So That Happened...

Shrillary wins Texas and Ohio. The silver lining is that, assuming Obama wins the Texas caucus, he may only lose around 3 actual delegates as a result of todays elections. The bad news is that Shrillary's wins today effectively doom the Democratic Party, ensuring that the race will go on like a runaway train, unstoppable now on its track to oblivion. If these two candidates continue their competition all the way to the convention, it won't matter who eventually wins the nomination because they will have destroyed their message and themselves in the process and John McCain will cruise to victory in the general election. And let's be clear, there has probably never been a presidential election more vital to the Democratic Party than this one in 2008. They lost in 2000, albeit in a very controversial, still questionable way. Then they lost again in 2004 when they failed to respond to baseless character attacks and failed to establish any sort of religious identity or foundation with the American people. Along comes 2008 and the Presidency would have appeared to be theirs for the taking, coming off of 8 years of a Republican President with the lowest approval rating in history. If the Democratic Party loses this election, I honestly don't see how the party continues to be a viable entity in American politics. Unfortunately, as things stand today, it would appear that even given these extraordinary circumstances, the party is still not going to be able to effectively un-fuck itself. They are not going to be able to get out of their own damn way once again. It's truly sad. What's also sad is the way that the ideas are getting lost in all this. I feel like the party is already beginning to split right down the middle, with each new faction entrenching itself with its candidate, firmly in opposition to its opponent, regardless of a common interest and shared policy views. Hillary Clinton intimated this week that she might be more likely to endorse her drinking buddy John McCain in a general election rather than Barrack Obama. I haven't read anything similar from the Obama campaign, but, screw it, I'll say it myself; if Hillary wins the Democratic nomination I will dance across the aisle and vote for John McCain, then take my Republican friends out and buy them all milkshakes. I DRINK YOUR MILKSHAKE, YOU GODDAMN CLINTON MACHINE! It's true, I have grown to hate the Clinton political machine that much in the short span of these past few months. I fully realize how horrible that is in terms of what politics is supposed to stand for in this country, that I would vote against a candidate who so closely shares my candidates views because I flatly don't like her. No, that's not exactly right. At the very core of all this, it's the politics itself that I find so repugnant. It's not just that Shrillary voted for the war, it's that she refuses to admit that it was a mistake, choosing instead to dance around it and split hairs with her choice of words. Not to mention the now infamous yet clearly strategic and insincere tears she shed in that New Hampshire diner. It's saying how proud she is to be on a stage with Obama and then shouting "Shame on you, Barack Obama!!" less than 48 hours later over something that she knew about for weeks and has been engaging in herself from the start. How about attacking Obama for merely uttering the name Reagan despite listing ol' Ron as one of her favorite Presidents in a book that was, at the time, on the current bestsellers list? I could go on and on with examples of Shrillary's zealously political despicary (see strategery--If there's one thing Bush has taught me it's that it's okay to make up my own words) that even I, an admitted political novice, have been able to observe in this election. Ultimately, it all amounts to gross insincerity. John McCain has impressed me with his apparent campaign integrity on a number of occasions both in this election and the prior election in 2004. I recall an occasion in 2004 where he defended John Kerry from the heinous Swiftboat attacks. I remember during one of the debates this year when a question was posed about whether they owned a gun and what kind, his opponents gleefully bragged about their iron like it was the Wild West all over again while McCain disdainfully answered the question and still dismissed it as the idiotic nonsense it was. My point is just that I, for one, am more inclined to vote for someone who's being honest than someone who will tell me anything I want to hear to get my vote.

I got off on a tangent there for a while. Let's not forget that Obama is still in the lead, that his elected delegate lead still projects to be totally insurmountable. And yet, I was left wondering tonight what would it take for the Democratic party to stop the madness of this campaign and award him the nomination before we get all the way to Denver and watch the party unravel at the seams along the way? What if John Edwards were to finally speak up and he publicly endorsed Obama? I think the time for that has passed. It would surely help either candidate to have him on board, but it's not a king-maker anymore, not in this predicament we're in now. I was talking to Bill Brasky about it and for a while we were left scratching our heads. It seemed there was no conceivable action that end this debate once and for all while there was still time to have it mean anything. It was all for naught, we thought. And then it came to us. There is but one single hope left for the fate of the Democratic Party....

Al. Fucking. Gore.

I'm not talking about an endorsement. Screw endorsements at this point. I am talking about Obama and Gore making a joint announcement of a shared ticket, with Big Al taking the co-pilot's seat once again. Can you imagine it? OBAMA-GORE '08!! There's your dream ticket, folks. The remaining states would be had in a walk (not that delegates matter, according to Clinton). The superdelegates would have the basis to do what the majority of them are itching to do anyway, which is to jump on board the Obama rocket. Momentum? Fuhgetaboutit. Not to mention that that one-two punch would have the steam of defeat piping out of John McCain's ears by Labor Day. Game Over.

The chances of this union actually happening? Approximately 67, 942, 334 to 1. But this is what we're left with. Dream Team fantasies and the now very real threat of Bill Brasky and I having to personally march into Denver and bitchslap some sense into this Party. It will still be too late, but at least we'll feel a little better about the whole thing.

"There, I've said my peace. How's your mom?"

--Bob Sugar

Just Rambling

--As the early returns begin rolling in in today's primaries (and one primary/caucuss), I don't understand how they report on these things. In Ohio, there is 0% of precincts reporting yet Clinton somehow has a 56-42% lead. What is 56% of zero? In Vermont, the polls were closed all of 15 minutes before the state was declared a victory for Obama. How is this possible? I know, exit polls, right? So how is it that in every local, state, or national election I've ever cast a vote in, I've not once been exit-polled? What I also don't understand is how accurate this early reporting seems to be. Not once in this primary race has either candidate won a state where the news outlets had them trailing initially. Not even when it was 0% of precincts reporting. I just don't get it. That being said, come on Ohio. 56-42? Really? Was the do-it-for-the-children ad really that compelling?

--I just started reading "Independence Day," by Richard Ford, the sequel to Ford's "The Sportswriter," my second favorite book of all-time. I'm only two chapters in and very little has actually happened plotwise (see nothing), but I am loving every single sentence of it. I am no literary critic, not by a longshot, but I can say that Ford's writing "voice" is one that completely captivates me. I think it only accentuates it that both books are written in the first person as told by the main character, Frank Bascombe. It's like a Morgan Freeman voiceover in a movie; he could read the ingredients to a box of instant mashed potatoes and it would seem like the most interesting thing in the world. Ford's confident, insiteful, strolling narration of Frank Bascombe taking stock of his life has that same comfortable, broken-in feel. And I'm only on chapter 2 with hundreds more pages (and a whole third book) to go. Lucky for me. I've deliberately waited a while after finishing "The Sportswriter" before starting "Independence Day" because I know there's only three books in total. I gotta ration 'em, ya see.

I'M BACK BABY!

WOOOOOOOOOOO! Now that was a rough flu. Not stomach, luckily, but my ass was sufficiently kicked for 6 solid days just the same. And now I'm back...with not much to say.

In my opinion, of all the things one can be short on, to be without ideas is nearly the worst. And I'm not talking about blogging.

--I sincerely hope Obama is able to win Texas or Oh-Hi-Ho tomorrow as it will effectively knock Shrillary out once and for all. I'm honestly not sure how much more of this Democratic Primary season I can take. The attacks, the split personalities, the distortion of truth, the tone-deaf foghorn shouting "On Day One" or "Shame on you!", the widened, bulging eyes of a woman willing to literally mame and consume anyone that stands in her path to the Presidency, the now pointless debates, the fear-mongering, the laughable TV advertisements....It's dragging us down, man. I understand that the McCain campaign is vowing to not "go negative" against Obama, which I find very hard to believe, but after these last few grueling months of the Clinton Machine steaming at full speed, I'm not sure I can take much more nonsense and intelligence-sucking bullshit.

