I am a long standing member of the Anti-Facebook Society. I may as well be a founding father of the club. I know you've all heard my rants/reasons for this opposition so I won't go into it too much here. Basically, I feel that Facebook is a lazy shortcut to maintaining personal relationships. It's frustrated me to no end how my supposed best friends had important things going in their lives that they would announce on Facebook, but never personally to me. In this month's GQ, David Amsden writes that "our 'connected' culture is breeding a pandemic of isolation. That succinctly explains my larger, conceptual hatred for Facebook. I feel like, while we may be communicating more, we are simultaneously drawing back further and further into our own personal pods, with less and less reason to leave our couches or even pick up a phone. I am a big proponent of both. But, to quote the DeNiro character in Heat, there's a flipside to that coin (I think I have used this quote roughly 459 times on this blog in the past).
Two things happened. I was down visiting the fam a few weeks back and my aunt Lisa had her laptop logged in to Facebook. Most of my family have accounts. She was showing my grandma and my cousins photos of my wedding, my mom and uncle's drive to get there, and old family photos from when they were kids. For the first five minutes or so, I sat in a recliner, uninterested. Then I pulled the stick out of my ass and joined in. We scrolled through all kinds of photos, most of which my mom, aunt, or uncle had posted humorous comments on. Lisa and my grandma told stories as the old photos stirred up the old memories. It was a lot of fun.
The second thing was this morning. I was laying in bed and I was just thinking how disappointed I was in myself in terms of the kind of friend, son, nephew, etc. that I am. All I could think about was all the people that are so important to me that I had not called in so long. I realized while I so often think about these people and what they're going through in their lives, I don't go the distance to let them know it hardly as much as I should. And it was overwhelming to think of where to begin. I get up in the morning, I do my exercise, I go to work, I blog (gulp), I come home, take out the trash, cook dinner, do the dishes, maybe watch an hour or so of TV, maybe write, then I go to bed. This is the typical day and there is not a lot of wiggle room in there to be all that I wish I could be to everyone that I care about. I'm not Mother Teresa, of course. I do still require some time to work on my own stuff.
It was around this time that I began to reconsider my anti-Facebook feelings. Ideologically, I still felt I was right about the whole concept. But I was also faced with the guilt that I was out of touch with my friends and family and overwhelmed by the task of making it right, especially when so many of them live so far away. Which was more important to me, to be true to my ideology or to be current and more involved with my loved ones (Joe, you are a "loved one," fyi)? My mom was on Facebook and wanted to see photos of her son for crying out loud! Was it maybe time to get off my high horse a little and sacrifice some pride? It might just be.
After all, I can shape my experience to be exactly as I want it. I don't have to turn into a junkie; I do have the will power to use it and not become enslaved by it. Therefore, if I do decide to join, I vow to go by a certain code of Facebook conduct:
I vow to never update my lame-ass "status message," much less do it every five minutes with the most asinine reports imaginable.
I vow to not take drunken photos every time I go out with thought of how they will make me look on Facebook.
I vow to not devote 56 hours to creating a profile so detailed and nuanced that it could serve as my clone. If you know me, you know me. Don't come to my profile to learn about my deepest fears and favorite pizza toppings.
I vow to not stalk or be stalked by every person I had a class with in high school. Long lost friends, sure. Lab partners from sophomore year, no.
I vow to never take one of those childish, brain-squishing quizzes that ask me "Who was the last person you texted with?" or "do people say you're pretty?"
I vow to not make important, life-altering announcements on Facebook. The big stuff is still for phone calls and face-to-face.
Above all, I vow to not revert into being a teenager. I vow to not let Facebook lure me into thinking that my life is my own personal reality show or that people look to me for entertainment.
I'm not saying I'm ready. I still need to sleep on it. But I think we both know where this is heading. By the way, I am fully aware that the arguments stated above in favor of Facebook are arguments very similar to those made to me by some of you enthusiasts in the past.
To quote Fletch Lives, "It takes a big man to admit when he's wrong. I am not a big man."
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
Sunday Night pt. II
--My friggin' eyelids have been twitching for two weeks now. What does this mean?
--For about the same stretch of time, I have had a constant craving that alternates between Mexican food and pizza. Coincidence? And it's insatiable too. I have one, I want the other. Scratch one itch, the other kicks in.
Wow, last night was a redeeming night for the new Largo. Even though it's still a great venue, I felt like it lacked the intimacy and freeflowing, you-never-know-who-might-show-up-to-play spirit of the original. And then last night.....the old magic.
We went to see Punch Brothers, Bernie and I. We must have some sort of strange, good concert mojo because the previous time we went to a show, it was also an all-timer. So anyway, we're there. Second row. Chris Thile and company put on a show that was simply mesmerizing. They played a few new songs that sounded quite sweet. They need to record them and release them as soon as possible. Fiona Apple came out and sang "Walkin' After Midnight" like Patsy Cline, Ella Fitzgerald, and Janis Joplin fused into one soulful voice. The Watkins came out and jammed and, being the Nickel Creek lover that I am, the reunion was emotionally fulfilling. Just a really fun, surprising show. And that was only the first half.
Prior to the show, it was announced that Sara and Sean (Watkins) were coming down and would be playing in The Little Room following the Punch Brothers' show. It would be free and first come, first served. Luckily, our primo seat location allowed us to get a good position in line. This second show was just really special. It felt like the old Largo family that I used to love to see coming together again (sans Glen Phillips) playing more as fun in somebody's living room than a "show." I felt like they were just jamming and having fun and I was a fly on the wall, almost like I wasn't supposed to be there and could booted at any second. Chris, Fiona and Fiona came in and played again. Benmont Tench joined on piano. Greg Leisz emerged from a dark corner and played the steel guitar. They had a drummer(don't recall his name) keeping rhythm by slapping on--no joke--a yellow legal pad. There was no set list. They would discuss amongst themselves what to play next, sometimes even quietly reviewing how it went before they actually started it. We, the audience, just watched and waited and drank it all in. This was all in a small corner of the room no bigger than 6x6. And did I mention they have finally started serving beer again?
All together, we were there for about five hours. Five hours on a Sunday night after a long weekend and yet when we walked over there, I was giddy with excitement. I was pumped. I could have gone all night, but, alas, there was work to attend in the morning.
I dropped Bernie off and elected to get back to the 10 by way of Fairfax. As I drove past the old Largo, I still got a little nostalgic, but the tinge of sadness was finally gone. One good night.
