Hooked up with a friend who happens to be an Iraqi war vet. Apparently he spent one Christmas hunkered down in enemy territory because the winds were so bad helicopters were grounded.

The topic of PTSD came up in relation to both of us having to look mortality head on, and he made an interesting comment to the effect that he'd already died, and he was just waiting for his body to catch up. Rather a sad thing to hear from someone in his mid 20's.

I don't think that it's death, but I am certainly feeling like I'm still waiting a coin to drop somewhere. Yet I *am* changed.

It's been nine months now. I was posting on a friend's FB wall and made an off-hand comment about the incident, not realizing that we'd become friends AFTER my attack and she'd had no idea of what had happened to me. so I sent her a brief FB message providing some detail about what happened, and the reality of being that close to dying reared its head a bit.

I guess this prompts the question of how much I'm still suppressing, if anything. Is it something that holds you back until you finish the process of dealing with it? Or is it more like an onion you carry around, where you pull it out every once in a while, peel off a layer (with the kind of tears you also seem to get when you're peeling onions) while you keep moving forward (with a trail of onion peels behind you to mark your path)?

I may be in denial, but I believe I've done well. I did have to deal with a certain amount of disappointment in feeling like I was somehow abandoned, but the flip side of that is that I've always projected the image of self-sufficiency and a change from that may have created a different environment that might not have been as healthy. And the reality is that it wasn't just about me. We were attacked as a group, and I made the choice to carry on business as usual to minimize the chance of creating a post trauma environment that might have freaked out others in the group.

But it feels like I have to deal with this in stealth mode in relation to the group. And I find myself not able to do this cheerfully at times.

I feel like I might be only one of 2-3 people who are still mourning Jay's death. It is what it is.

Jay

the jay i referred to in my previous post wasn't there the next week. apparently he passed away the next day:

http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/latimes/obituary.aspx?n=james-peter-mccloskey&pid=167299675&fhid=11023#fbLoggedOut

i wonder if he realizes the statement *he* made with his actions before he died.

but it also brings up another apparent motif in my life: often when i feel like i've made a significant connection with someone, they disappear. i wouldn't say that i attributed these happenings to the work of a malicious God as much as an indifferent one. but that's the real horror, as C.S. Lewis once put it: 


The conclusion I dread is not 'So there's no God after all,' but 'So this is what God's really like. 

Deceive yourself no longer.”

I should have posted something on this last week.  After we serve dinner on Tuesdays, we usually have some sort of bible study or devotional time and members of the group take turns doing this. Last week someone elected to explore the concept of love language, that is to say, to become more familiar with the different ways people express/perceive love, by doing a multiple choice survey. There were five basic categories. I don't remember what they all were, but the two categories where i scored predominantly was in spending time, and physical touch, which for some reason came as a big surprise to the person who chose the topic, probably because i I tend to give off this worf-like "do not hug me" vibe as part of what I've learned to do to make myself feel safe when I was younger.

Afterwards, while I was sitting at the table talking with one of the regulars who show up, an older guy I usually just call 'Murph'  (his last name is murphy), who was kinda doubting that i hadn't been adversely affected by my attack, when one of the other regulars, a guy named Jay, came up from behind and gave me a hug around the shoulders, catching me entirely by surprise, as he's never done anything more than shake my hand in the past.

Two things hit me at that moment, and I commented on one of them immediately to Murph, that if I was really always looking over my shoulder, I should have been freaked out by someone coming up from behind and being grabbed around the shoulders and neck. But I wasn't.

The other point was that Jay had heard what was more meaningful to me in terms of expressing love, and responded to it completely unbidden. And that's the flip side of making yourself vulnerable and putting yourself out there. I got attacked from behind, but I also got loved from behind.

I'm still trying to digest the ramifications of my visit last week. Since then, I have noted that people are responding to me differently - in good ways.As I look back, the sequence of events unfolded in a way that one could make a case that things were orchestrated.

As previously mentioned, both my father and my brother in law share the same birthday 30 years apart. So my father's 90th birthday was also my brother in law's 60th, which gave the rest of the family more impetus to get together from various parts of the US and go to Cleveland. Most of them had arrived the previous weekend, so they all had plans to return home on Sunday the following weekend while I made plans not to leave until Monday, so that I could have some extra time to visit with friends I hadn't seen for a long time.

The family all left after breakfast on Sunday, leaving me staying with my parents. I borrowed my dad's car (he actually went and filled the tank first) planning on visiting friends for the rest of the day. I noticed the brake light was on (it hadn't been earlier at breakfast), but thought nothing of it. However, after lunch, I noticed that the brakes were kinda mushy and I decided I'd better just head home. By the time I got home, the brakes were pretty much completely gone. (Turns out a brake line separated, the car was fixed.) But I got home safe, and the friends I'd made plans to meet were OK with coming up to see me instead of meeting somewhere. But I was 'stranded' at home Monday, so I ended up having the conversation about feeding the homeless, what I enjoyed about it, and how I felt like I couldn't desert them despite what had happened, and the kind of statement I was hoping to make by their seeing that I wasn't going to bail on them, prompting my mother to respond by giving me $200 specifically to support what we do as a group.

Those of you who do not accede to a higher power will probably choose to call it coincidence. I do not.

One of my favorite shows is a cable series called Breaking Bad. To summarize the plot, a Nobel-Prize level chemist sells his interest in a startup for $5000, a startup that eventually becomes worth $2.1 billion dollars. Said chemist ends up teaching high school chemistry in Alberqueque NM, making about $40k a year, when at the age of 50, he discovers that he has contracted cancer and has maybe a year to live. Chemist decides to start cooking meth to create a trust to take care of his family's financial needs, but starts down a path that leads to him becoming someone known as Heisenberg, a meth druglord that has ruthlessly killed a number of people to attain his status under the auspices of protecting his family. Heisenberg made the following quote I want to share:

“I have spent my whole life scared, frightened of things that could happen, might happen, might not happen, 50 years I spent like that. Finding myself awake at three in the morning. But you know what? Ever since my diagnosis, I sleep just fine. What I came to realize is that fear, that’s the worst of it.”

