doctors that my survival was miraculous, I look to my birthday as a way to give gratitude for my existence. Sure I got debt, a paycheck not worth hollering about, and have been eternally single since my exposure from the womb, but I still got to say, "Hey. Here is one more chance at greatness."

For the past few years, I have had some party cooking or a big dinner gathering in mind. And a couple of years ago, my friends threw me a surprise party which ended up being chaotic but fun. However, this year, I am stumped, and I am wondering if my usual excitement is dwindling.

I am going to be 29 years old, and I don't have a clue on how to ring in my New Year.

I remember growing up, my mother was always very good about throwing me a party. She would make sure to book the mini golf place ahead of time or always got a bunch of bowling lanes. One year, she took all of my friends on a movie excursion to see Beetlejuice. Birthdays then were days that I just awoke to with an itinerary. It was like being a model on a shoot - cottage cheese at 7, make-up/hair at 8, followed by wardrobe - it was so much easier. Now, it's evites and scheduling and competing parties and events to work around. I can't handle it all really. Not to mention the fact that you have to decide on where to have it and what to have - and who to invite based on who will actually show. Can't I just be rich and hire a party planner please? I have even toyed this year with throwing a joint party with a few different people, which could be great. But then, time is a'ticking and they are not a'planning, and I don't want to be pushy.

So perhaps I should just let it go. Perhaps this year is not about me trying to create some big old monument of a moment. I have realized more lately about how controlling I can be, even in the most subtle of ways. I could really just try being more open and let the idea flow in.

Any suggestions?

There's always the mini golf/bowling world of kiddie parties. Madge goes to the roller-rink in her new video. Maybe I should too. Or perhaps I should just take a vacation from work, stay in all week, and hit up a different Sex and The City season on DVD each day. I mean, I wonder what Carrie Bradshaw did for her 29th.

I know. She's not real. But a man can grab inspiration from even the slightest of places.

What about it?

I don't know what to say really. So thankfully, Kenneth Turan of the L.A. Times has said something that pretty closely mirrors my feelings on the whole thing. However, before that, there is an amazing moment in my life to share. Last night, I seized an opportunity and had one of the greatest moments of my life.

I introduced myself to Ang Lee.

I told Ang who I was and that I worked on the campaign for the film. He thanked me, but I paused him. I said, "No, thank you. Thank you for making such a beautiful film. I am a gay man and working on this film has changed my life and many others." He then said, "Come here", and hugged me. As he held me, I whispered to him, "We should have won." And we should have. Not solely because we were the better film, but because we augmented the fabric of the film industry, and certainly part of the world. I congratulated him on his win.

And now, I am going to celebrate with some of the coolest people in Hollywood. Here's Kenny:

Breaking no ground

Why 'Crash' won, why 'Brokeback' lost and how the academy chose to play it safe.
By Kenneth Turan, Times Staff Writer
March 5, 2006

Sometimes you win by losing, and nothing has proved what a powerful, taboo-breaking, necessary film "Brokeback Mountain" was more than its loss Sunday night to "Crash" in the Oscar best picture category.

Despite all the magazine covers it graced, despite all the red-state theaters it made good money in, despite (or maybe because of) all the jokes late-night talk show hosts made about it, you could not take the pulse of the industry without realizing that this film made a number of people distinctly uncomfortable. More than any other of the nominated films, "Brokeback Mountain" was the one people told me they really didn't feel like seeing, didn't really get, didn't understand the fuss over. Did I really like it, they wanted to know. Yes, I really did.

In the privacy of the voting booth, as many political candidates who've led in polls only to lose elections have found out, people are free to act out the unspoken fears and unconscious prejudices that they would never breathe to another soul, or, likely, acknowledge to themselves. And at least this year, that acting out doomed "Brokeback Mountain."For Hollywood, as a whole laundry list of people announced from the podium Sunday night and a lengthy montage of clips tried to emphasize, is a liberal place, a place that prides itself on its progressive agenda. If this were a year when voters had no other palatable options, they might have taken a deep breath and voted for "Brokeback." This year, however, "Crash" was poised to be the spoiler.

I do not for one minute question the sincerity and integrity of the people who made "Crash," and I do not question their commitment to wanting a more equal society. But I do question the film they've made. It may be true, as producer Cathy Schulman said in accepting the Oscar for best picture, that this was "one of the most breathtaking and stunning maverick years in American history," but "Crash" is not an example of that.