--For about the same stretch of time, I have had a constant craving that alternates between Mexican food and pizza. Coincidence? And it's insatiable too. I have one, I want the other. Scratch one itch, the other kicks in.
Wow, last night was a redeeming night for the new Largo. Even though it's still a great venue, I felt like it lacked the intimacy and freeflowing, you-never-know-who-might-show-up-to-play spirit of the original. And then last night.....the old magic.
We went to see Punch Brothers, Bernie and I. We must have some sort of strange, good concert mojo because the previous time we went to a show, it was also an all-timer. So anyway, we're there. Second row. Chris Thile and company put on a show that was simply mesmerizing. They played a few new songs that sounded quite sweet. They need to record them and release them as soon as possible. Fiona Apple came out and sang "Walkin' After Midnight" like Patsy Cline, Ella Fitzgerald, and Janis Joplin fused into one soulful voice. The Watkins came out and jammed and, being the Nickel Creek lover that I am, the reunion was emotionally fulfilling. Just a really fun, surprising show. And that was only the first half.
Prior to the show, it was announced that Sara and Sean (Watkins) were coming down and would be playing in The Little Room following the Punch Brothers' show. It would be free and first come, first served. Luckily, our primo seat location allowed us to get a good position in line. This second show was just really special. It felt like the old Largo family that I used to love to see coming together again (sans Glen Phillips) playing more as fun in somebody's living room than a "show." I felt like they were just jamming and having fun and I was a fly on the wall, almost like I wasn't supposed to be there and could booted at any second. Chris, Fiona and Fiona came in and played again. Benmont Tench joined on piano. Greg Leisz emerged from a dark corner and played the steel guitar. They had a drummer(don't recall his name) keeping rhythm by slapping on--no joke--a yellow legal pad. There was no set list. They would discuss amongst themselves what to play next, sometimes even quietly reviewing how it went before they actually started it. We, the audience, just watched and waited and drank it all in. This was all in a small corner of the room no bigger than 6x6. And did I mention they have finally started serving beer again?
All together, we were there for about five hours. Five hours on a Sunday night after a long weekend and yet when we walked over there, I was giddy with excitement. I was pumped. I could have gone all night, but, alas, there was work to attend in the morning.
I dropped Bernie off and elected to get back to the 10 by way of Fairfax. As I drove past the old Largo, I still got a little nostalgic, but the tinge of sadness was finally gone. One good night.
Friday, June 26, 2009
On the take
This is an interesting break from the talking heads, half-truths, scare tactics, and general propaganda.
http://www.fivethirtyeight.com/2009/06/special-interest-money-means-longer.html
http://www.fivethirtyeight.com/2009/06/special-interest-money-means-longer.html
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Toto, eat your heart out
JUST when I was afraid I would not have a single thing worth posting today, somebody sends me this and restores my faith in the goodness and ingenuity of humankind.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
I'm On A Boat
I don't need to tell any of you how much I love James Taylor, right? Good, moving on. As much as I love the man, I can't explain why it was only just recently that I signed up for the fan club/newsletter/whathaveyou on his official website. Last week, I got my first newsletter from the site containing an essay JT wrote for the recent National Geographic publication, "My Favorite Place on Earth" written by Jerry Camarillo Dunn, Jr. Beyond James' music, my appreciation for him has always extended to my stranger's impression of him as a really nice, grounded, intelligent, interesting person. I really loved his essay and I felt like it definitely supported my image of him. Nice when that happens. I can definitely relate to many of the feelings he describes below. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
"The Center of the Atlantic Ocean" By James Taylor
Once I made a passage up the center of the Atlantic, from the Caribbean to Martha's Vineyard, with a good sailor on a beautiful boat. It was an old wooden sailboat made of teak, strong and seaworthy. The masts were tall, and we operated the sails by hand. I was part of the crew.
Our captain, Nat Benjamin, who is a boat builder on Martha's Vineyard, is an expert at deep ocean sailing. We didn't have satellite navigation. He simply knew when weather was coming. We would shorten sail for a storm, the storm would hit, and we were ready for it. We went through one thrilling night with seas the size of huge houses passing under us. We just ran before the storm, feeling complete trust in our captain.
We had started our trip from the island of St. Martin and after about five days got to the Sargasso Sea. The surface was a floating mat of sargasso weed, which has a unique variety of flora and fauna within it, with eels breeding and other animals living there - a sort of ecosystem to itself.
The Sargasso Sea is in the Bermuda Triangle. We were becalmed there, as is often the case in the Doldrums, so we let down the sails, stopped the motor, and just sat on these oily, calm swells. And to while away the time, we went swimming in the center of the Atlantic Ocean. The depth of the water beneath us was something like three miles. To think that if you stood on the boat and flipped a quarter overboard, it would be falling and falling and falling for a day and a half before it hit bottom that gave me an amazing feeling.
On a boat, everyone takes turn standing watches around the clock. At night, you watch the polestar and see the entire cosmos revolve around it. It's a remarkable awareness you get of being on this planet in space. I know that as astronauts look back at Earth, they get a great sense of what it is. On our boat, I could feel myself on the surface of this water planet.
In a way, it was similar to two trips I've taken down the Grand Canyon in wooden dories. It takes 19 days to get through the canyon, and it really takes you away from ordinary experience and timetables. The fact that you're drifting with the river, and not motoring down or powering through it, also has an effect on you. You're in this great geological picture book, which goes back in time as you get deeper and deeper. It gives you a profound experience of the planet to be at the bottom of this great slice through time and into the depths of Earth. You pass a layer that was once the floor of a sea and eventually get down to the Vishnu Schist, which is two billion years old, some of the oldest rock on the planet. To see this stuff, to drift past it, to live with it, changes you - just like being in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
I was never taught a particular religion growing up. My father was a scientist, and I think, being from the South, he had an aversion to the available organized religious forms. So I was never given a strong religious connection. But I have a very strong spiritual need. And getting into nature is going to church for me. It's my way of surrendering to the bigger picture, to the whole.
I feel the skin of life on the planet as a sort of coevolved life form. It has a type of consciousness that we humans - with individuated consciousness and an ego-based world view - see as alien. But it's my own belief that it is alive, a single organism on this amazing, rare, and perhaps unique planet. I really need to feel that connection.
"The Center of the Atlantic Ocean" By James Taylor
Once I made a passage up the center of the Atlantic, from the Caribbean to Martha's Vineyard, with a good sailor on a beautiful boat. It was an old wooden sailboat made of teak, strong and seaworthy. The masts were tall, and we operated the sails by hand. I was part of the crew.