Substitute the word attack for diagnosis, and the quote could be mine.

I've lived my life with fear, inherited from my mother. My mother's life and her decisions have been characterized by fear. Not difficult to understand why: her father killed during WWII when she was about 10, having to worry about where the next meal was going to come from. That fear was reflected in how my mother was very protective of me as a child, how she was in my memory naturally suspicious of everything, trusting no one. My mother's tried to encourage me over the years, but it had very little effect. The question always remained: "Why should I believe that things will go well when it's so obvious that you don't believe that of yourself?"

Where I'm tryiing to get to with this is that for the first time, my mother made a statement that made me believe that she understands my passion, was able to accept the inherent risk in pursuing that passion, and supports what I want to do in a tangible way. It was as if she was saying: "I'm not afraid for you, you don't have to be afraid anymore either."

My dad turns 90 today. I went home to celebrate his birthday this past weekend. While I was looking forward to the trip for that, I was apprehensive because it also meant having to deal with telling my mother what happened back in March. Oddly enough, she took it pretty well, and she agreed that it was better that I had waited to see her face to face rather than try to tell her over the phone.

On the last day of my visit, our conversation turned towards what I actually do on Tuesday nights, how we all prepare food and bring it to the park to serve to the homeless who show up. I also went into why I felt it was important that I continue to do this even after my attack. What happened next caught me completely unprepared; my mom left the room, came back with $200 in cash and told me that she wanted to support what we do, and since we pay for everything out of our own pockets, she wanted to donate some money to defray our expenses. Beyond the initial surprise, this was to me very unusual because my typical experience is that I am left wondering if my mother even understood what I said. So this was more like a double or triple blessing. I imagine that I'll chew on this for a while.

PAY DAY

or in this case, taking care of hospital expenses. I'll update this as it goes, but I think I've gotten all the bills I'm going to get at this point.

EA Health: $4020
Upper GI endoscopy & subsequent care
exploratory
broncoscope/wash
ER visit

Anesthesia: $2500

Huntington Hospital: $108334.00 - insurance rate? MY COST uninsured: $10634.11

this is pretty funny.

Zimmerman-Martin.

There's a lot of feelings flying high in the aftermath of that trial. The media's gone out of their way to sensationalize and polarize things. Don't get me wrong; something is not right here, but a larger issue is that some "events" get sensationalized while other get little to no coverage whatsoever such as the Kermit Gosnell trial recently, or even the arrest of three black men in St. Louis for a "kill whitey" crime spree. Other heinous crimes where whites were the victims such as the murders of Channon Christian & Christoper Hewsom back in 2007 never seemingly made the news outside of Knoxville Tennessee.They were a white couple that were kidnapped, gang raped, tortured and murdered by a group of black men.

I was attacked because I was helping homeless people as an expression of my faith. But since it's a christian church, it wasn't ever going to make the news. But if' I'd been Buddhist and attacked by someone claiming some sort of christian connection I can't help but think that the media would have had a field day with it. Seriously, isn't this as much a hate crime as any other?

It's been a while. I used to play a popular PC game called Civilization II. It's the game I played all day when I ruptured my achilles tendon some 12 years ago and I was confined to a bad with full length cast on my left leg. It was written to work with Windows XP and so when I migrated to windows XP I bid CIV II farewell.

I recently discovered that Atari recompiled a version and made it XP compatible, so I got a copy through eBay and have been playing the game non-stop. I would almost describe it as a retrenching done in spite of my recent decision to make an effort to put myself out there in more new situations. It concerned me a bit that I can't point to any sort of recent event that would precipitate this, but it's been suggested that this is my way of coming to grips with what's happened; by immersing myself into something where I have a sense of control. I'm not that's the case but it makes a great reason to keep playing.

The only things I've kept doing consistently is the homeless feedings on Tuesday, DJing blues at Joes on Sundays, and Friday lunches visiting various chinese or ethnic asian restaurants in the San Gabriel valley. We've been attempting to try out this new ramen place for the last two weeks, but they've been running out of broth and keeping spotty hours (technically, they haven't had their grand opening yet, they're still working out kinks, etc. I scheduled another attempt this past week, and while waiting for the others to show up, I browsed a chinese video store a few storefronts down.

There wasn't anything I found even remotely interesting in the place, but it prompted me to reexamine the origins of Secret Asian Men when I made a point of seeking out asian themed films half a lifetime ago in an effort to connect with my asian heritage. It probably started with filmaker Wayne Wang's "Dim Sum: A Little Bit of Heart" (although Wayne Wang actually started with "Chan is Missing") & "Eat A Bowl of Tea" and when I moved to LA, I and other asian males my age were discovering movies like "Living on Tokyo Time", and also discovering movies made by asian filmmakers like Ang Lee, John Woo, Kar Wai Wong. etc.

We cheered when Universal broadcast the series "Vanishing Son" because Russell Wong was scoring with white women instead of the usual interracial relationships between some asian babe and a white guy. We booed when America embraced "Joy Luck Club" which depicted asian males as largely dysfunctional. Even now, your typical asian male is depicted in only three basic categories:

1) ethnic older grocer/laundry owner type who can't speak english
2) resident martial artist
3) geeky or effeminate lab tech

Even after living in LA for almost 25 years, i still carry the awareness of how provincial middle america can be in its outlook & I still have expect to encounter it out here.. It's different being in a much more cosmopolitan setting out here, but it's definitely still assimilation than integration. More of this later.

Pushing myself.

This has come in spurts, as I've tried to stretch by going places and doing things that have been outside my normal routine. It's been good, although I think I finally outdid myself. I went to see Barbara Morrison at the Levitt pavilion before heading off to Joe's and I danced more than I have since before the attack. My body responded by forcing me to sleep all but a couple of hours earlier today, about 10 hours out of the last 24.

Part II What are we supposed to believe?