--Ya know, I'm not sure I could ever be in a relationship with a vegetarian. Strike that, I am certain I couldn't do it. Seeing as how much I love meat, how could I ever cook for two? No meat in the spaghetti sauce? No ham on the sandwich? No hot dog in the bun? No thank you. Luckily, my bride is a card-carrying carnivore so it's not something I'll have to worry about. Which is good because I've got enough on my plate.

--For all Joe's shit-talking about Cruiser not eating real sushi, I was disappointed with Joe's ordering on Saturday night. A lot of crab in those rolls, folks. Didn't see anything like eel or yellowtail. I'm pretty sure everything he ordered was cooked too. Sure, a lot of it had fancy names, but when you checked the ingredients, there wasn't anything crazier than a California in there. I smell a rat, Broseph!

Today

It's not a day for work
today is a day for relaxing at home
listening to the jazz
of raindrops
syncopated slapping
the cymbals of city streets
the polyrhythm of drainpipes
carrying from rooftops
a rushing blue note stream
thumping onto the soil below
the plucking of the bass

It's a day for soup
sipping,
soft slippers slipping
just off and onto your heels
as you lay in the window
reading
watching the wind
blow the day by
inviting a nap
with a cat
so fat!

It is most definitely not a day for work

But alas

I (HEART) LB

I don't want to sound like an American Express commercial here, but I gotta tell ya, I love the city of Long Beach. I made an impromptu visit on Sunday and it was like coming home and not realizing how long you've really been away. I got off the 710 at Shoreline Drive, opened the sunroof and I was loving life. As usual, there were about a half a dozen new assmart stores that had popped up (Famimma!), but it wasn't the things that had changed that stood out to me. It was the things that will always be the same. Everybody's from some place, but not everyone can say they truly have a hometown.

It's Parker's Lighthouse and Joe Jost's. It's the Naples Christmas Boat Parade and the Long Beach Grand Prix. It's Dirtbag Baseball at Blair Field and the home of the 1992 and 1993 Little League World Champions. It's both Snoop D-O-Double-G and still Cameron Diaz, for better or for worse. It's standing in line (WHY?!) at Shannon's Baywhore and the back alley anonymity of Alex's Bar. It's El Dorado Park and The Aquarium of the Pacific. It's 4th of July Fireworks at Vet's Stadium and the running of the grunion! It's the quiet, rustling charm of 2nd Street Belmont Shore and it's never knowing how beautiful an oil island could be. I know Joe will be upset if I don't mention Gaytonia. Long Beach is sophisticated enough to be interesting, but not enough to be full of itself. It has the familiar regularity of small town America and yet it's still a vibrant menagerie of personalities and lifestyles. It's still big enough to get lost in for a while. If cities were rock n' roll stars, Long Beach would be the Bruce Springsteen to L.A.'s David Bowie. It's a fun place to be young and a great place to grow old. It's where my best friends in the world are from and where their parents still live. It's the...ah fuck it.

I was going to do more with this post, but it's late and I just realized that if you're reading this, chances are I'm not telling you anything you don't already know and this might have been a waste of time.

Perception is Reality

Everyday, I get on the freeway at approximately 6:10 p.m. The entrance point goes through an exit-only lane so I have to get over almost immediately. Everyday there is a tow truck interfering with my lane change. It's either pulling off to the shoulder right in front of me or it's already on the shoulder but protruding out a little bit so as to divert my focus to avoiding it. Everyday a tow truck at the same time at the same exact spot on the side of the 405. And not once has there been a car on the shoulder in need of towing.

So I ask you, what the fuck is the tow truck doing?

For weeks, this question has vexed me. Finally, I asked Nicole. She, with very little deliberation, suggested that perhaps the tow truck goes there at rush hour to so it can be the first on the scene when a tow truck is dispatched to an accident. Makes sense, right? Yeah, I had spent a decent amount of time pondering this situation and my best theory was that the truck was involved in drug smuggling and this location on the side of the road must be an exchange point or a drop spot. She's probably right. But I am not giving up on the Drug Smuggler Theory just yet. And if I'm right, I intend to take that mother DOWN.

February 14, 2008

Hearts swoon. Pitchers and catchers report, baby.

Of course, it is also Valentine's Day. I think a love poem is in order...

365

By Jack Buck

When someone asks you your favorite sport

And you answer Baseball in a blink

There are certain qualities you must possess

And you're more attached than you think.

In the frozen grip of winter

I'm sure you'll agree with me

Not a day goes by without someone

Talking baseball to some degree.

The calendar flips on New Year's Day

The Super Bowl comes and it goes

Get the other sports out of the way

The green grass and the fever grows.

It's time to pack a bag and take a trip

To Arizona or the Sunshine State

Perhaps you can't go, but there's the radio

So you listen-you root-you wait.

They start the campaign, pomp and pageantry reign

You claim the pennant on Opening Day
From April till fall

You follow the bouncing white ball

Your team is set to go all the way.

They fall short of the series

You have a case of the "wearies"

And need as break from the game

But when Christmas bells jingle

You feel that old tingle

And you're ready for more of the same.

It will be hot dogs for dinner

Six months of heaven, a winner

Yes, Baseball has always been it.

You would amaze all your friends

If they knew to what ends

You'd go for a little old hit.

The best times you're had

Have been with your Mom and your Dad

And a bat and a ball and a glove.
From the first time you played

Till the last time you prayed

It's been a simple matter of love.

You Make The Call

So here is my dilemna.

I was out a couple days having the surgery. When I returned, I found that my coffee mug had become a petrie dish of mold and petrified coffee. I took it to our kitchen here at work and left it to soak in hot water and dish soap. I have done this many times before at various jobs without incident. I went on about my day and didn't think about it again until I needed coffee the next morning. Come to find out, some nice person had taken the liberty of washing it and putting it away in the cupboard, which is very nice. However, it quickly became evident that some other nice person has taken the liberty of taking it out of the cupboard for their personal use. We have some mugs that don't belong to anyone and are just there to share among those who prefer ceramics to styrofoam and since mine was amongst them, I can't blame someone for using it. But here's the thing...

I want it back. It wasn't there at the end of the day Friday and it's not there this morning. I painted this mug myself as it clearly states on the mug. I was at Color Me Mine, had no idea what I wanted to paint and was running out of time so I ended up painting the words "I painted this mug." I've had this mug for years. It's my bread and butter. It has sentimental value, damn it!

So what do I do? Do I just wait and hope that the borrowe hasn't been charmed by it to the extent that they have no plans of returning it to the cupboard? Do I look like a psycho and go around asking about it?

Argh!

UPDATE: The mug has been recovered! Some nice person had not washed it and put it away, but, rather, put it in the dishwasher. Go figure!

We can make him stronger...

Typing is still uncomfortable so I will be brief. I hath survived. I'm here to tell ya folks, there is nothing like seeing your tendons on TV. Didn't get to see the actual cyst though which was a disappointment. Maybe next time.

Rehab starts NOW!

17-14.

Three slices of pizza, sloppy joes, chips, queso, empanadas, pigs in a blanket, 1.5 cupcakes, and probably seven beers: a morning of feeling like a miserably fat slob with a nagging headache.

Watching the Patriots lose the Superbowl: Priceless.

Pau Pau Zow!

Lakers get Pau Gasol for 60 cents on the dollar! Pau Fucking Gasol, y'all! Do you know what this means?! It means The Dark Days are behind us! We made it! It was just a couple months ago that I was posting about the certain trade of Kobe Bryant and the subsequent downward spiral of the franchise and now....we're an elite team again! NBA FINALS OR BUST!