Our captain, Nat Benjamin, who is a boat builder on Martha's Vineyard, is an expert at deep ocean sailing. We didn't have satellite navigation. He simply knew when weather was coming. We would shorten sail for a storm, the storm would hit, and we were ready for it. We went through one thrilling night with seas the size of huge houses passing under us. We just ran before the storm, feeling complete trust in our captain.
We had started our trip from the island of St. Martin and after about five days got to the Sargasso Sea. The surface was a floating mat of sargasso weed, which has a unique variety of flora and fauna within it, with eels breeding and other animals living there - a sort of ecosystem to itself.
The Sargasso Sea is in the Bermuda Triangle. We were becalmed there, as is often the case in the Doldrums, so we let down the sails, stopped the motor, and just sat on these oily, calm swells. And to while away the time, we went swimming in the center of the Atlantic Ocean. The depth of the water beneath us was something like three miles. To think that if you stood on the boat and flipped a quarter overboard, it would be falling and falling and falling for a day and a half before it hit bottom that gave me an amazing feeling.
On a boat, everyone takes turn standing watches around the clock. At night, you watch the polestar and see the entire cosmos revolve around it. It's a remarkable awareness you get of being on this planet in space. I know that as astronauts look back at Earth, they get a great sense of what it is. On our boat, I could feel myself on the surface of this water planet.
In a way, it was similar to two trips I've taken down the Grand Canyon in wooden dories. It takes 19 days to get through the canyon, and it really takes you away from ordinary experience and timetables. The fact that you're drifting with the river, and not motoring down or powering through it, also has an effect on you. You're in this great geological picture book, which goes back in time as you get deeper and deeper. It gives you a profound experience of the planet to be at the bottom of this great slice through time and into the depths of Earth. You pass a layer that was once the floor of a sea and eventually get down to the Vishnu Schist, which is two billion years old, some of the oldest rock on the planet. To see this stuff, to drift past it, to live with it, changes you - just like being in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.
I was never taught a particular religion growing up. My father was a scientist, and I think, being from the South, he had an aversion to the available organized religious forms. So I was never given a strong religious connection. But I have a very strong spiritual need. And getting into nature is going to church for me. It's my way of surrendering to the bigger picture, to the whole.
I feel the skin of life on the planet as a sort of coevolved life form. It has a type of consciousness that we humans - with individuated consciousness and an ego-based world view - see as alien. But it's my own belief that it is alive, a single organism on this amazing, rare, and perhaps unique planet. I really need to feel that connection.
Monday, June 22, 2009
California Dreamin'
I am wearing a shirt today that I have not worn or washed since the honeymoon. It still smells like a wonderful potpourri of sea breeze, sunscreen, and massage oil. It is taking me back, I tell ya. I wish I could be there right now. Been doing that a lot lately, daydreaming about all the trips I'd like to take. I'm not talking pie-in-the-sky dreaming or anything, just reasonable summer trips that I could realistically take if I had such a thing as vacation days.
Portland, OR - Actually going on this one for Zach's wedding, but I'd love to stay a week instead of a quick 2.5 days. Brewfest on the waterfront, Powell's books, McMenamins' many brewpub movie theatres, The Tex-ass Challenge at Voo Doo Donuts. It's too much! Then again, Bill Brasky won't talk to me since the Lakers won, so I might not have as many friends up there as I thought.
Atlanta, GA - Conradical! The Dirty South! What more do I need to say?
Austin, TX - I have heard nothing but great things about Austin and, as a music, food and film lover, I have wanted to go for years. Lindsay, Austin native, was talking recently about rafting and whatnot in one of the rivers nearby. Sounds like good late summer fun.
Houston, TX - I never would have guessed there would be two places in Texas that I ever actually wanted to go to, but Wayne is there for treatment at MD Anderson and I wish I could go visit.
Rapid City, SD - Good ol' fashioned family trip in the fall would be a lot of fun. Test my hot streak in Deadwood. See if I can't reclaim my manhood by testing my luck against Val at beer pong. Our last trip there was only the second time I've been when it was NOT the dead of winter. I had forgotten how beautiful it really is when there's green on the hills, leaves on the trees.
Beach near Oxnard, CA - Renting a beach house for the Fantasy Football Draft. Inspired by the cabin experience in South Dakota, this was a great idea that Kissen came up with. Fifteen people (mostly guys) in a beach house with a boatload of booze for a football draft. What could go wrong?
Camping, some other beach in CA - I haven't been camping in a loooong time and the last time was not one I want to leave as the lasting impression. I would love to just be sitting by a campfire, looking out to sun setting on the Pacific with a skyful of stars overhead. Nothing for days but swimming, reading, drinking, and playing board/card games.
Sonoma/Napa, CA - Ever since we went with Wayne and Val, what was it--2 years ago, I have fantasized about going back.
Buenos Aires, Argentina - Charles says he's going for his 40th birthday in January. This would be unfunkinbelievable. Argentina is very high on my list of places to go and when there is an actual occasion to target it just makes it all the more tempting. If only I were rich or tickets weren't over a grand. So maybe this one stretches my promise of realism, but there is an actual invitation to consider so I say it's okay.
San Luis Obispo/Big Sur/Monterey/Carmel/Pacific Grove - Just a relaxing road trip up the coast with Redwoods, ocean bluffs, small coffeehouses, PCH seafood dives, wine, and a kickass road trip soundtrack.
Las Vegas, NV - Both Jackson Browne and Counting Crows have shows at this oasis just outside of town. I've only done it once, but seeing a concert in Vegas is pretty awesome and seeing one at a small venue at an isolated casino would be....fun.
Some part of Japan - Adam, if you're reading this, I haven't forgotten about you, buddy! (He's stationed there for the next couple years)
If only this antiquated notion of work didn't always get in the way. I know this makes me a lazy, unmotivated drip. But a fella can dream, can't he?
Portland, OR - Actually going on this one for Zach's wedding, but I'd love to stay a week instead of a quick 2.5 days. Brewfest on the waterfront, Powell's books, McMenamins' many brewpub movie theatres, The Tex-ass Challenge at Voo Doo Donuts. It's too much! Then again, Bill Brasky won't talk to me since the Lakers won, so I might not have as many friends up there as I thought.
Atlanta, GA - Conradical! The Dirty South! What more do I need to say?
Austin, TX - I have heard nothing but great things about Austin and, as a music, food and film lover, I have wanted to go for years. Lindsay, Austin native, was talking recently about rafting and whatnot in one of the rivers nearby. Sounds like good late summer fun.