Obviously, in some sort of power greater than and outside of ourselves. But even there, our belief is affected by the size of our universe of facts. Chesterton explores this in ch. 3 "the suicide of thought', illustrated by the  misguided use of the phrase "having his heart in the right place", which is typically used to describe someone who we believe has good intentions even though the results of their actions turns out poorly. We choose to categorize their motives as good, but in reality, they aren't. The irony is that damage is done not due to vice, but to the pursuit of a virtue. It is the isolation of this virtue from other virtues that result in perversion of truth and in evil. two of the most obvious virtues are love and truthfulness; the result is that truth seekers are generally pitiless, while humanitarians are driven primarily by pity, but their pity is often untruthful. but chesterton suggests that it is another virtue perverted which had led to even greater evil: humility. Chesterton asserts that it is the perversion of humility that prompt man to assert himself, that is to say, seek his own pleasures, while doubting truth.

that prompted me to research the concept of hedonism, which led me to john piper and his doctrine of christian hedonism, a controversial terminology to be sure, but one that makes much more sense now in the light of chesterton's assertions: instead of the "chief end of man" being "to glorify god and enjoy him forever", piper asserts that it would more correct to say "to glorify god by enjoying him forever", drawing on jonathan edwards, among others, but that's not to say that our happiness is the greatest good, but that god is most glorifed in our indvidual lives when we are satisfied in him.

And I think I've found my first real destination in my journey. let's see if i can articulate it:

for the last ten years or so, in my pursuit of "happiness" i've been somewhat hedonist, coming up on the plus side of  pleasure vs. pain, not necessarily by seeking pleasure, but by minimizing my pain. but that's been self-defeating because playing it safe has also minimzed my potential to experience great pleasure, because pleasure comes in large part from being surprised.and surprise comes from learning something new - that happens to be true. and how can we be more delighted than by learning something new about god - or being reminded of something we've forgotten? but pursuing truth comes both with potential risk as well as actual pain if truth is somehow contradicted by painful memories, memories we'd rather suppress than re-experience the pain we felt when we were younger - and for the most part, a lot weaker.

Haven't posted for a while. My scar *still* itches a lot.

I've physically survived a trauma that some people have not; my friend Tom the former coroner has looked at my scar and told me that I was lucky to be alive. The reality of that still seems really abstract. A few have suggested that I should go out and buy lottery tickets; the implication is that I am blessed with good luck. Yet I don't feel that way - at all. My actions and behavior have always been influenced by a sense that the odds are somehow stacked against me, a sense that's been with me since childhood. I've pondered the possibility that this set of circumstances might prompt me to revise my perspective; even if the worst possible thing does happen, it's not going to kill you, which should in turn raise my level of confidence.

I've been re-reading Chesterton's Orthodoxy. When I got to chapter 2 "the maniac" my first thought was that this might help me gain perspective on my attacker; when I share the details of my attack, the common response is that my attacker is at some level non compos mentis. And I believe that I have. Chesterton is right when he claims that maniacs have not lost their reason, they have lost everything BUT their reason. The issue is that while their minds are frantically analyzing and re-analyzing, they are drawing from an insufficient universe of facts. The circle of facts may be perfect, but it is of exceeding small diameter. And one's conclusions can only be as complete and accurate as the facts used to reach these conclusions.

But the answer is not about facts or truth. The actuality is that everyone has an emotionally vested interest in maintaining the size of their universe and as a consequence, our intellectual arguments are tainted by our emotions. Scripture describes this as having our hearts hardened. On a Tuesday night about a month ago, one of the members of the group that helps to serve food, reacted to a sudden movement nearby. When I commented on it later, the person commented that yes, he was more watchful but it wasn't out of fear. I saw the look on his face at the moment he flinched. It was not the look of someone who was somehow casually more vigilant. But I saw little value in pressing the point, even though the person also left the group around that time. However, it does prompt me to ponder whether my el Cid behavior in some way shamed people into coming along for the ride, or that my business as usual approach discouraged other people from doing what they needed to do to deal with this and be able to move on. I honestly don't know.

But there's another train of thought prompted by this chapter, going back to the first paragraph in the chapter, which discusses the fallibility in the concept that success, should be expected of people who truly believe in themselves. It's especially applicable here in LA where it seems half the waiters/waitresses are people who truly believe in themselves in being future actors/actresses, aspiring screenwriters, filmmakers who just aren't going to make it. The question becomes, if not in himself, in what is he to believe?

My scar seems to be healing nicely, but it still hurts and itches a lot.

Earlier this evening during our weekly time at the park, there was a little altercation which apparently prompted someone to notify the Pasadena police. As it turns out, the policeman who showed up was the same one who was with me in ER that night. He apologized for ruining my sweatshirt by cutting it up. I told him I was more upset about ruining a new pair of jeans. He reassured me that he had no part of that. While we were chatting, another policeman contacted him to ask if I happened to be there because he had a question about where things stood with the court. I haven't heard anything concerning that recently.

As to the altercation, it seemed apparent not just to me but to a number of the people who come out regularly to join us that this was a consequence of pent-up emotions following the attack, and I elected to take the officer aside and explain what happened in that light. The officer was very understanding about it.

I can't help but feel like what happened remains the 500 lb. gorilla in the room that nobody wants to acknowledge. I also understand that my taking the initiative in bringing it up runs the risk of people perceiving it to be about me, even though I really don't see it that way.

==============
A former member of the group visited earlier tonight. She'd gotten married and moved to Chicago where her husband is going to school. It was good to get a chance to chat with both of them.

==============
My scar *still* itches and hurts. I wonder if that's normal.

==============
I made ratatouille.  I noticed that one regular didn't care for it and left it on her plate when she threw it away. I might have been offended except another person immediately went over and picked all of it off her plate in  the trash and ate it.

Got my first haircut in over two months. It was weird knowing that the clippers were touching the right side of my head but not really feeling it until the clippers brushed my right ear which is of course rather tingly.

