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It's Better To Be Loved

That's my dad.  He runs a store -- I'm wearing the T-shirt now, and have a pic of the neon logo elsewhere on the site -- that the Downtown News has voted Best Smoke Shop.  He has done so much for so many for so long that the artists he champions are giving back in his time of need.  He doesn't make a lot of money (part of the reason he's being treated at the VA hospital), but he has a lot of friends.

Today was a better day for him.  His old nemesis ("that fucking tube") has been removed, after more typical VA shenanigans, and he's back in the general population again.  This is good, because it means he can have more than two visitors at a time.

More than two visitors he had today.  He once worked for The Second City in Chicago, and migrated west with a number of alums.  He was visited by a bunch of those guys today for about an hour, he says, in their little gowns.  I don't like to mention names, so I won't, but odds are you've seen at least one of them on TV at some point.

During that visit, he got another visitor, from the city council.  This one read a proclamation that I would love to get a copy of; all I have of it is his (paraphrased) description:

It was signed by the mayor (Antonio Villaraigosa) and all 15 council members, the city attorney, on and on, glowing, glowing, glowing.

He cried.  I almost wanted to but it's not a practical thing to do while driving.  He is not traditionally wealthy, but he has wealth beyond measure, and it is at times touching and humbling to witness.  To be rich or to be loved?  That's my dad.  No contest.

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