Houston, TX - I never would have guessed there would be two places in Texas that I ever actually wanted to go to, but Wayne is there for treatment at MD Anderson and I wish I could go visit.
Rapid City, SD - Good ol' fashioned family trip in the fall would be a lot of fun. Test my hot streak in Deadwood. See if I can't reclaim my manhood by testing my luck against Val at beer pong. Our last trip there was only the second time I've been when it was NOT the dead of winter. I had forgotten how beautiful it really is when there's green on the hills, leaves on the trees.
Beach near Oxnard, CA - Renting a beach house for the Fantasy Football Draft. Inspired by the cabin experience in South Dakota, this was a great idea that Kissen came up with. Fifteen people (mostly guys) in a beach house with a boatload of booze for a football draft. What could go wrong?
Camping, some other beach in CA - I haven't been camping in a loooong time and the last time was not one I want to leave as the lasting impression. I would love to just be sitting by a campfire, looking out to sun setting on the Pacific with a skyful of stars overhead. Nothing for days but swimming, reading, drinking, and playing board/card games.
Sonoma/Napa, CA - Ever since we went with Wayne and Val, what was it--2 years ago, I have fantasized about going back.
Buenos Aires, Argentina - Charles says he's going for his 40th birthday in January. This would be unfunkinbelievable. Argentina is very high on my list of places to go and when there is an actual occasion to target it just makes it all the more tempting. If only I were rich or tickets weren't over a grand. So maybe this one stretches my promise of realism, but there is an actual invitation to consider so I say it's okay.
San Luis Obispo/Big Sur/Monterey/Carmel/Pacific Grove - Just a relaxing road trip up the coast with Redwoods, ocean bluffs, small coffeehouses, PCH seafood dives, wine, and a kickass road trip soundtrack.
Las Vegas, NV - Both Jackson Browne and Counting Crows have shows at this oasis just outside of town. I've only done it once, but seeing a concert in Vegas is pretty awesome and seeing one at a small venue at an isolated casino would be....fun.
Some part of Japan - Adam, if you're reading this, I haven't forgotten about you, buddy! (He's stationed there for the next couple years)
If only this antiquated notion of work didn't always get in the way. I know this makes me a lazy, unmotivated drip. But a fella can dream, can't he?
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The Price is Right?
I've just spent the last two hours shopping for health insurance as my employer doth not provide and I am somewhat perturbed by my recently discovered high cholesterol and the chest discomfort I've had for almost forty-eight hours.
My findings: what a complete fucking joke.
$5000 deductible with 40% coinsurance after the deductible? How can you still call that insurance?
Are you familiar with this concept of coinsurance by the way? Maybe I have lived a sheltered life until now, but I had never heard of it until today. The word itself sounds ridiculous to me. If you don't know:
"Having a health plan that requires you to pay a coinsurance, or percentage participation, rate means that you’ll essentially be splitting the cost of your healthcare with your insurance carrier."
Pardon my French, but since when are we expected to go Dutch with our insurance companies? That's the whole reason they exist. Their sole purpose is to pick up the check.
The problem is I would like to go see a doctor, but I don't have a gajillion dollars to pay for it. So I figure I should look into health insurance. Now explain something to me, insurance companies....If I have to pay for the first $5,000 of my tab, how is that any different than having no coverage at all?
Not to beat a dead horse, but let's run through this one more time because I just don't get it....Let's say I pick one of these plans. I pay $200 a month as my monthly premium. Then I get sick and I want to go to the doctor. That costs me $30 in co-pay. Let's say they need to run a couple tests, an x-ray or some mild lab work. The bill for this little visit comes to $4,000. I now pay 100% of that too because my deductible has not been met (despite the $1,200 I have sent in as premium payments for the last six months). So let's say I need some sort of outpatient procedure done and that cost is gonna come to.....$5,000. I'll have to pay the first $1,000 which finally fulfills my deductible, but I'm not done yet! According to the co-insurance, I am still responsible for 20% of the remaining $4,000 which comes to $800. But I am now, thankfully, healthy. Let's summarize those numbers:
$1,200 = 6 months of premium payments
$30 = Office visit co-pay
$4,000 = Office visit bill including x-rays, tests
$1,000 = Outpatient surgery portion to reach deductible total
$800 = 20% coinsurance amount of remaining surgery bill
_________________________________________
$7,030 = Total paid by me for this medical issue whatever it may be
$3,200 = Amount paid by my "insurance" company for this issue (80% of the surgery subtotal)
Somebody, please, I impore you, tell me I am wrong and explain to me how it is not as royally fucked as it seems to me right now!
To be fair, I was able to find one or two plans that gave me the coverage I was looking for, $0 deductible, reasonable office-visit and ER copay, no coinsurance, and a small copay for generic prescriptions (I'm not even looking at vision or dental for fuck's sake!). They do exist....for a mere $445 a month. Somebody hand me a pen, I've got money to burn!
My findings: what a complete fucking joke.
$5000 deductible with 40% coinsurance after the deductible? How can you still call that insurance?
Are you familiar with this concept of coinsurance by the way? Maybe I have lived a sheltered life until now, but I had never heard of it until today. The word itself sounds ridiculous to me. If you don't know:
"Having a health plan that requires you to pay a coinsurance, or percentage participation, rate means that you’ll essentially be splitting the cost of your healthcare with your insurance carrier."
Pardon my French, but since when are we expected to go Dutch with our insurance companies? That's the whole reason they exist. Their sole purpose is to pick up the check.
The problem is I would like to go see a doctor, but I don't have a gajillion dollars to pay for it. So I figure I should look into health insurance. Now explain something to me, insurance companies....If I have to pay for the first $5,000 of my tab, how is that any different than having no coverage at all?
Not to beat a dead horse, but let's run through this one more time because I just don't get it....Let's say I pick one of these plans. I pay $200 a month as my monthly premium. Then I get sick and I want to go to the doctor. That costs me $30 in co-pay. Let's say they need to run a couple tests, an x-ray or some mild lab work. The bill for this little visit comes to $4,000. I now pay 100% of that too because my deductible has not been met (despite the $1,200 I have sent in as premium payments for the last six months). So let's say I need some sort of outpatient procedure done and that cost is gonna come to.....$5,000. I'll have to pay the first $1,000 which finally fulfills my deductible, but I'm not done yet! According to the co-insurance, I am still responsible for 20% of the remaining $4,000 which comes to $800. But I am now, thankfully, healthy. Let's summarize those numbers:
$1,200 = 6 months of premium payments
$30 = Office visit co-pay
$4,000 = Office visit bill including x-rays, tests
$1,000 = Outpatient surgery portion to reach deductible total
$800 = 20% coinsurance amount of remaining surgery bill
_________________________________________
$7,030 = Total paid by me for this medical issue whatever it may be
$3,200 = Amount paid by my "insurance" company for this issue (80% of the surgery subtotal)
Somebody, please, I impore you, tell me I am wrong and explain to me how it is not as royally fucked as it seems to me right now!