If the Will Hoge show hadn't already inspired me to grow my beard back, this trade sure as shit would have! Luckily, I got a one-week headstart.

Sweet move by Mitch Kupchak. To paraphrase Lou Brown, I think Mitch just gave his critics a giant shitburger to eat.

Meaningless Blog Endorses Obama!

To infinity and beyond!

I support and will be voting for Barack Obama.

There I said it. I will admit that I have been sitting in front of my monitor for no less than five minutes gathering the nerve to type those words and begin this post. The reason for that is that I have not always been comfortable discussing politics. To me, it's a very complicated, confusing, challenging thing and it's difficult to ever feel like you are standing on solid ground. Just when you feel like you know who you are and what you believe, you're presented with a different perspective and your equilibrium begins to sway as if you were drunk and the room started spinning. It doesn't make it any easier to brave a political discussion when you know there is a good chance you will be belittled by someone with an opposing view. Just today, one of my oldest and best friends asked me if I was ready to "grow up" and support Romney and the Republicans. I'm very immature, ya see. I have no doubt that he's been anxiously awaiting this post so that he can attack any point I make with his signature brand of superiority and smugness.

It's the age we're living in. Of course, throughout history there has always been great passion in both political parties and fierce, vehement disagreements, but the difference these days, I feel, is that there is a fundamental lack of respect between people on a level much bigger than politics. We live in the age of sarcasm and spite. It's a media-saturated world with countless talk shows irresponsibly sensationalizing and slanting everything in the name of ratings until there's not much left but a cesspool of misinformation and propaganda. Couple this environment with the speed of information and communication and, I believe, people often rush to judgment. They form rigid opinions about things they actually know nothing about and don't take the time to seek more information or, God forbid, wait for it. What's worse is that they come to a place where anyone who doesn't agree with them must be an idiot and most certainly an enemy. We live in a time when people kill each other over disagreements on sports. The climate for political discussion isn't quite that dangerous, but it's every bit as volatile with a scathing hiss taking the place of a gun or a fist.

Then I realized something while playing softball. I'm not a great player, I have less experience than most of my friends, but I love and am fascinated by the game as much as any of them. Sometimes I play okay, sometimes I play like shit. Sometimes I play scared. I noticed that there are games where my demeanor is held captive by a fear that I am not good enough to be playing with the other guys on my team. I get nervous and I miss the whole point of the game. God, I am really dragging this out. All I'm trying to say is that I realized that even the best player on our team pops out, makes errors, and has a bad game. No matter what cleats their wearing or how confident they portray themselves, nobody out there is infallible. Not even close. Why not just be loose, do my best, and take the good with the bad? I feel the same way about politics.

As long as I try to be informed about what I am saying, stay reasonable and humble, and always show respect for contrasting views, the cynics can pretty much go fuck themselves because if our discussion disintegrates into a personal level or one devoid of any value, it will be a problem of them being an asshole more than me being an idiot. When the climate is respectful and open, politics is a fascinating animal to discuss.

So here's how I feel and what I believe (as of now), folks. Take it or leave it, but just don't be hatin'...

I believe that the bitter partisan divide of recent times is destructive to American politics and to the country as a whole. It's beyond the point of differences in philosophy; it's a personal battle that only delays any real progress for our country and, due to the circumstances I described above, bitterly divides us as Americans. I believe that Barack Obama is the candidate most likely to begin to bring the country together again. This is a pillar of his campaign and his image as a politician. I know I sound like I am reciting from his campaign literature and might start to sound like Tom Cruise at a Scientology dinner. What can I tell you? I'm drinking the Obama Unity Kool-Aid and I think it's a crucial flavor.

This is where Adam says, "Yeah, right. Who better to bridge the partisan divide than the National Journal's Most Liberal Senator of 2007?" This is where I answer, simply, Yes. Who better?

I believe that it's time for universal health care and I like Obama's plan better than Hillary's. I disagree with her idea of mandating it for every single citizen. That's going too far in my opinion. Making a national plan available to all citizens is a better option. No, Adam, I am not a Socialist. I understand the Republican/Conservative opposition to universal healthcare and I respectfully disagree.

I believe it is time to end the war in Iraq and realign our efforts in the fight against Islamic terrorism. Barack and Hillary have virtually the same plan for this, but I give the nod to the guy who spoke out against it before it ever began. I think sound judgment, while a vague idea, is the single most important quality a President must have. What I perceive to be his wisdom on this vital issue of the Iraq War convinces me that he is the better choice to lead us in terms of these situations. More than any other issue at stake in this election, I respect the Republicans' view on the issue of the Iraq War. There was an episode of "Meet the Press" a few months back where John Kerry and John McCain debated the issue and it was an intriguing, arresting debate. I've watched it three times and I'm still not convinced that my opinion is the right one. It will definitely give me pause when the general election rolls around, but when it comes down to it, I will have to make a choice and as of now, I side with the Democrats.

That being said, I believe that Barack Obama is not only the best candidate to engage John McCain in this crucial aspect of the debate, but is the only Democratic candidate with a chance to win against McCain overall. I've heard it at least a dozen times from a wide array of political experts and pundits, there is one candidate who would unite the currently fractious Republican Party, it's Hillary Clinton. I don't mean to contribute to the Us vs. Them mentality that I hate so much, but I think it is fair to say that if you want a Democrat in the Oval Office, to end the war let's say, Barack Obama is the better choice to oppose McCain or Romney. Hillary touts her experience, and rightfully so, but it's that same experience that would have the Republican party licking its collective chops at the chance to oppose her in an election for the presidency. Fair or not, I believe it's the reality of the situation.

Even if I am wrong, even if Hillary were to win the Presidency, what state would the political landscape be in? I don't think it would be much different than it is now, with both parties entrenched in their own bunkers, lobbing grenades of petty bickering at each other while the grass of American prosperity browns and dies in the middle. I believe we need a leader who does not relish in the political warfare the way, I feel, Hill and Bill do.

If my first few paragraphs were not evidence enough, let me say that I have had a cynical attitude about politics in general for years. Part of my reluctance to talk about it was for the reasons I already described, but another aspect of it was my lack of belief in it in general. I felt like it really didn't mean anything. No one was trustworthy. They spoke in soundbytes and told you exactly what they're many comprehensive polls told them you wanted to hear. I felt like they ran for all the wrong reasons and often got elected for all the wrong reasons. Barack Obama is a candidate who cracks that veneer of distrust in politics and government and allows a little bit of hope (yeah, I said it) to shine through. I don't know if he'll be able to change anything about the lobbyists and the swiftboating and, frankly, all the bullshit. I don't know, maybe it's a job too big for one man, even if that man is the President. I don't know that Obama's message about change, unity, and hope isn't a tweaked version of the same politics that made me so sick. It could very well be the political equivalent of the the guy who picks up girls by saying "I don't know any good pickup lines so I just decided to come over, say hi, and be myself." Obama's not having a line could very well be his line. I'm in no way naive to that possibility. My feeling is that I'm ultimately taking the same risk with any candidate so why not go with the guy who at least appears to have the vision and the integrity I am looking for?

I was going to dig into my negative perception of Hillary/Billary, but I've rambled so long already and really, there's not much value in it.

I realize that my reasons for supporting Obama have been what Aaron Sorkin might refer to as "smoke-filled, coffehouse crap" which is to say it has not been a detailed account of why I support Obama on the economy, immigration, the environment, etc. Which is not to say I am not familiar with his stances or in agreement with them for the most part. I certainly vote issues first. I just feel like that's not what I wanted to say tonight. There are issues at stake in this election that just don't fit in charts and blurbs and are not easily supported by links and quoted statistics or studies. Really, I just wanted to say what I feel about politics and why I am supporting Barack Obama. I'm not trying to sway anybody, I am just compelled, for the first time, to share. And now I have. Thanks for listening.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sheesh, did I ramble on or what? In the interest of lightening things up a bit, allow me to share what else will be happening on Super Tuesday besides the whole primary/caucus thing.