I don't care how much trouble "Crash" had getting financing or getting people on board, the reality of this film, the reason it won the best picture Oscar, is that it is, at its core, a standard Hollywood movie, as manipulative and unrealistic as the day is long. And something more. For "Crash's" biggest asset is its ability to give people a carload of those standard Hollywood satisfactions but make them think they are seeing something groundbreaking and daring. It is, in some ways, a feel-good film about racism, a film you could see and feel like a better person, a film that could make you believe that you had done your moral duty and examined your soul when in fact you were just getting your buttons pushed and your preconceptions reconfirmed.

So for people who were discomfited by "Brokeback Mountain" but wanted to be able to look themselves in the mirror and feel like they were good, productive liberals, "Crash" provided the perfect safe harbor. They could vote for it in good conscience, vote for it and feel they had made a progressive move, vote for it and not feel that there was any stain on their liberal credentials for shunning what "Brokeback" had to offer. And that's exactly what they did."Brokeback," it is worth noting, was in some ways the tamest of the discomforting films available to Oscar voters in various categories. Steven Spielberg's "Munich"; the Palestinian Territories' "Paradise Now," one of the best foreign language nominees; and the documentary nominee "Darwin's Nightmare" offered scenarios that truly shook up people's normal ways of seeing the world. None of them won a thing.

Hollywood, of course, is under no obligation to be a progressive force in the world. It is in the business of entertainment, in the business of making the most dollars it can. Yes, on Oscar night, it likes to pat itself on the back for the good it does in the world, but as Sunday night's ceremony proved, it is easier to congratulate yourself for a job well done in the past than actually do that job in the present.

Talking to my friend Dan at work today, I had a realization: In college, for about two years, I was a lesbian. I classified myself at the time as "bisexual", because I just was not ready for the "gay" commitment. I dated a girl who was also "bisexual", so we were a perfect match. But in retrospect, we were more so of a lesbian couple. First off, she practically lived with me, where we hung out with my roommates, another lesbian couple. Being that I was vegetarian, we cooked in a lot and curled up on couches with bad television. While other blossoming gay men of my age were either pining away at the frat house or soliciting free drinks at The Cafe, I was hibernating. I attended every Lilith Fair tour there was, and I stayed till Sarah sang her final piercing note. I followed Ani Difranco around from Santa Cruz to Davis and saw her over a dozen times. And hanging out in the Castro for me was Noah's Bagels and free blueberry shmear. I mean, what can I say?

I recall one time my other roommate Francine and I sitting on the sidewalk outside of the Noah's, calmly eating our egg mits. In my mind, we looked like care-free kids to the outside world. But this guy approached us, and smiled. "You ladies looking for some weed?" In that moment, to the outside world, I became Frannie's butch Latina girlfriend. She looked at me with amused shock as I spoke up. "No thanks. We're good." The guy registered the timbre of my voice and appeared startled. "Oh okay. Sorry." Though Frannie and I shared a laugh, inside I felt this strange adolescent cringe within my body. It was not long after that that I came out, broke up with my girlfriend, and began losing weight and bettering my appearance. See, back then, I had no facial hair, was pretty overweight, and had bleached hair, so I could see how this guy could have mistaken me. And I tell you, I see pictures now and I wish my friends had said something. But then I know that they probably didn't know any better either.

I really think this random incident did awaken me to a disconnect I had created for my self. By having been so physically rejected in high school and thus having had no real connection to my sexuality, I had repressed myself completely to the opposite spectrum. By becoming a lesbian, I was placing myself in the kindest of company. These ladies did not see me as sexually desirable. They just saw me for me, and that was certainly valuable for my transition into sexual acceptance. I was able to greater understand myself, and in turn others, which is so important to me now, as well as all of the creative work I plan on doing in the future.

I am now a gay man. And I love it. I have thanked the heavens for this strangely profound and amazing gift. It has taught me humility. Versatility. Patience. Endurance. Compassion. How to dress. It's great. But most importantly, having accepted my sexuality has brought me closer to the core of who I am. I feel I can express myself now with more clarity, and I am a thousand times more comfortable in my skin.

Every now and then, I do relapse. I find Jessica Alba sexy. And I put Ani on and cry. You can take the girl out of the Michigan Women's Festival, but you can't take the Women's Michigan Festival out of the girl.

What about it?