To be fair, I was able to find one or two plans that gave me the coverage I was looking for, $0 deductible, reasonable office-visit and ER copay, no coinsurance, and a small copay for generic prescriptions (I'm not even looking at vision or dental for fuck's sake!). They do exist....for a mere $445 a month. Somebody hand me a pen, I've got money to burn!
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
(Un) Learning to Fly
We got to talking about air travel again today at lunch, specifically the fear of air travel. It seems like I am coming across an increasing number of people who are afraid to fly and need Xanax or copious booze in order to get through it without having a breakdown. A lot of these people are like me in that they have only developed this fear in their adulthood. I wonder why that is.
Is it as simple as attributing it to 9/11 and TV shows and movies like "Lost" and "Cast Away" that graphically depict air disasters? I guess it could be, but if that were the main factor, it seems to me that our fears would gradually decrease over time, but I feel like the opposite is true. I am more afraid of flying now than I was flying to New York two weeks after 9/11 and I saw "Lost" and "Cast Away" years ago.
There have, of course, been real life crashes to inspire fear, but they are few and far between and we've all heard the statistics that say it is dramatically safer to travel by plane than it is by car.
Is it a natural increasing sense of our own mortality as we get older? I am sure that is some part of it, but that doesn't explain the specificity of this fear.
So what is it then?
Is it as simple as attributing it to 9/11 and TV shows and movies like "Lost" and "Cast Away" that graphically depict air disasters? I guess it could be, but if that were the main factor, it seems to me that our fears would gradually decrease over time, but I feel like the opposite is true. I am more afraid of flying now than I was flying to New York two weeks after 9/11 and I saw "Lost" and "Cast Away" years ago.
There have, of course, been real life crashes to inspire fear, but they are few and far between and we've all heard the statistics that say it is dramatically safer to travel by plane than it is by car.
Is it a natural increasing sense of our own mortality as we get older? I am sure that is some part of it, but that doesn't explain the specificity of this fear.
So what is it then?
Monday, June 15, 2009
My apologies to Twitter.
Objects in photo are as close as they appear.
No zoom necessary So I'm sitting on my couch watching my Lakers celebrate, wondering if I should head downtown and join in the looting of a discount shoe store, when my doorbell (text message alert ringtone) rings. It's T-Bone. He says John Mayer just posted on Twitter that he's doing an impromptu show at the Hotel Cafe at 11:30, five bucks. Five minutes later, I am in my car. Even coming from the west side, I beat the crowds, slipped in before the line had begun to form. If you haven't been there, The Hotel Cafe is about the size of a large coffeehouse. We abandoned prime wall position for the sake of proximity, shuffling to within 7 feet of the stage. And wouldn't you know it, a mere 12 minutes after he had said he'd be there, in strolls Mr. Mayer right behind us and up onto the stage. For a solid hour and a half, it was just JM, his electric guitar, and a hundred or so of his most attentive local fans. It was just awesome. He played mostly new stuff from his upcoming album, mixing in some old stuff here and there. He did do "Free Fallin'" and, I wanna tell you, he owned it. He was funny, frank, and surprisingly candid, admitting at one point that for a long time he had been an "arrogant douchebag," but now had a better perspective on life. At one point, he picked up a cell phone from a guy right in front, said hi to the stranger on the other end and then excused himself to go play another song. Just a funny, playful, relaxed vibe. When a girl shouted "I wanna be inside you" between songs, no one laughed like they might at a larger show where such things waft around without identity like a fog of marijuana smoke. It was as awkward as if she'd said it at a dinner party. When the show was over, he signed whatever anybody asked him to sign, he posed for seemingly every photo he was asked to take.
From the moment I stepped inside, I was already realizing this was perhaps a once in a lifetime experience. Nights like this are the stories I hear people tell of times they saw somebody play before they were famous or just happened to be at the right place at the right time. This time, I was a part of it and I knew right away how lucky I was to be there. T-Bone has dragged his roommate along with him, a guy who was not a JM fan at all. This guy was giddy with glee at the end of the night, an instant convert succumbed to the power of the experience and to one of the finest living guitar players. Say what you will about this city, but nights like this don't happen in too many places. The Lakers win their 15th championship, morons set cars on fire, and John Mayer slips into a quiet club to give a hundred people a show they'll be talking about for years. Just a Sunday night in Los Angeles.
Back in the High Life Again
I'll be back in the high life again... 
All the doors I closed one time will open up again...
I'll be back in the high life again...
All the eyes that watched me once will smile and take me in...Yes, I am quoting Steve Winwood in regards to a Laker game. So what? After years of Laker-hating raining down and "idiotic criticism," it's a beautiful morning in Los Angeles once again. Unless, of course, you're a cop who was injured by low-lifes "celebrating" or you had your car turned over and set on fire. I didn't realize there were that many Michigan State alums here in town. Seriously though, it is an absolute shame that something as joyous and pure as the Lakers' accomplishment is marred by the incomprehensible actions of a small percentage of mindless, lazy, barbaric sleazebags.
But back to the beauty of it all. From the top to the bottom to getting smacked in the mouth to getting right back up and climbing back to the top all over again. It's just sports, yes, but it is an amazing story, I think. Who would have believed this was possible when Phil was trashing Kobe in his book, when the Lakers were missing the playoffs or getting schooled in the first round? It was less than two years ago that I wrote a melancholy entry here lamenting what I thought was the imminent trade of Kobe and the plummeting fate of the franchise. And yet today the Lakers are champions once more, with Phil at the rudder and Kobe smiling and holding a Finals MVP trophy. If that's not redemption, I don't know what is.
Crank up the Randy Newman. I Love L.A.
P.S. I am 3 days deep in The Post-Title Pau Gasol Tribute Beard.
Friday, June 12, 2009
"Thank you, Vinny. That's very deep."
Sometimes in my dreams I see people (let's call them characters, actually) whom do not at all recognize. These characters are not anyone I have ever met or known in my life. They are not celebrities or people I might have seen on TV. They are complete and total strangers to me. This happens to you, right? I just wonder, since most things in dreams can be traced to some place in your subconscious mind, where do the strangers come from? How does the mind create them? I wonder if they are, coincidentally, real people that exist somewhere in the world.