My friends, on Super Tuesday, I go under the knife. I have a ganglion cyst on my left wrist and they are going to cut the sucker out. For the record, I am a righty so we can skip the masturbation jokes, folks. I think "ganglion cyst" has to be the nastiest-sounding name for something so innocuous.

The Bad News:

--No softball or weightlifting for four weeks. I suppose it's good to go back to square one sometimes.

--The potential for pain and discomfort during recovery.

The Good News:

--I have a prescription for Vicodin.

--I will also have a tape of the whole procedure. It's orthroscopic surgery so we will all get to see the inside of my hand and wrist joint! Woo hoo!

--I'll get to watch the results of Super Tuesday come in from the comfort of my own couch. Assuming I am able to stay conscious.

Rock N Roll Friday Night!

No overall point to this post other than, man, I just had a great Friday night.

We were supposed to go to this show with some friends of Nicole's (mine too now, but through her). After being out late at karaoke the night before, not really being all that familiar with the band we were seeing, and it being way over in Silverlake, I wasn't excited about going.

So we're going out to dinner prior to the show with some friends of theirs. Just my luck, they're Vegan (ever notice how Vegans are eerily similar to Vulcans?). I toiled between the faux-cheese quasedilla and the organic pancakes (would you be considered Vegan-by-association if you just liked to eat pancakes for every meal?) and ended up with the Rock N Roll Noodles which were at least fun to order. Let's go with the Rock N Roll!

After dinner, we're in the car on the way to the show at Spaceland when the phone rings like a hippy Paul Revere announcing The Vegans are bailing, The Vegans are bailing! And sure enough...So our sacrifice to not eat meat, milk, or anything normal was, as it turned out, quite in vain. It was, however, cheap which is nice.

Now all night up until this point, Nicole's friend Jason, the big fan of the guy we were going to see play, had been saying how there was the headliner Jason Isbell, some other guy named Will Hoge none of us had heard of, and an opening act that was probably some local kid that we would not be at a loss to miss. Seemed about how these things usually go. So we walk in and the first guy is up there setting up. I say to Jason, "It's not him, but that guy looks a lot like this guy I have been listening to non-stop lately, Jeremy Fisher." I then went on to describe his music a little bit when the singer on stage opened by saying, "Hi, I'm Jeremy Fisher." It was a cool kind of weird. He played. He was great. I was immediately glad I had come along to the show and would only become more glad as the night went on.

Sidebar on Jeremy Fisher: If you like catchy, mostly upbeat, infectious acoustic rock, you have to listen to this guy. His album is one of those you won't be taking out of your CD player for a couple weeks after you get it (it's sad how that experience has no translation to ipod technology). Kind of a Ben Kweller meets Paul Simon if you will. My favorites include "Sula," "Cigarette," and "Left Behind."

Next up was this Will Hoge guy who looked like a bearded Ryan Gosling with a cool hat on. Important to note that he was the only singer I have ever witnessed who chewed gum whilst singing. Normally, I would have been put off by this to the extent that I would not have been able to get into the music, but his music and his performance was so unstoppably fucking incredible that I quickly wrote it off. This son of a bitch had soul, my friends. Southern-fried, classic rock/country-influenced blues-rock that makes you want to dance, drink whiskey, and sing/scream along. It was one of those rare times when you hear something for the first time where you know you have to have it and you feel like a fool for not finding it sooner. I got two of his several CDs the following day and will be getting the others soon enough. Kind of a mix of Counting Crows, Wilco, The Black Crowes, Ottis Redding, and Hank Williams.

I won't go on to gush about the headliner, Jason Isbell, because I need to go to bed, but he and his band also kicked my ass.

By the time we walked out of there at 2 a.m., I was dead tired, more than 60% deaf, and walking like Phil Jackson after a road trip in a Mini Cooper. I wouldn't have had it any other way. It was a great night.


P.S. Is everybody loving this rain as much as I am? Keep it comin!!! (Sorry, Joe)

Tune in tomorrow for my impassioned endorsement of a Presidential candidate because I'm sure you've been waiting.

Seth and The Assface Predator

Remember our good buddy Seth (scroll down to 7/6)? You know, the guy from karaoke that sings the same song every week and is very, very impressed with himself. Him.

So we're there last night and Todd is talking to these two young women down in front, as Todd often does. They offered him one of their chicken wings to which he gladly accepted as any moral person would. They also asked Seth if he would care for a wing. Ya know what Seth said?

"No thanks, it'll screw up my vocals."

And he was serious. I shit you not. I guess I should really be thanking Seth for his sacrifice. I mean, people didn't come out to the show--er, bar--to hear Seth turn in a less-than-stellar performance now did they? Wait, that's right, they didn't come to hear Seth, period. I think it had something to do with the beverages they serve and the prospect of a good sing-a-long, but, hey, I've been wrong before. I'll bet the guy pre-partys the karaoke by sipping hot tea with honey. I can just see him schmoozing anyone of female or even questionable gender that they should really come out to one of his "gigs." Oh and did I mention that Seth is now sporting frosted tips that would make Ryan Seacrest envious? It's true. It was truly a sight to behold.

And then there was The Assface Predator. He's Seth's loyal, even more hateable sidekick. He suffers from the same dementia as Seth in that he has a repertoire of two songs that he feels are his own personal slice of fame if not true greatness. He likes people to call him Blue Jeans, probably because he is proud to wear those hideous uber-trendy jeans that have the gay little triangle flaps on the back pockets and fit as well as if they came from GapKids. I call him The Assface Predator. Why you ask? Because his face looks like an ass and everything that comes out of it sounds and smells like shit. On top of that, he's one of these guys that is very self-conscious when he speaks, like an actor overdoing it in front of a mirror. By that I mean he is ridiculously expressive and animated in even the most casual of conversation. This dry heave of expression only makes his assfacedness even more unsightly, much like the creature from the movie "Predator" when it takes screams with it's crab-leg mouth fully opened. Thus the name, Assface Predator.

So The Assface Predator swooped in and c-blocked Todd in a fashion unseen since teenage summer camp. Todd did not back down, of course, but when Seth floated over to talk more about the degenerative fowl effects felt by his vocal cords, poor Todd was simply outnumbered and out-douched. He returned to our table and I told him he should respect himself too much to try again with the broads. He agreed and that was that.

Zach made an interesting observation...We've been going to this place for well over a year. We're definitely considered regulars. Yet among the other regulars, we are outcasts. The rest of them all intermingle, chatting and hugging and what not. They don't even acknowledge us as having been there before much less be friendly to us. What did we ever to do them? All we do is cheer for their songs (even when it's the 1,500th time we've heard it) and write scathing blog entries about them later. I mean, where's the love?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to eat soup with a plastic spoon? They're just impossibly small. It could be used as a field sobriety test.

Actual Conversation With Doctor's Office

Her: I have an 8 a.m. appointment available and an 8:50, which would work better for you?

Me: Let's go with the 8:50.

Her: Okay. Now they do want me to inform you that there might as much as a two hour wait.

Me: I don't understand.

Her: They've asked me to inform patients that there might be as much as a two hour wait to see the doctor.

Me: Um, okay...I think I'd better take the 8 a.m. appointment then.

Her: Okay, no problem. We do ask that you arrive fifteen minutes early to fill out your paperwork.