Met someone last night who was held at gunpoint. He made a few interesting comments about needing to ask one's self certain questions about the event to process it properly. Not sure I agree, but apparently this helped him process things. This person wants to come to the park next Tuesday.

Saw some other friends & acquaintances I haven't seen since the attack. The story has yet to grow old in the telling.

I slept until 2:15pm in the afternoon. I guess my body still needs it.

The insulin drug shoot was supposed to late this week, so I guess I didn't get it. Oh well.

My sleep schedule makes it kind of tough to keep track of what day it is sometimes. I guess I just stayed home both Friday and Saturday night.

Everyone I've talked with naturally assumes that my assailant is crazy in some way. Coincidentally, I've been reading G.K. Chesteron's Orthodoxy, and am slowly reading and re-reading chapter 2 The Maniac. Chesterton's mastery of the language makes him almost impossible to summarize without losing some valuable essence of the content, but i'll try: if I get him properly, those we might consider mad or insane are not incapable of reason, but are instead limited by the facts they allow within their universe or world view. It would follow that the degree of insanity would correspond to the narrowness of world view.

There's a lot here but it's late, so I'll come back to this.

The Mark of Cain.

I think I've already mentioned that I've been contacted by the court to get my feedback on sentencing, etc. As far as I know, my attacker remains unrepentant, and based on my understanding of the statute, would probably fail in an attempt to present an affirmative defense of mental defect. So it's to me relatively clear cut and dried - she's going to go to jail, the question is for how long.

To me, it would become more complicated if she presented an attitude of repentance, and then threw herself on the mercy of the court. In my mind, I've already forgiven her, and if freedom would give her a legitimate chance to find redemption, I would be OK with it - but she would still require time to earn trust over a number of years before I would want her roaming around unsupervised. The problem is that the penal system is designed to be punitive, not rehabilitative; seventeen previous misdemeanors escalating in level of violence demonstrates that  that legal/penal system is not equipped to handle this.

The thing is, even if we were somehow able to find and agree on an alternative that satisfied all the interested parties, including myself, there would still be people dissatisfied with the result, much like when God punished Cain for killing Abel by cursing Cain. God knew that men would still seek to kill Cain, so God put his mark on Cain to protect him from those who would play God themselves and exact their own punishment/revenge. The sad thing is that people still do this when they take up other people's grievances even when the person who's had the offense committed against them has come to terms with the person who committed the offense, or worse, when the "offender" in reality has done nothing wrong. I've been on the short end of that kind of scenario in the past, so I suppose that's part of why this seems to matter so much..

One of the charter members of our Tuesday night group is planning on leaving the group at the end of this month, but he has yet to make any sort of formal announcement. While I'm fairly confident that what happened to me has had very little to no bearing on his decision, I'm curious to see how everyone else takes this.

Getting caught up with a ton of stuff with the car that I've just let go; I got my car registration renewed - five months late & a few parking tickets for expired tags later. While getting the oil changed, was told that I needed new tires - there were cracks in each of the sidewalls, even though there was reasonable tread on them. The person I bought the car from said the car had been in storage for a couple of years, so I guess the tires were pretty old. I didn't even notice. All that medical fuss only to have a tire blow out ending up with me wrapped around a phone pole or something. New tires, balanced, aligment, brakes redone... it had to be done, but still, a bigger ouch when you get it all done at the same time. Now to get the trunk fixed after backing into a pole.

I had lunch today with someone I used to go to church with 20 years ago. Unfortunately, his life took a different turn and he spent the last two years at the CRC California Rehab Center) in Norco. The part of our conversation I'm going to share is about his fellow inmates; some of them released only to return, some within a few months, others only in a matter of days. It's clear that the prison/legal system is not rehabilitating convicts, nor is incarceration considered a punitive disincentive. It's just as obvious looking at the history of my attacker; SEVENTEEN misdemeanor convictions escalating in level of violence. Something is clearly not right here, and the average member of society can't be bothered to be concerned about it.

Happy tax day.

I put my extension in the mail on Saturday; there is no way i could have dealt with it. I'm going to take it to a CPA who specializes in house sales.

Slept most of the day after lunch.

Met a friend for breakfast yesterday (or earlier today). This should almost go into the food blog; we went for the egg banh mi at Saigon Bakery. We ordered, and started a conversation, during which an old asian man came in and began asking other customers for money. We didn't pay him any attention until he began shouting at the workers behind the counter, something to the effect that they had stolen the store from him. He then became violent, picking things up from the counter and throwing them at the workers. At no time was anyone in any real danger of serious injury; the guy was substantially older and probably no more than 5'5" and 140 lbs, but I could feel my adrenalin start to kick in as I began to assess what I might need to do if he escalated and the odds that he might have a weapon. As it was, the workers responded by threatening to call the police, and the old man left.

I think I experienced to some degree what I've intellectually hypothesized as going on in the minds of the other people in the group, both during and after my attack. For me, there's a sense of closure; I suffered bodily harm, now I recuperate from that. But there's a sense of open-endedness to what I'm experiencing now, the alternative universe what-if scenarios. If he had been bigger and escalated, would I have interceded if someone was clearly in danger of being seriously hurt? And the reality is that I really just don't know, though the masculine ego wants to fantasize how I'd have closed with him executing a right elbow to the throat followed by a putar kepala, taking him down and going into a submission hold from behind....

Uh-huh. Or maybe I'd be wetting my pants!

Went out to a casting interview today for an insulin drug commercial. I had a choice to make and I decided to wear a t-shirt and when they went to right profile shots during video I said to make sure they got my scar. Sometimes we have to be known by our scars.

Cynical Barry raises his head. The bottom line is that someone tried to kill me while i was doing something expressing my faith. Would it be too cynical to wonder how much media exposure I would have gotten if i'd been doing this in the name of Islam?

Police report copy - acquired, scanned and copy sent to insurance.

Not much to glean from it - it was redacted per some regulation. I did find out that my attacker was in fact a fairly large vs. described by witnesses as a a relatively small person, at 5'9" & 165 lbs.