Not to get all "Waking Life" on you, but do you think dreams really mean anything? Obviously, some are fairly clear in their apparent meaning. If you dream about accidentally showing up naked for the first day of school the night before the first day of school, it's not hard to figure out you are nervous about the first day of school. But what about the weirdest, most random dreams? Do those have meaning?
No, I did not smoke out at lunch today. I'm just reeeeeeeally bored at work.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Quote of the Day from Christine:
On why I strike her as Canadian:
"Because he's very nice and puts things in Tupperware."
Not to get all "Waking Life" on you, but do you think dreams really mean anything? Obviously, some are fairly clear in their apparent meaning. If you dream about accidentally showing up naked for the first day of school the night before the first day of school, it's not hard to figure out you are nervous about the first day of school. But what about the weirdest, most random dreams? Do those have meaning?
No, I did not smoke out at lunch today. I'm just reeeeeeeally bored at work.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Quote of the Day from Christine:
On why I strike her as Canadian:
"Because he's very nice and puts things in Tupperware."
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
The Way I See It #76
From the side of a recent Starbucks cup:
The irony of commitment is that it's deeply liberating--in work, in play, in love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation. To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life.
--Anne Morriss, Starbucks customer from New York City
I really like that quote and I absolutely agree with it. To me, that is always a huge challenge, to make that commitment and "remove my head as the barrier" to my goals or aspirtations.
The irony of commitment is that it's deeply liberating--in work, in play, in love. The act frees you from the tyranny of your internal critic, from the fear that likes to dress itself up and parade around as rational hesitation. To commit is to remove your head as the barrier to your life.
--Anne Morriss, Starbucks customer from New York City
I really like that quote and I absolutely agree with it. To me, that is always a huge challenge, to make that commitment and "remove my head as the barrier" to my goals or aspirtations.
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Back in the saddle
It occurs to me that I never seem to go to shows anymore. It used to be I would frequently comb the sites of my favorite small venues and when I found an artist I liked playing, boom, I was on it. It didn't matter if it was at 10 p.m. on a Tuesday on the other side of the worst traffic imaginable at a place that didn't serve food and had expensive parking. I went. And I loved it. It wasn't just entertaining, it was enriching and enlightening. Perhaps most importantly, it was inspirational. I don't really like to talk about writing, but I will say that, for me, there is no better way to light a fire than with a couple glasses of wine and an intimate concert. God bless the old Largo. I don't think it's a stretch to connect my lack of authorial spirit with my sharp drop in concert attendance. Why do we sometimes stray from the things that make us so happy? Granted, part of it is a financial sacrifice. With all the weddings and what not over the course these spring and summer months, I had to shy away from the big shows with the big ticket prices. No matter, those were not the shows most important to me anyway. It was the little shows with the $10 cash only at the door and the standing room only and I don't know why I got so lazy about them. I liken it to taking a loved one for granted. It's not that you lose interest or love, you just get complacent even if you're denying yourself happiness in the process. You could also compare it to gaining weight after moving in with a girlfriend/boyfriend. You don't mean for it to happen or notice as it's happening, but one day, there you are twenty pounds heavier. Laziness is addictive. Until you catch yourself and stop it, damn it. Stop the insanity! Tomorrow night, I declare I shall attend either the Hotel Cafe for Patrick Park or The Little Room at Largo for Peter Salett and Larry Goldings. It's time to get it going again, in more ways than one.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Gone Green
Oil companies, the buck stops here!
"Ed, this is not the car I ordered. I had the sportswagon with the optional rally fun pack."
After 4 hours of test drives, furrowed brows, long pauses, walk-out threats, and the requisite fascade of honest dealing, I am the proud owner of a new automobile.
"You think you hate it now, but wait 'til you drive it."
Did I go higher on my monthly payment than I said I would when I left the house that morning? Yeah, I did. But I was also talking about a lesser car with a fraction of the mpg. At the end of the day (literally), I got the car I really wanted at a fantastic price. I feel good about this.
"Believe me Honey, if you're gonna drive the whole tribe cross country, this is your automobile."
For a guy who hems and haws over the most insignificant decisions, you can imagine the weight of my agony in making such a substantial commitment. If I had walked out of there with a brand new Porsche for $10,000, interest free, I would still be going gray with second guessing. Getting married was easier than this.
It's over now. It's me, my Jetson-mobile and the open (or traffic jammed) road. Damn it, I feel like driving to San Francisco right now. Make that San Francisco and back....on 1.1 tanks of gas?
P.S. Also still mourning the loss of Big Erv. I can't shake the last image of him sitting there, naked without all my personal junk he had been needlessly holding for all those years. Stripped of his Angels Baseball license plate frame. Sold for pennies on the dollar to a collection of strangers intending to do God knows what with him. It pains me. Okay, I really need to get a hold of myself with this kind of talk. It's just a car...it's just a car...it's just a car...
P.P.S. Despite the now apparent danger of personifying one's automobile, I think this new ride needs a name. The license plate letters are no help there so it's going to be more work to come up with something.
How about (Pri) Fontaine?
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Steak Dinner Series
Lakers vs. Magic. For the NBA Title. Kobe Bryant playing for his legacy. The Lakers playing for redemption. The Magic playing for respect. But it's so much more than that...there's steak on the line.
The Bet: The Lakers vs. The Eastern Conference Field
The Setting: 2009 NBA Finals, Best of 7 starting tonight in Los Angeles
The Setting: 2009 NBA Finals, Best of 7 starting tonight in Los Angeles
The Stakes: Steaks. Loser treats the winner to a steak dinner at the venue of his choosing.
Bill Brasky got the better of me last year when his beloved Celtics crushed my Lakers. I can't eat crowe two years in a row. This year, I eat steak. If I have to go Jeff Gillooly on somebody to win this thing, I am prepared to do it.
Let's Go Lakers! I implore you, don't let me down.
P.S. New, low-degree pet peeve: people that say "pitchers" instead of "pictures."
Also....For the second time this week I have encountered a misunderstanding about the meaning of the saying "It's all downhill from here." To me, this saying means that the hard work is done, that it's all coasting from here, the fun part of the rollercoaster ride is beginning, etc. I see it as a good thing. To say it's all uphill from here, to me, would imply that the hardest work is still to come. Both times I have used the phrase in this way this week, the other person has understood it to have meant the exact opposite. It makes no sense the other way. I understand that "down" can often have negative connotations, but "downhill" is a different word and a different story. Am I right or am I wrong?