Me: (totally speechless)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And now I quick thought on this year's Oscar nominations:

TOTAL RUBBISH!

Michael Clayton?????! Seriously? That movie was a ridiculously over-wordy, drama-less, agonizingly over-stylized waste of time. Best Director? Best Actor and Supporting Actor nominations? Give me a break.

Atonement? Ug. Boring. Pointless. Uninteresting.

Juno? I mean, it was good, but not that good. Feels like hype is at work here.

I didn't see Enchanted, but the fact that it got 3 Best Song nominations to Eddie Vedder's zero discredits the entire category.

1/13

"A Sunday" By Jimmy Eat World

On a Sunday I'll think it through.
On the drive back I'll think it through.
What you wish for won't come true.
Live with that.
On a Sunday she thought it through.
Now as I drive back, there's thirty-six less hours I have to change
the course I send myself.
Live with that.
On a Sunday go once around.
Because when the rides done, the hopes that you have carried,
they fall out from your hands back to the ground.
Live with that.
Learn as the drugs leave.
Learn as you lose it.
You will.
The haze clears from your eyes on a Sunday.


Is there anything more lonely than a Sunday night? If you were set for execution and they brought you an array of the best food you'd ever had in your entire life, prepared exactly as you remembered it, could you really enjoy it knowing what was going to happen when you were finished eating? Same thing with Sunday nights. I try to pack in as much leisure and enjoyment as I possible can, yet the squawking Monday morning alarm clock looms inevitably like the executioner on his smoke break.

I just finished watching "Unbreakable." I still say that movie got a bad rap. It was the victim of a misleading marketing campaign. Much like "Dan in Real Life," another fantastic though misrepresented movie. The latter wasn't nearly as badly handled as "Unbreakable," but I did think they chose the least appealing clips of the movie to include in the trailer. They seemed to miss the whole heart of the movie.

Going back to Sunday night and "Unbreakable," there was a line in the movie that struck a chord with me. Samuel L. Jackson's Mr. Glass character says to the Bruce Willis's character...

"...That little bit of sadness in the mornings you spoke of, I think I know what that is. Perhaps you're not doing what you're supposed to be doing."

If you substitute morning for Sunday night, I can most definitely relate. Which is not to say I hate my job because I don't. This show seems like it will be much different than those I worked on before and the people around me seem genuinely nice, interesting, and of a refreshingly balanced perspective when it comes to the job we do, i.e. doing it without losing your mind and becoming a corporate drone. But it's still a job. Where is my work?

Another line from the movie:

"Do you know what the scariest thing is? To not know your place in this world."

Does anyone really know their place though? Okay, surely some do, but do most people really feel like they know? I'm guessing not at 29 anyway. And if they think they do, I would bet they're proven wrong a couple times. But there is definitely something scary about it, I think. Not scary in the sense of swimming in the ocean and looking down to see the open jaws of a 25-foot Great White looking up at you, but still pretty frightening. I'll go one further and say even scarier than not knowing your place in the world is glimpsing your place and being severely disappointed.

Also saw "Knocked Up." Wow. This was an exceptionally good movie. As a wannabe writer, this was one of the movies that makes me say "Well fuck me, because I could never write something like that." It's one of those that makes me want to pack it in and open a beef jerky stand. Not that I know the first thing about the dried meat business.

By the way, "Atonement" was decidedly NOT a jerky-stand movie. I think the book was entirely fiction (right?), but it felt like a movie handicapped by being based on a true story and having to stick close to that true story when it really could have done so much more. Same goes for "American Gangster." "Knocked Up," in my opinion, was more insightful, original, and endearing than either one of the other two movies which will probably rake in ten Oscars between them.

On that note, I think I will do a post giving out my own version of the Academy Awards. Yeah, that's the ticket.

By the way, do we finally have enough movies called "American (something)" or featuring the word "chronicles?" Seriously, off the top of my head:

American Pie
American Wedding
American Gangster
American Psycho
American Me
American Beauty
American History X
American Movie
American Graffiti
American Dreamz
American Gigolo

ENOUGH!

Ano Nuevo

Metaphor for my life as I see it on the first completely sober day of 2008:

My dining room table. Stacked with wonderful gifts but lacking any kind of organization or order at the moment. A wonderful mess as it were.

I guess it's not ideal to make a metaphor out of something not instantly accessible to anyone that doesn't spend a lot of time in my dining room, but, fuck it, the choice of metaphor is also part of the meaning of the metaphor.

Holy schnikes, it feels weird to be back at work today. I had only been at the new job for four days before having ten days off. Now I am back and it feels like deja vu; I feel like I have been here before but I'm not really sure. Luckily, my Windows was not password protected because if it were I would be patiently sitting on my hands right now. This is just too odd.

Coffee and blog, that's how I'll get through this.

I know it's not possible to gain thirty pounds in three weeks, but it sure feels like it to me. Blah. Or blob.

Seasons Greetings

--Man, it has been a while. It feels like this is the first time in weeks I've had time to breathe.

Does it ever seem like you have so much on your mind, so many things knocking around your head, that you can't focus on the physical reality around you? It's an interesting sensation to experience while flying down the 405 at 75 mph, let me tell you. It's a weird reversal when your thoughts seem real and the physical world seems like a dream. And this is all without the use of halucinogens.

--I was talking to a friend the other day about the difficulty of doing something that you know is right but feels absolutely wrong. The classic head-vs-heart conflict. It got me thinking...I think the heart knows only what it wants and has no concept of self-preservation or im/possibility. I think that's what keeps us young. Of course, what is adulthood if not the responsibility of doing what's best rather than what's fun? Anyway, I know these are hardly groundbreaking thoughts, but what else is new (see blog title)?

--You know what word I really struggle with? "Inquiry." I can't pronounce it correctly in a casual flow. Unless I want to give up and start saying (ink-wary), I have to stop, stretch out the mouth muscles a little and really focus to say (in-kwer-E). Try it, maybe it's just me.

--Here we are on Christmas Eve Eve and I just barely finished my shopping this afternoon. This was a very rough year for gift-giving and shopping. If it's the thought that counts, I should be allowed to submit a 500-page neurotic manifesto documenting all the mental and emotional strife I put myself through to find the right gifts. And I'm not even sure I did all that well. Better than most years at least, so it's not all for not.

--Got the Annual Freeze-Your-Ass-Off-One-Night-Post-Christmas-Pre-New Years Camping Trip coming up in a few days. Got some new members in the club this year. I am predicting one of the all-time great trips. That's assuming no one gets accidentally shot at the firing range prior to reaching the camp site.

--After that, going up to a cabin in Arrowhead for a couple days and, man oh man, I cannot wait for that. I am going to pour myself a tall drink, sit down in a big armchair with about 3 books and 7 magazines and I am going to read for a solid three to four hours.

(2.5 hours later)

--Just got home from seeing "Juno." Really enjoyed it. Funny, smart, heartwarming flick. It's one of those movies that makes me feel good about life in general, even in the presence of the inevitable shitstorms. If I were an ultra-conservative nutjob, I might worry that it romanticizes teen pregnancy, but, thankfully, I'm not. It's one of those movies that makes me want to come home, put on a classic album really loud, and just lay there and listen to it. Unfortunately, it's too late to do the loud part but I am making do. It's not the quality of the music in the movie that does it, but the volume of it, and the scenes where they talk passionately about music don't hurt much either in that respect. Anyway, it's a great movie.

Decking the Halls, Sweet Baby James, and The Biggest Loser

I'm not sure it's realistically possible to have a greater night, friends.

I got home, cracked open a seasonal Sam Adams and got to work on supper. While it cooked, Nicole arrived and we trimmed what could very well be the finest Christmas tree I have ever had. Upon finishing, we dined on roasted pork tenderloin and sweet potatoes a la John/King. When she left, I popped in the James Taylor "One Man Band" dvd and wrote out some Thank You cards. To me, that's just a damn fine evening.