Also went for a followup to get stiches removed. I am by all accounts ready to get back to it and was cleared to begin working out again. Any fatigue at this point should be attributed to loss of strength due to inactivity. I guess that's a good thing.

I was DJ-ing last night and struck up a conversation with a couple of patrons and one turned out to be a former psych nurse. She suggested that my increased need for sleep was actually a sign of depression.  My appetite is pretty good, so I don't think that's it, but I suppose I should mention it.

It's now been over a month since the incident.

I requested a copy of the police report as my insurance will not process certain claims until they get a copy of the report. I'm kinda curious to see what it looks like.

I haven't been out much. Besides Tuesday at the park, I drove someone to the airport Thursday night and went out to lunch on Friday. The weekly lunches on Fridays have helped keep me sane, I think.

My attacker goes to court today. I never did get the time so maybe it's already occurred. Either way, I need to go and request a copy of the police report and authorize that a copy be sent to the insurance.

Other than that, business as usual: sleep, wake up, do my daily errand to get out of the house, come home and call it a day, eat. The worst part about it is feeling too tired to exercise - but maybe I should anyway even if it means going back to sleeping 14 hours a day.

The lead investigator returned my calls today after being out for a couple of weeks. My attacker had stated that she had come to the park to kill someone from a church group that was by their teaching in the park "sodomizing religion". Apparently she'd had previous contact with some group at the park. But there are at least four churches that do stuff at their park, not to mention another group that also meets in the park on Tuesdays that apparently discusses the philosophy of life based on Harry Potter!

But it was nice to hear the officer support what we are doing in the park, encouraging us to contact the police if we encounter people who exhibit violent behavior. The officer was surprised to hear that it was my understanding that legislation had been passed which made it unlawful to serve groups of larger than 50 in the park. Our numbers tend to exceed that at the end of the month.

The police are aware that church groups are helping homeless people and think that that is a good thing, but none of the news reports make any mention of the fact that the group I was part of is made up of various churchgoers helping homeless people. I can't help but wonder if I'd been part of a Muslim group helping homeless people if I'd be a poster boy in the media right now: "MUSLIM ATTACKED WHILE FEEDING HOMELESS!"

DJ'd at Joes earlier this evening. Was pleasantly surprised when two friends told me "90% of the reason we showed up was to give you a hug" and we had a pretty good talk about things. One's a pharmacist and the other is a social worker so they followed up on my medical and emotional situation.  It was very sweet. I think I passed muster.

I finished re-watching season 3 of Breaking Bad. I suppose I should have taken pause when I saw the title of episode 1 of season 4: "Box Cutter". The thing is, I'd forgotten that the box cutter was used in the episode for pretty much the same purpose in a very graphic & truth be told, very brutal scene because it was completely unexpected. Oddly enough, it was like, oh yeah. I suppose I should be imagining that to be me, etc. which really had no appeal for me.

Happy Easter.

I'm in week 3 of recovering from near death. Coming back from the dead in only 3 days really is kinda impressive in that context.

I've been re-watching episodes of the cable series Breaking Bad. I'm in the middle of season 3 with an episode with a scene where people are waiting in a hospital while a family member is in surgery after having been shot several times. To lessen the tension, one family member begins to recount how he had survived surgery for cancer at this same hospital and describes his thoughts and feelings leading up to his surgery. He admits to being terrified at the moment they put him under because of the possibility that he would never awaken. That's prompted me to look back.

Honestly, it happened all so quickly: the attack, getting to the ER, into trauma and into the OR. I was so fixated on trying to remain calm that it never even occurred to me that I wouldn't awake; I've been under general anesthesia before with two previous surgeries, and I was still completely conscious and coherent right up until they put me under that I was pretty sure that I hadn't suffered significant blood loss. (Afterwards, I was told I'd lost about 1/2 liter during the actual surgery.) That's only a class I hemorrhage, though they were pumping IV's into me for 36 hours until I awoke. I was urinating an average of 600 ml every couple of hours after that. I was asked about blood transfusions before they put me under. I didn't understand the significance of the question; they don't tell you that getting someone else's blood apparently has some adverse effects going forward. As it turns out, I did not receive any blood transfusions.

I don't think I've touched on this before, but I have chosen not to personalize any of this. Because of that, "why?" has never been a question that's required an answer for me. Moreover, it's been easy for me to access the absurdity that's been in a lot of the situations involving all of this and see the humor in it. People must think I'm in serious denial or something, but I'm more or less indifferent about the idea of confronting my attacker, or even meeting her face to face. I have the chance to do so next Thursday at her first court appearance.

Not much to say today.

Still kinda ramped up from last night's basketball game, where Michigan came back and beat Kansas in OT. If I had to think about it, I guess the big thing is that March is just about over. The only thing I'll have to show for the month is the scar on my neck, which is itching up a storm even as I type this.

Call from Deputy Probation Officer this morning.

More details on my attacker - 17 misdemeanor convictions and she wanted to drink my blood, but there were too many people around. First court date on April 4th next Thursday. I suppose it could have been worse if she'd been a cross between Momica Lewinsky and Lorena Bobbit. Part of me wants to cross my legs just contemplating that.

There's more; it was her clear intent not only to kill someone, but also to drink their blood, which she would have done had I been alone.

Hospital follow up.

Just got back from the hospital. They confirmed that the nerve damage is permanent. Got to meet my trauma surgeon.  A lot of blood vessels had to be repaired, including branches of the carotid. I guess I'll let that one sink in a bit. The hole from the drainage shunt looks like a bad hickey, so I'm going in next Tuesday morning for a procedure to get some scar tissue taken care of.