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Ailing Erv
So Big Erv (my car) is at the doctor's and it doesn't look good. We're talking timing belt, bare minimum. I could commit to do the timing belt for $1,100 only to have him get in there and find the problem is something else that would then jack the cost up to $3,500. That is obviously too much to pay in repairs for a 1995 car no matter how much you have bonded with it. But I wouldn't be able to find out without committing to the $1,100. So I could pay $1,100 and still have to get a new car. Also, given his advanced age and mileage, I could do all these repairs and some other major thing could go bad two months down the line. Conrad said it best, I am basically playing Russian Roulette, automotivally speaking.
So this day, all day, has been spent weighing my options and looking at cars online. Good thing I didn't have any work to do today.
Man oh man, it was nice not having a car payment for.....a whole year? One-point-five? (Sigh).
UPDATE:
So the decision has been made to let Big Erv go. This is tough to do. I realize it sounds ridiculous to be emotionally attached to a machine, but tell me you didn't get misty when they lowered Arnold into the molten metal at the end of Terminator 2. It happens, folks. I would venture it's even more likely to happen here in Southern California where we spend half our lives in our cars. A bond forms, damn it. Big Erv was the first car I ever bought on my own. I made for every cent of him with my own hard-earned dollars. I washed him. I changed his oil. I took him to Vegas. We're carpool buddies. I know this is temporary. I haven't thought about my car previous to Erv in ages. I know when I get the new car, whatever it may be, I will be swept up in the romance of new car love all over again. But right now, it hurts.
So this day, all day, has been spent weighing my options and looking at cars online. Good thing I didn't have any work to do today.
Man oh man, it was nice not having a car payment for.....a whole year? One-point-five? (Sigh).
UPDATE:
So the decision has been made to let Big Erv go. This is tough to do. I realize it sounds ridiculous to be emotionally attached to a machine, but tell me you didn't get misty when they lowered Arnold into the molten metal at the end of Terminator 2. It happens, folks. I would venture it's even more likely to happen here in Southern California where we spend half our lives in our cars. A bond forms, damn it. Big Erv was the first car I ever bought on my own. I made for every cent of him with my own hard-earned dollars. I washed him. I changed his oil. I took him to Vegas. We're carpool buddies. I know this is temporary. I haven't thought about my car previous to Erv in ages. I know when I get the new car, whatever it may be, I will be swept up in the romance of new car love all over again. But right now, it hurts.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Color Me Grounded
How scary is this story about the Air France flight that went down? Excuse me, how absolutely fucking horrifically petrifying is this story? I can't seem to get it out of my head. I imagine myself on board as it's all going down and it gives me the chills and a pain in my chest. I think I am a little hypersensitive to it in light of our experiences flying into and out of Miami two weeks ago.
Flying in, it was lightly raining when we landed. We connected to our next plane and were waiting to pull away from the terminal when they told us there was a mechanical problem and that we would have to unload and reload aboard a new plane. Better to do it while we're on the ground, I say. So an hour or so later we get on the new plane, but by this time the light rain has become frequent lightning and rattling thunder. They have to call in the grounds crew that was transferring the baggage. We sit on the plane for three hours as I look out the window at the lighting, wondering if I will be spending the first night of my honeymoon in the Miami Airport. When we do finally take off, the lightning is not completely gone and I begin wondering if the plane can withstand a strike. The flight is bumpy and rough, but it does land safely. Luckily, the Jack Daniels was free because I might have blown my wad on that tab. Throughout the week, we met a couple that had flown in from New York and had the same problem. Also in Miami, also on American Airlines.
On the way home, the weather was fine. After a three hour layover, we took off on schedule. About three or four minutes after takeoff, we noticed we had already leveled off in altitude. Sure enough, the pilot came on and informed us we would have to turn back and land again in Miami. The windshield was overheating and possibly cracking*. At this point, I am losing it inside. When we touch down back in Miami, the emergency trucks are all there on the runway waiting for us, following us with sirens blazing as we move toward the terminal. Having not used any fuel, we were overweight and they were concerned about the gear. After some inspection, they decided to get us off that plane and onto a new one. Thank God. Another three hours later, we took off again, this time for keeps. My friend John Daniels was there again to ease my anxiety and fear of death. Again, it thankfully free. This time, the flight attendant gave me two bottles at once. My desperation must have showed.
Three AA planes in one airport inside of a week. Is it time to update the fleet, ya think?
Anyway, I don't meant to compare my experience with those who died tragically on Flight 447. What I am able to imagine about their experience makes me sick with horror. I connect the two only to better explain why I am done flying for a while.
Flying in, it was lightly raining when we landed. We connected to our next plane and were waiting to pull away from the terminal when they told us there was a mechanical problem and that we would have to unload and reload aboard a new plane. Better to do it while we're on the ground, I say. So an hour or so later we get on the new plane, but by this time the light rain has become frequent lightning and rattling thunder. They have to call in the grounds crew that was transferring the baggage. We sit on the plane for three hours as I look out the window at the lighting, wondering if I will be spending the first night of my honeymoon in the Miami Airport. When we do finally take off, the lightning is not completely gone and I begin wondering if the plane can withstand a strike. The flight is bumpy and rough, but it does land safely. Luckily, the Jack Daniels was free because I might have blown my wad on that tab. Throughout the week, we met a couple that had flown in from New York and had the same problem. Also in Miami, also on American Airlines.
On the way home, the weather was fine. After a three hour layover, we took off on schedule. About three or four minutes after takeoff, we noticed we had already leveled off in altitude. Sure enough, the pilot came on and informed us we would have to turn back and land again in Miami. The windshield was overheating and possibly cracking*. At this point, I am losing it inside. When we touch down back in Miami, the emergency trucks are all there on the runway waiting for us, following us with sirens blazing as we move toward the terminal. Having not used any fuel, we were overweight and they were concerned about the gear. After some inspection, they decided to get us off that plane and onto a new one. Thank God. Another three hours later, we took off again, this time for keeps. My friend John Daniels was there again to ease my anxiety and fear of death. Again, it thankfully free. This time, the flight attendant gave me two bottles at once. My desperation must have showed.
Three AA planes in one airport inside of a week. Is it time to update the fleet, ya think?
Anyway, I don't meant to compare my experience with those who died tragically on Flight 447. What I am able to imagine about their experience makes me sick with horror. I connect the two only to better explain why I am done flying for a while.
Monday, June 01, 2009
Maybe their future is too bright?