Speaking of the JT dvd...This was the first time I have watched it and, man, it really captures the magic of the "One Man Band" show I saw and described here almost a year ago. The theatre where they shot it was probably a quarter the size of where I saw the show so the intimacy of it was almost greater than the live show for me. I think the music that touches us most is the music that makes us feel most like ourselves. For me, nobody does that like James Taylor. Listening to his music makes me feel like coming home after being gone for years, maybe not even realizing that I had been away. I'm not kidding when I say it fills me with a love of life, a sentimental spirit, and a sense of being whole. What's more, it occurred to me as I watched the show that there are people in this life that I have never met and are not likely to ever meet, yet with whom I feel a sort of kindred kinship with. Remember in the movie "Collateral" when the coyote crosses in front of Tom Cruise's cab and he and the coyote share that look where you see they have something in common on a very fundamental level? It's like that. Does this make me a stalker? I don't think so, but it might be close, I guess. Could be the wine talking too. Probably a combination of the two.

I forgot to mention my rant on "The Biggest Loser." Ya know, you don't have to be an artsy-fartsy, holier-than-thou TV critic to scoff at reality television. A lot of people do it. I was thinking tonight though that there is a sincerity and a poignancy some of these shows that is very real and very honest in a way that fictional programming never could be because it's, well, fictional. Are the tender moments I speak of exploited by producers, manipulated by editors, and sensationalized by composers? Absofrigginlutely. But you can't deny the earnest sincerity in the actual moment, aside from the score, the camera angle or any of that shit. It can be quite touching, I tell ya. I will concede that these people crying on camera in these very tender moments are possibly, okay likely, crying because they know they're on camera--much like my inability to make any sort of public address without a flood of tears. But I'm just saying...

That being said, even in the most seemingly benevolent of shows, there is often that seedy, scuzzy underbelly that makes people turn up their noses at reality television, often rightly so. For instance, tonight I saw "The Biggest Loser" for the first time. Now here is a show that does something really great for Americans, if not humanity as a whole, helping people to take control of their lives and seek out a healthier existence. What's not to like, right? Well, I was with them until the final segment where the weight losses among the contestants have all been tallied up and two people find themselves "below the yellow line" on the brink of elimination. The contestants that have already clinched their advance then vote on which of the two below-the-line people will be eliminated. And this is where they lost me. The guy that got the ax tonight had lost 10 pounds in one week, more than any other contestant (they rank based on percentage of weight lost--a crock in itself). When push came to shove, the other contestants voted to eliminate him because a) he stood the biggest threat to them winning the game and the 250K and b) there was some sort of grudge against him being carried from the past. What a bassackwards, warped crock of shit. In a show like this that seems like it should be about the greater good of all involved, both in the show and watching it at home, the producers instead choose to formulate this "game" like "Survivor" where the most important thing at the end of the day is winning the big bowl of cash, celebrating whatever cutthroat soul-less tactics it takes to accomplish that goal. Why are these people competing for cash in the first place? Doesn't that seem a little weird to have these people losing an incredible amount of weight and, thus, making drastic wholesale improvements to their lives and then celebrating their hard earned victory by receiving a fat check? Seriously.....Huh? What does money have to do with weight loss and deciding to take control of one's life in a positive way? Which is supposed to be the greater prize, the cold hard cash or the happiness that comes with self-confidence? The fact that there is a cash prize in a game such as this is a sick, sad reflection of the times we are living in, in my opinion. Shouldn't some things be about more than money if for no better reason than to prove that there are things more important than money?

Backtracking a bit, it offends me that the contestants vote someone off at all. I understand the need for the yellow line; it's what makes this a game and I'm fine with that, but, given what's at stake--and I don't mean the fucking cash, shouldn't all the contestants be rooting FOR each other to succeed rather than calculating some chickenshit, cunning strategy to "win" the game? The first guy to reveal his vote for who was to be eliminated tonight actually said he was voting for Neil to cut because he thought Neil was the most likely to come back and win it all. Yeah, we sure don't want that happening! We don't want anyone else to lose more weight than we do and win the game because winning is more important than anything and, Lord knows, we don't have enough confidence in ourselves to win fair and square! Jesus Christ, people! GREED IS NOT GOOD (no offense, Mr. Stone)!!! Why are they even voting to eliminate someone anyway? Shouldn't they be voting on who most deserves to stay? Neil lost more fucking weight than any of you and you send him home! NO JUSTICE, NO PEACE!

That's it, I'm taking this to the streets. Who's with me?! Meet me at the corner of Ventura and Coldwater, weapons in hand!

So yeah, all in all, a great night.

Baby's First Turkey (In Pictures)

Apparently, there is a difference. I was quite pleased to learn that all of the vital organs and neck would be conveniently bagged for my easy removal. I was not looking forward to feeling around in there, just hoping I got everything.

And into the anal(?) cavity we plunge!

Look Mom, gizzards! Save the neck for me, Clark.

It's its poor little heart. Truly, if I had not mentally prepared myself for this process, I might have been mildly traumatized.

Once it's all cleaned, ya gotta brine the son of a bitch! I had never heard of this, but apparently by submerging the bird in a marinade of sorts, ya lock in the flavor and, most importantly, the moisture. No one likes a dry turkey.

To make a long story short, a couple hours of roasting later and BING! you have a turkey! I didn't know about the whole upside down thing until the last minute, but I think it was a great save. All in all, my first Thanksgiving turkey was a rousing success, a succulent, delicious foundation upon which my roasting prowess can only build upwards from here. To infinity and beyond! Culinarily speaking, of course.

Who knew?

I love Christmas shopping...if I know what I want to get people and feel confident about it. To aimlessly wander the mall weekend after weekend mumbling "would they like a sweater? Who wouldn't like a sweater? Have I ever seen them wear a sweater? Maybe they would wear one if they had one like this! Fuck it, I can't decide."--it's maddening.

Take my dad for instance. I know he wants "The Bourne Ultimatum" on DVD because he's been saying so every time I talk to him for the last two months. But in terms of a complimentary gift, I am completely lost. I was until last night anyway. We went out for Taco Wednesday and it became glaringly obvious that he needs a case for his iphone (he's not a blog reader so I can say this). Boom. Done and done. All I had to do was spend a little time with the person and the gift options flowed like wine, my friends.

If only I could do this for everyone, my anxiety would be solved.

Can't Nobody Break My Stride, Can't Nobody Hold Me Down

Ya know, I'm starting to get the feeling that my boss loathes me and, specifically, my Christmas spirit. But ya know what? Christmas Spirit is all I got right now! I'm running on the pine-scented fumes of good tidings for you and your motherfuckin' kin! I am undeterred, steadfast in my holiday resolve.

TURKEY WATCH 2007

There she is, folks. Twelve-point-nine pounds of Butterball beauty, baby! This photo represents Step One: Defrost the Son of a Bitch. I will now give this bird three full days to defrost in the jovial company of these fine American craft brews. Then, I aim to roast it.

Thanksgiving is imminent, my friends!

I realize I am a little late to the party on this but still....

--How good is "30 Rock?" It's just a very smart, very funny show and Tina Fey is one of the sexier women on television. Yeah, I said it! What?

--Sweatpants, not fleece, not some hi-tech microfiber, not pajama pants, but just good old-fashioned honest-to-goodness sweatpants, are the most comfortable thing in the universe. I recently got a pair at Target for, I think, six dollars and, friends, let me tell you, I'm gonna need a really compelling reason to ever take them off again. (wow, count the commas!)