Went out for lunch Tuesday and ended up at one of my favorite sushi places & I decided to treat myself, ending up spending more on one lunch than twice what I budget each week for Tuesday nights at the park.  I should feel guilty about that, but I don't - yet.. My sushi chef thinks I should look into how and why my attacker was out on unsupervised probation. I don't think I should get rich off this, but he pointed out that any financial benefit could be earmarked for helping the homeless going forward. That slant intrigued me enough to call my personal injury lawyer who handled my case when a guy made a left turn in front of me and I totalled my blue Miata about 6 years ago. My lawyer's take was that the government is basically immune from liability but there might be something depending on the differences between supervised and unsupervised probation and he'd take a look at the statutes and get back to me. At this point, any sort of legal proceedings that might attract more scrutiny from official sources concerning our activities in the park is something I'd prefer to avoid.

Tuesday night at the park was earlier this evening. I shared my health situation with the group and they understood that my ability to contribute in the short term is going to be hampered by my recuperation. A number of the people who came for food made a point of asking how I was doing.

Went out afterwards to Joes in Burbank, even danced a few dances. Even though I didn't get home until recently, I don't feel all that tired. Maybe my body will make a liar out of me and I'll sleep until dinner time tomorrow, but given that I'm rather the extrovert this makes sense to me; part of the extended rest/fatigue has also meant limited exposure to the outside world. I've gone out every day for lunch this past week, but this has for the most part meant meeting with a friend or just getting take out and bringing it home. Also, asides from seeing friends, dancing and listening to live music, I spent the last two hours hanging out with the band and hanging out with other musicians felt a lot like a fish being returned to water.

slept until 3pm today, then watched the last boy scout. the movie is better than i remembered.

I definitely didn't have the energy to attend the Victorian ball last night (only the 2nd I've missed since 1997), but I did attend a ballroom dance and got to see a number of people I haven't seen since the attack. I managed to dance a foxtrot, a salsa and a west coast swing and spent the rest of the time socializing. A fellow ballroom dancer who (I didn't know this before) was a former coroner took a look at my neck and told me I was pretty lucky to be alive.

Someone who used to come out to the park with us got married today. Drove out there with a couple of other people from Tuesday nights. On the way home I started to bring up the El Cid thing, and one guy changed the subject almost immediately. It was like they didn't even want to hear it. I guess I was right after all.

I had a dream last night that started with being trapped in some sort of maze with some other people where it suddenly becomes a free for all which I somehow manage to escape only to end up in some sort of house with a lot of high tech equipment and everyone else in the house is an expert with this stuff, and I still need to fight my way out. (end of run on sentence here)

I don't remember my dreams so I can't say with any degree of certainty that I don't have many violent dreams, but I can say that I count the number of violent dreams I can remember on the fingers of one hand. We'll see if this means anything I guess.

Full day - saw my chiropractor whose diagnosis was only soft tissue damage (vs. cervical misalignment) as the cause for my continued pain/discomfort in the back of my neck. She's also known me for a good 15 years, and her observation was that the attack would have essentially intensified my El Cid tendencies. She's probably right. It makes total sense given my cultural heritage; while I was born and raised in the U.S. my parents were immigrants from China, and I can readily recognize how the community emphasis of the culture permeates my values and thought process. It may not seem obvious, but it's emphasized even in everyday conversation in how you greet another person - there is a specific unique term to use: even a different Mr. or Mrs. depending on who is the elder of the two. There are specifc terms for every possible family relationship:  sibling (older/younger) grandparent (mother's side/father's side) , aunt/uncle (mother's side/father's side AND whether they are older or younger than your parent). This reinforces the idea that one is part of something bigger than one's self, and you are supposed to be always aware of your place within that entity.

Had rehearsal tonight. My throat pain is almost gone. I got through about halfway through rehearsal tonight before my voice gave out. I probably would have been OK if I brought bottled water to keep the voice box hydrated. I was kinda stressed about this, so it's a relief to see that there's a visible end in sight to this discomfort.

El Cid.

I had lunch with K. today. I had asked K to come out to the park for my first day back at the park after the attack. He made an astute observation in that while I had been very successful in presenting a positive image that perhaps I had done too good a job, and as a consequence, people who had pledged to help in certain ways had yet to follow up because they also got the impression that I was pretty much back and ready to go.

Have I been channeling El Cid? While I do believe that my attitude is real, the flip side of the coin is that I'm pretty beat up physically, and I also still need to time to decompress and process what's happened here, and maybe it's cost me something to behave more or less like business as usual.

The bottom line here is yeah, I'm moving forward as best I can, but I might need a little more help to do it than you might be imagining.

Went to the park last night. We had an unusually large crowd (50+) considering that it wasn't the end of the month yet. Word has apparently begun to circulate about what happened and a number of people who showed up made a point of approaching me and expressing their condolences and complimenting the pork chili verde (which was pretty good IMO as I had three bowls of it before I left the house I blogged the recipe here: http://secretasianmanfood.blogspot.com/2010/09/crockpot-pork-chili-verde.html). I don't consider myself a hero by any stretch of the imagination, yet it brings me comfort to imagine the kind of message being received by some of these people that despite nearly losing my life doing it,  I want to continue helping them - because they matter. As C.S. Lewis once observed, it's one of the most difficult things to believe about oneself - that we do in fact matter.

In a few hours, it will be exactly 2 weeks since my attack occurred. I spent most of today cooking and napping.

I admit to still being surprised at my level of fatigue. I managed a trip out for lunch, then a trip to the store to get groceries for tomorrow's dinner around 8pm..Really haven't given much thought to anything of substance.

For the most part.people have seemed to be more outraged for my own sake than I've been.In a lot of ways that makes sense to me so I haven't given that much thought. My initial perspective has been that this was a completely random act of violence, but given that my assailant apparently came to the park with the intent of murdering someone from a church group regularly serving the homeless it seems that I do need to analyze the potential for a personal element, and to what possible degree. My assailant apparently has an address that places her within a couple of miles of the address of my church. It seems to me that if there's an animus directed at my church specifically this puts things in a very different light. I've left a message with the police investigator assigned to the case hoping he'll return my call and be able to shed some light on that.

This also prompts a closer look at the cost of commitment. But first, let's make it clear that it's really not all that much a burden in terms of effort; I have a creative bent, and I enjoy cooking, and what I do allows me to exercise that creativity especially within the confines of a budget. But the cost up to now has only been a commitment of time/effort and a minimal amount of financial resources.Personal physical risk has not been part of the equation. I don't think anyone expects the threat level to rise dramatically, but one of our regulars did point out that the park where we meet can draw a wider spectrum of people because of the park's proximity to the METRO line. I don't see myself giving this up but I can respect that someone married & with kids has more than their own safety to consider might have different feelings about it.

Thus ends St. Patrick's Day. I didn't sleep all day as much as nod off throughout the day wathcing episodes of the sopranos on my desktop. but I did get out for a late take out lunch and groceries for dinner.

I've had a sore throat this entire time. Some of it was due to having that chest tube forced down my throat, and I seem to have aggravated it trying to sing last Thursday at rehearsal. My throat *really* hurt the next morning. Now I seem to have some sort of nasal drip which has left my throat irritated. I'd be less worried about it if I didn't have other problems which might not go away. My right ear remains numb/tingly and last Thursday I learned that it could be a consequence of nerve damage I suffered either by the cut or when the surgeon did the exploratory to make sure that my esophagus hadn't been damaged. Parts of my head and neck also remain tender to the touch. I guess I'm not going to be as good as new. While they treated the wound, I'm not so sure that they did anything at all in relation to my getting clocked in the back and side of the head. I should probably go see my chiropractor to make sure my neck/spine are still in alignment.

Now it's just not healing - it's waiting to find out what won't heal. It goes from watching paint dry to hoping the paint color doesn't change necessitating another paint job.

This weekend I contacted the few remaining close friends hadn't heard yet that don't do Facebook. (There are people on FB who are posting stuff with their usual abandon but have yet to contact me. Not sure what to make of that.) One was my best friend from high school who now lives in Thailand. We traded a few emails before he called me using Skype. That was pretty cool. Another was a volleyball buddy who's since married and become incredibly domesticated. It was good getting caught up with him. But other than that, it's pretty much been just me for the last 48 hours. But I've either been sleeping or watching a movie/show just to help the time pass; I've gone into a different mode somehow. Maybe it's necessary.

The process of letting people know about all this even now has been comment worthy. One of the single most stressful things about this entire ordeal has been informing my mother and father about this. There is no good way to spin: "A psychotic person tried to end my existence by stabbing me in the neck with a box cutter prompting me to spend 3 days in ICU at the hospital." especially when the dynamics include parents who were raised in another country/culture speaking a different language on top of a worrywart mother whose behavior in the past has trained me to expect that sharing one's burdens with one's mother only results in increasing the level of stress by a geometric factor. And it would have been even worse if she'd tried to hop on a plane and fly out to CA from Ohio. After asking just about anyone who came into my hospital room, including some housekeeping people who apparently didn't speak any English, the consensus was: "wait until the day you are discharged before you call your mother". However, a distant relative commented via social media (in this case Facebook) on my situation, I realized that I couldn't hold off any longer and risk someone else contacting my mother first, so Friday night, I called home. My dad answered. His English has never been so good, and so I got through "accident" & "hospital" before he asked me if I wanted to talk to my mother, who then took the phone. I chose to describe things as having had an accident, gotten hit in the neck and having had to go to the hospital but that I was going to be fine. I think I managed to reassure her by pointing out that it happened during a church related event and that the church was going to try and cover any and all medical expenses not covered by whatever insurance I had (which is a MAJOR BLESSING). Who's going to try and kill someone else at a church function, right? My long term plan is to travel to see my parents this summer and tell them the entire truth then face to face.

And then there's been the use of social media, in this case Facebook. Even now, there are people in my friends network who remain unaware of what's happened even though it's now been over a week and a half since the attack took place. I've had to examine my own feelings about some folks apparently just blathering on (even though I've long since categorized them as narcissists) in their wall posts & pics and just as in the attack, choose not to personalize apparent indifference.

Apparently the most effective way of getting the word through Facebook is to update your profile picture to a pic of you in a bed in ICU with tubes coming out of all different parts of one's body. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to ask someone to take a few pics for that very purpose! When  I figure out how to include them in this blog, I'll add them.

When I got home about a week ago, even a reduced but otherwise normal schedule has caught up with me; I've probably slept over 50 hours out of the last 72 and I'm still feeling somewhat fatigued. I think that this more than anything else has prompted a string of thoughts about the lines of mortality and acknowledging the toll that's being exacted on me not just physically but also mentally and emotionally. But there's been plenty of other stuff to think about.

I've since learned more about my attacker: I choose not to reveal her name at this point, but I will say that she was convicted of misdemeanor assault involving two homeless men in January and had been released on unsupervised probation. I initially described her as appearing to be a relatively husky person, but according to people who identified her later, she's actually a relatively small person who was wearing very baggy clothes. As far I know, she remains incarcerated with bail set at $500k, though it was initially set at $1 million. Not sure what to make of that. Initially described as psychotic by the officer who talked with me in the hospital ER, a subsequent conversation with the lead investigator with the Pasadena police has given me a little more to think about. Every news article I've managed to find has described me as sitting at a picnic table with friends, However, even with the apparent mental instability, it seemed clear to police that my assailant came to the park with the clear intent to kill someone that was part of a church group. I was initially worried that my home church had been specifically targeted, but someone pointed out that there is a grapevine of sorts amongst the homeless about where services are provided and the source thereof. I'll probably clarify this with police if possible, but for now, one of the thoughts that sits with me is that I've suffered for my faith. I'm not sure where this is going to go.

Since the attack as been classified as a first-degree (premeditated) attempted murder, sentencing starts at 15 to life imprisonment, and while I don't fully comprehend the nuances, her use of a box cutter, ups the minimum sentence to life plus four years. Apparently the extra years factor into how soon it would be for her eligibility for parole if parole was a possibility based on her sentence, if I understand this correctly, her minimum sentence if convicted would be 19 to life, and be eligible for parole in 19 years. Of course this assumes a conviction; she may well manage to negotiate a plea of some sort or use some sort of insanity defense which greatly increases her chances of being released back into society in a relatively short amount of time though her two recent misdemeanor convictions will come to light.. But I shouldn't really worry about that at this point.