--Fog. The obvious appeal is the romantic mystery of it all and why not? Does it ruin a windshield and make for very dangerous driving conditions? Okay, but you know what else fog has brought us? Lighthouses, folks. Who's gonna argue with lighthouses? I am thoroughly enjoying this sort of tidal pattern of fog we've been having the past few days and I can only hope it continues through Turkey Day.

--Mulled wine, man. As if wine weren't good enough on its own. Now you go and spice it up and give it the appeal of a holiday seasonal delight? Well, you sold me, pal.

--Dunkin' Donuts coffee. Now this one is not really my fault seeing as how Dunkin' Donuts does not exist in the greater Los Angeles area. Even in my New York years though, I did not catch on to this wonderful joe. They now sell it at my local Ralph's and, sweet Lord, it is some delectable coffee. It was worth the wait. Despite my following the brewing instructions explicitly, I am sure it still tastes better at a Dunkin' Donuts. However, I am also quite certain that the combo of home-brewed D.D. coffee and a true California mom-and-pop donut would far outweigh D.D.-brewed coffee and those pathetic things they refer to as "donuts." So I win!

Maybe it's just me

Can someone please explain The Trans-Siberian Orchestra to me please? I just don't get it.

The Tools

We're counting down to Turkey Time, folks. In a segment called "Baby's First Turkey," I intend to provide comprehensive coverage of my quest to complete one of the American man's most essential functions, the rite of passage known as Thanksgiving turkey roasting. Our coverage begins eight days from today.

It's gone too far...

I realize that the tedium of complaining about media and society's ridiculous obsession with celebrities is almost as agonizing as the obsession itself...BUT(!) I saw a "headline" on the front page of CNN.com just now that is so laughable, I would have thought it came from The Onion.

"Did Britney run a red light?"

I shit you not. This is our news.

Christmas Lite

Dear Friends,

I regret to inform you that the very tenuous, uncertain nature of my employment this holiday season will not allow me to shower you with the lavish gifts I would like to. Please, read nothing into it. I still love you and will do my best to give you whatever I can, but with unemployment looming, I'm afraid it's going to be a very lean Christmas.

Sincerely,

Me

(YAAAAAWN)

I couldn't get to sleep last night. And I was really tired. I laid there for two hours unable to shut down my brain. What's more, I had just watched an episode of "The Office" before turning in so every single thought I had would be inescapably followed by my own personal episode in my head starring me in the Steve Carrell role. For example...

Thought: I can't sleep, damnit.

Immediately followed by...

INTERVIEW - PAM: You can always tell when John didn't sleep the night before. You don't see or hear from him very much on those days. He gets very very quiet and sort of stays in his office all day...I really like it when John hasn't slept.

INTERVIEW - JOHN: Yes, I did have a little trouble getting to sleep last night. I was up really late working on some things...

CUT TO (FLASHBACK): John, at home, standing outside a closed bathroom door.

JOHN: Jan. Honey. Open the door please....I don't love you for your giants boobs. I mean, of course I do, but I love you for all your parts, the giants ones and the less...massive ones. Come on Jan, you've been in there for five hours, don't you think it might be time to come out?....I'll give you a foot massage if you just open the door...

The door opens slightly and Jan's foot creeps out into the hall. Just her foot. Up to the calf.

INTERVIEW - JOHN: But one of the responsibilities that come with being a good manager is never letting your employees see you sweat. Or sleep. Be...cause if you do then you're opening a whole can of worms...and the next thing you know, those same monkeys are running the insane asylum.

CUT TO: John enters the office for the day and appears to be sleepwalking. His eyes are practically closed, he slowly glides to his office, head down, saying nothing to anyone as he passes by. The room goes silent as everyone stops working, observes this Zombie John. His office door slams behind him and through his glass wall, we can all see him fall flat and hard onto the couch. Inside John's office, Dwight Shrute appears from behind a large plant. He takes off his suit jacket, lays it across John like a blanket. In perfect synch, the rest of the office goes back to work.

CUE MAIN TITLE MUSIC.

Something like that...after every single thought. Maddening.

Viva Segregation!

So you know how much I cherish Target. It's not just a shopping trip; it's an event to put on the calendar and look forward to. It's the place where you find literally everything you need and most of what you didn't know you needed but absolutely must have.

While it is not as widely known, I also care for Starbucks a great deal. Sure, some whackos might bemoan the bastardization of the local coffeehouse and bla bla bla, but I say they've popularized the coffeehouse, bringing good coffee and, yeah I said it, arts to places where it wouldn't otherwise be. But I digress...my point was supposed to be that I love Starbucks.

However, just because two things might be wonderful independently, that is NOT license to start combining them. That's right, last night at the Culver City Target I was witness to an abomination, Starbucks inside of Target. You had your sumptuous smell of fresh Target popcorn and juicy hot dogs sweatin' on the roller smashed right up against your triple grande non-fat sugar-free hazelnut latte and pan au chocolat! Inappropriate! It's an outrage I tell you! What's next, Lawry's Prime Rib with a White Castle annex next to the coat room?!

It's just wrong.

This casino brought to you by Requip

So I'm watching a couple minutes of TV this morning...You know, to find out whether my morning commute will be just average shitty or make-you-want-to-move-to-Montana shitty...Anyway, this ad comes on, one of these commercials for a new prescription medication. "Ask your doctor about," etc. This one in particular was for a new RLS (Restless Leg Syndrome) drug called Requip. Of course, with any of these ads, you expect to hear about some horrific side effects that usually sound worse than the affliction the drug is intended to cure, but in the case of Requip one stood out to me as particularly unusual. See if you pick up on it too.


Important Safety Information: Prescription Requip is not for everyone. Requip Tablets may cause you to fall asleep or feel very sleepy during normal activities such as driving; or to faint or feel dizzy, nauseated, or sweaty when you stand up. Tell your doctor if you experience these problems or if you drink alcohol or are taking other medicines that make you drowsy. Also tell your doctor if you experience new or increased gambling, sexual, or other intense urges while taking Requip. Side effects include nausea, drowsiness, vomiting, and dizziness.

"New or increased gambling...urges?" What the fuck? Has anyone ever heard of this "symptom" before? How does any substance inspire a person to gamble? Is there any specifics to his chemically induced urge? Does it compel you to just sit down at the first blackjack table you come across or perhaps play the ponies? I'd bet dollars to donuts that casino owners are racing to find a way to produce this Requip in an aerosole form. Once that breakthrough occurs and they start pumping Requip-ed oxygen into their casinos, forget about it. The House wins again.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

I really never thought it would come to this. It seems surreal. Despite all the writing on the wall, I still held an innate hope, I guess. My head could see it coming, but my heart would never believe it. Now it appears almost imminent and there is a sadness hanging just off in the horizon like an ominous, mysterious fog threatening to envelope the town.

Kobe is going to be traded.

I've been through a couple of difficult breakups in my time and while I won't be so melodramatic as to directly compare the weight of those situations to what ultimately amounts to a cheap soap opera with insanely rich players, I do feel like there are similar types of emotions at stake here. Reflecting back to the days when Lakers' championship parades through Los Angeles seemed as regular as traffic jams and wildfires, when the preeminent images of Lakerdom were Shaq whooping up the court after alley-ooping the Trailblazers or Kobe leaping into The Diesel's arms as confetti rained down around them, it's difficult to comprehend that we've come this far. Today we somehow find ourselves a franchise and a fandom exhausted after our first game of the season. We're dazed and unsure of who we are anymore or where we're going. We look for something to lean on, but find ourselves standing in a house built of ashes where the slightest touch to a single wall could bring the entire structure collapsing on top of us. This course we're on, to trade the legend of Kobe Bryant for a new collection of neophytes, seems now to be inevitable. Inescapable, yet still senseless and disorienting. Like a breakup, blame can be easily thrown about at the moment of separation with much of it being valid, but the true, meaningful understanding of just what exactly went wrong and how each person involved is responsible will only come with the crawl of time and the settlement of maturation.