There was no way I was going to miss being back at the park the following Tuesday night. I don't think most of the people we served that night were even aware of what had happened the previous week. Most of them had already left by the time I was attacked the week before. But I noticed that one person who I will refer to as D, who has a rep for being rather sarcastic and snarky in conversation kept close by over the course of the evening and when talking with me, kept sweeping the park behind me with his eyes. That reinforced my resolve to continue my efforts on Tuesdays.

This blog is tied to my other current blog in that it's somewhat food related - but only in origin.

Today is March 16th. On March 5th 2013, I was in Central Park in Pasadena CA with a number of other people who've decided to get together to serve food to homeless people. We had finished serving when someone attacked me from behind and stabbed me in the neck with a box cutter with the intent of taking my life.

I remember getting struck on the head from behind, and when I turned to see what was behind me, I saw an apparently husky figure of someone retreating back across the park to a waiting cab which they entered and left the park. I was unaware that I'd been stabbed; the person sitting to my right said something to that effect and grabbed something and held it to my neck. It wasn't until I touched my neck and then saw my bloody fingers that I realized the potential seriousness of the attack. Someone suggested calling 911 & I'm pretty sure that I suggested that it would be better if someone just gave me a ride to the hospital only a few blocks away. Someone had the presence of mind to ask me for my car keys so my car could be moved for which I am grateful. At that point, the main thought going through my mind was to try and stay as calm as possible; I knew that adrenalin kicking in would only result increasing my heart rate and any potential blood loss.

Getting admitted was almost a comedy of errors. My friend stopped at the first set of doors at ER, which happened to be for trauma, and they were locked. My friend's frantic knocking prompted someone to open the locked door, and upon entry into trauma, staff asked what we were doing and how we'd gotten there. We explained that we were looking for ER because I'd been attacked. So we got told to go to the admitting desk. Fortunately,. the person at the admitting desk immediately grasped the seriousness of my injury and told me to go right back to trauma, where they immediately put me into an available room. Somewhere during this process a policeman told me that they'd caught my assailant and that she was psychotic. (I learned  later that a friend had pursued my attacker across the park and though he had been unable to prevent my attacker from leaving the scene, my friend flagged down a nearby cop who was able to apprehend the cab.) I also apparently had the presence of mind to call someone to let them know what had happened, but I don't remember doing so. A trauma team had assembled at this point, and when they removed the makeshift dressing to take a look at the wound, apparently we had a pretty good spurt prompting someone to say "WHOA!". I think I responded with something along the lines of: "hey! i'm trying to stay calm here, and you can't go around saying "WHOA!" without me starting to panic." Somebody responded by trying to jam their finger into the wound and out the other side of my neck. I then said, "OW! I know you're trying staunch the bleeding, but that kind of pain is probably going to kick in my adrenalin as well." We got me to the OR from trauma without other mishap, except for them insisting on cutting off my new pair of jeans while I kept insisting that I could lift my hips on the table. And yes, I had on dirty underwear.

I woke up around 8 am with both arms strapped to the sides of my bed, IV's in both my arms, and a chest tube, NG tube, drainage & catheter inserted in me. The dry board on the wall said March 6th while the wall calendar said March 11th. Turned out it was actually Thursday morning Match 7th. I had been out for 36 hours, and while I was out incommunicado any and all attempts to ascertain any news concerning my status had gone for naught; as the victim of an attack, I had been registered under an alias/pseudonym for my own safety, and the switchboard operator must have tired of telling everyone who called on Wednesday that as the victim of an attack, hospital policy is to register such individuals under an alias. So if I had been the victim of an attack, I would have been registered under an alias and that I would need to be contacted so I could give them my alias name. 

Around 9am, they pulled the chest tube (which was about as unpleasant an experience as you might imagine) and upon request, handed me my cell phone. At this point, it's still only Wednesday to me and my only thought is try and cancel an appointment set for 1pm that day (in actuality, 20 hours earlier). I see that I have multiple texts & voicemails but my cell also emits one of the those "battery is about to die" beeps. I'm horrified, and I frantically call the person who i suspected had my keys, but I get their voicemail. Argh! I call the person who gave me a ride to the hospital and iI just kept repeating: "My cell phone is about to die. I need to have someone get my charger which is in my left top desk drawer." while he kept repeating: "How are you? I just want to know how you are!" Some time during that exchange my cell phone did in fact die around 9am.

I have never felt so helpless in all my life. I still had the NG tube in my nose, both arms strapped to sides of my bed, and my only connection to the world at large was in my hand but with a dead battery. Around 9:45am, someone came into my room and told me that a Michael G. was downstairs and asked me if I wanted to see him. I mumbled/blurted out: "Does he have my cell phone charger?" to which she responded yes! Michael came up with my charger, plugged it in and proceeded to fill me in on details. It was Michael who'd chased after my assailant and whose flagging down a policeman had brought my assailant to justice.

Apparently the cab had already left the park, so when police apprehended the cab, they also arrested the driver and put him in handcuffs in case he'd been an accomplice. Poor guy.Once my alias had been disseminated (Gustavo Perez, of all names), I didn't lack for visitors for the rest of my time in the hospital. I don't know how else to describe it, but I was very aware of feeling like I needed to be aware of what each visitor seemed to need, and that I felt I needed to adapt accordingly. Some people wanted to fill in all the details I didn't know, others wanted me to fill them in on everything. Some came to cheer me up, while others were clearly upset by what had transpired and I was very aware that if I had any sort of negative energy it would have a geometric impact on them.

That Thursday night, I prayed.

Friday the 8th, someone brought me one of my laptops, and I re-established internet contact with the world - which included someone posting a pic of my neck wound and including a link to a news story detailing the attack. Friday night, they moved me out of CCU, and Saturday morning I was discharged from the hospital.

I'll try to get caught to the present in the next post.