In this early stage, emotions are powerful, raw, and vague. Tonight I feel angry. Is it because I as a fan have vigorously defended Kobe all these years only to be selfishly abandoned? Is it because the Laker organization stood loyally next to Kobe through criminal charges of rape only to be labeled liars and incompetents? Or is it that in Kobe's threats to veto any trade including Luol Deng for sake of leaving Chicago with an opportune wingman, he is subsequently ensuring that our Lakers will be left in as bad of shape on the court as we are now off it. Perhaps it's all or none of the above. As of now, the only thing we can count on is uncertainty and inconsistency. Tonight's bitterness may preclude tomorrow's peace of mind. Tomorrow's excitement for a new and better life may only give way to a crippling obsession with our past and a fossilized sense of identity.

As long as our hearts' fate is held in the balance by this volatile mix of pride, pain, and this facade of "business," we just can't know.

Reason Number 5,987 to Hate Jonathan Papelbon

That's right folks, that's the poster boy for Red Sox Nation, a cocky-as-shit 20-something punk pouring beer all over the American League Championship Trophy. Classy, no? What an utter disgrace to the game and to the league. Where were you on this one, Peter Gammons?

I swear, this fuckin' kid is due for a beating like no one I have ever seen.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Calling all first year psych students....

My dream last night:

I went to my ten-year high school reunion. It was held in a high school gym and it was mostly empty. We started playing softball right there in the gym. For some reason, I chose to play with my shirt off. I guess that shouldn't come as a surprise as it is widely known that I play better half-naked. Still, it wasn't like a Top-Gun-Kenny-Loggins-Playing-With-The-Boys type of a thing, I was just shirtless. Then I realized that I was overdue for a back waxing. I went back to my bag (By the way, I had a gym bag with me at the reunion for some reason) to get a shirt. Some unidentified person was there helping me pick out a t-shirt. I put one on and the fit was just not right. It wasn't too big or too small, it was just an awkward fit that didn't look or feel right. I went back to the bag and discovered the bag I was rooting through was not mine. I was wearing someone else's shirt. I went to my bag and found that, while it contained other clothes, there were no shirts to be found in it. And then the whole event was pretty much over. Most of the few people that were there had gone. As I walked out, there was a twenty-year reunion going on in an adhacent gym and that thing was packed with dancing revelers. Go figure.

Let the psychoanalysis begin!

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I have decided I am going to cook my own turkey this year. I will still attend the family Thanksgiving dinner, of course, but prior to that I am going to cook my own bird at home. It's good practice, I think. Plus, as the fam has grown steadily over the years, I never end up with enough leftover turkey. Also, I would like to fill my own home with the smell of roasting fowl!

My recent struggles to get to the gym on time have been the result of not being able to get out of bed which was caused by exhaustion. This week, I have woken up ready to rock, but laid in bed anyway and still gotten in late despite not being the least bit tired. At this point, I blame the commute and the lack of a gym partner. Big ups to Conrad.

House Arrest

I rarely get to bed before midnight during the week. For me, it's not about being a night owl, it's about enjoying my time at home so much that I just can't bring myself to willingly close the book on it for the day. There's so much to do. Cooking, wine of course, a little laundry, some music, TV, books, maybe a good movie...if all else fails, writing asinine thoughts on a blog.

I could never handle life in The Big House. Andy Dufresne, I am not. But if I was ever convicted of a crime and was sentenced to house arrest? I'd be lovin' life, baby! Woooooo!

If anyone has any experience in criminal justice and can recommend a specific crime I could commit to where the most likely repercussion would be house arrest, I won't not listen, friend.

Random Thoughts (As Opposed To Deep Ones)

--Decided to make a dent in the many movies in current release I want to see...Of all the interesting options, managed to select two duds, "Michael Clayton" and "The Darjeeling Limited." Not to mention "Lantana" via Netflix Friday night. Why do I always happen upon good or bad movies in streaks?

--Bill "The Rock" Stoneman is stepping aside as Angels GM. Very interesting. We'll see if this new fella can do what Bill never could (fairly or unfairly), get us a power bat to protect Vlad.

--Don't ya just hate it when your DVR gets its programming mixed up? I have "Mad About You" (Lifetime reruns) set as a series recording but the last 5 episodes have actually turned out to be "The Andy Griffith Show" which is not the same.

--Speaking of DVR/TV, is anyone else watching "Damages?" It's fuckin' awesome!

I, Coward

So here's how big of a wuss I am...

I'm at the movies Saturday night. I walk in and the only people in the theatre (I like the Brits' spelling better, okay?) are these two women. I take my seat. A few moments later, the two women ask me if I wouldn't mind saving their seats for them for a few minutes. Because I am an inherently courteous person, I instinctively reply "Sure." As soon as they left, I knew I had made a mistake. The tension in the air was as dense as coastal fog. I was almost praying that they would hurry up and come back before anyone else entered the theatre, much less went for their seats. Once again, the universe made me the butt of one of its many jokes and compelled a young couple to stroll in and take the exact two seats the women had entrusted me with protecting.

So what did I do you ask?

I didn't say a word. I couldn't. What was I supposed to say? "Excuse me, two women asked me to save these seats for them?" Not a chance! It's awkward if not unbelievable. I'm not one for self-description, but, come on, I am nothing if not acutely attuned to awkwardness. Am I wrong? Anyway, so here these people are sitting in the seats I am sworn to guard. I can't say something to them, but I also can't just sit there and do nothing and bear their disappointment when they return to find their seats snatched away from them.

So what DID I do?

I went to the bathroom even though I didn't need to, hoping that they would come back whilst I was away, conclude that I had needs of my own and that they took too long doing whatever they were doing and that my own bladder control may have been stretched to the limits by their insistence on doing everything together. Pretty chickenshit on my part, isn't it?

Well, it worked and it didn't. I came back from carefully washing my hands and found the two girls had indeed reentered and been forced to find new seats. However, I would not escape so easily from their jeering and scorn. They jokingly prodded me with comments along the lines of "Thanks a lot" and "Your're fired." I feigned innocent surprise and went back to my seat, which was being guarded by a braver soul than I.

What kind of a man am I? On second thought, don't answer that.

4-0

So that happened. Fuck. Me.

Game 1, 3:30 Pacific

"If you Willits, it is no dream."
-- V.I. Lenin

In Vlad, We Trust.

Playoffs start today, friends. I want to win this series so bad I can feel it pinching in my stomach like bad gas pains. Aside from the obvious benefit of having my boys advance, I would be remiss if I did not admit that part of my craving for victory in the ALDS is a thirst to beat Boston in particular, a reflection on their Masshole fans. By now, everyone's heard my gripes about Boston fans so I won't regergitate it here today. I'll just quote two other sources' hilariously apt descriptions of everything I hate about "Red Sox Nation."

Angels blogger Matt Welch had this to say this morning on Halos Heaven:

"...the most narcissistic fans on Earth. The sociopathic alcoholic white supremacists in the stands will take any Angel scoring personally and pout, thus taking 90 percent of the crowd out of the game."

The sportspickle.com article that says it all.


If you told me I had a choice between A) the Angels winning this series or B) a check being handed to me for X number of dollars, I am not sure how much money would have to be on that check to make it worth an Angels loss. Ten grand wouldn't do it. Twenty grand wouldn't do it. I think at 60K I would have to start really thinking about it, but even then, I am still not sure.

Enough negativity. It's Game Day.

GO HALOS!!!!