In the last couple months, I have developed a new pet peeve. Great news, right? I really needed another one, I'm sure you'll agree. So the latest thing that I can't stand, that makes me want to slap somebody are these people that wear their sunglasses indoors. Maybe it's just me noticing it more, but it seems like it's getting to be a lot more prevalent. I go to Whole Foods for lunch and there will undoubtedly be some hispter sporting his neon pink Ray-Bans in the fresh buffet. Go home and watch TV and I can't escape the designated driver public service announcement with the guy in the back seat singing along with Biz Markie....and wearing sunglasses in the dead of night. On the plane to my honeymoon destination, there was a douche who did not take his sunglasses off the entire flight--an evening flight in the thick of a nasty thunderstorm, mind you. Could a person be any more gratuitous and pathetically grasping if they wore a t-shirt that said "I am trying SO hard to be cool." Actually, no because such a t-shirt would be seen as sarcastic and we all know the sarcastic t-shirt is a whole other battle in itself. If achieving "coolness" is something these people are so earnestly striving for, you would at least think that they would understand that the coolest of the cool, i.e. George Clooney, do it without looking like they're trying so hard. Maybe it's the difference between Classic Cool and Hipster Cool. Come to think of it, wasn't Joe wearing his sunglasses on the plane on the flight home? Did he take them off when he woke up? I don't recall. My policy is, if you are wearing sunglasses at night or indoors, you had better be Jack Nicholson.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Back.
I have been meaning to get back on the blogging horse for a couple days now, but the last two weeks were so incredible, to know where to begin was overwhelming.
So my solution is to skip the reporting. Chances are, you were there for the Old Guy Beer Challenge, Rocky Mountain Oysters, an epic Flip Cup collapse, Conrad struggling to open the salsa jar while completely nude, sawdust angels in Deadwood, my shocking disarmament as Beer chugging champion at the hands of my new sister-in-law, the wheelchair dance, The Gambler, and, oh yeah, my wedding. No point in recounting a whirlwind of good times that you were most likely present for. If not, at least we will still have something to talk about in person. That and the honeymoon (hey oh!). Now that that's out of the way, there are some things I would like to say...
--Before it all started, my married friend Bernie told me, "Enjoy the ride." That's exactly what it was, a ride. As we pull back into the station of real life, I truly wish I could signal the operator and go through it all over again right now. (Sorry, I am a sucker for metaphors, even the cheesy ones)
--Everyone has their own lives, of course. Some were a week away from proposing marriage themselves in New York. Some came straight from their last final in Washington State. Some were pregnant and traveling alone. Some drove for two weeks to get there and back. One even scheduled his friggin' chemotherapy so that he could make it. It was not an easy trip for anyone. To say, "Thanks for coming" just doesn't even scratch the surface. I could not be more humbled or more grateful to all who made such huge sacrifices and effort just to be there, for us. And the same goes for those who truly wanted to make it, but simply just could not do it. I know you felt bad, but I am here to tell you there are no hard feelings and I'll use you folks as an opportunity to relive the whole thing again in pictures and stories.
--Back to Val demolishing me in the chug race...Wasn't that just astounding? You would think my manly pride would be shredded, but it's like losing to Michael Jordan or Tiger Woods, there's no shame in it. You're just thankful that you can tell your grand kids the story of how you once went up against the greatest. Seriously...I was in a chugging contest but Val was in a pouring contest. Nuff said.
--I consider my toilet-papered work station to be a badge of honor. I'm touched, guys.
--In the spirit of the great Bob Weily, I proud to announce that I am now a Scuba diver. I dive. With sharks.
So my solution is to skip the reporting. Chances are, you were there for the Old Guy Beer Challenge, Rocky Mountain Oysters, an epic Flip Cup collapse, Conrad struggling to open the salsa jar while completely nude, sawdust angels in Deadwood, my shocking disarmament as Beer chugging champion at the hands of my new sister-in-law, the wheelchair dance, The Gambler, and, oh yeah, my wedding. No point in recounting a whirlwind of good times that you were most likely present for. If not, at least we will still have something to talk about in person. That and the honeymoon (hey oh!). Now that that's out of the way, there are some things I would like to say...
--Before it all started, my married friend Bernie told me, "Enjoy the ride." That's exactly what it was, a ride. As we pull back into the station of real life, I truly wish I could signal the operator and go through it all over again right now. (Sorry, I am a sucker for metaphors, even the cheesy ones)
--Everyone has their own lives, of course. Some were a week away from proposing marriage themselves in New York. Some came straight from their last final in Washington State. Some were pregnant and traveling alone. Some drove for two weeks to get there and back. One even scheduled his friggin' chemotherapy so that he could make it. It was not an easy trip for anyone. To say, "Thanks for coming" just doesn't even scratch the surface. I could not be more humbled or more grateful to all who made such huge sacrifices and effort just to be there, for us. And the same goes for those who truly wanted to make it, but simply just could not do it. I know you felt bad, but I am here to tell you there are no hard feelings and I'll use you folks as an opportunity to relive the whole thing again in pictures and stories.
--Back to Val demolishing me in the chug race...Wasn't that just astounding? You would think my manly pride would be shredded, but it's like losing to Michael Jordan or Tiger Woods, there's no shame in it. You're just thankful that you can tell your grand kids the story of how you once went up against the greatest. Seriously...I was in a chugging contest but Val was in a pouring contest. Nuff said.
--I consider my toilet-papered work station to be a badge of honor. I'm touched, guys.
--In the spirit of the great Bob Weily, I proud to announce that I am now a Scuba diver. I dive. With sharks.
--As evidence of my admitted status as a complete dork, the song I could not stop singing after said diving was "Under the Sea" from Disney's "The Little Mermaid."
--Music recommendation: Belgian singer-songwriter Milow, a.k.a. Jonathan Vandenbroeck. I don't recall whether I was lead to him by Pandora or Itunes Genius, but aren't they both Godsend technological devices anyway. I would compare him to a stripped down Joshua Radin. By stripped down, I mean less production...his voice sounds unfiltered or duplicated. Is that what they call that, duplicating? Probably not. I mean when it's two separate tracks of the same guy singing the same thing in the same key that exist only for, I'm guessing, texture. Anyway, Milow uses none of that, not that there's anything wrong with it. It's light, mellow (yuk yuk yuk), acoustic, singer-songwriter, pop rock with some nice writing and a voice that is not American Idol calibur (thankfully), but earns points for its seeming sincerity. It's probably not "fun" enough to earn my label of "CD of The Summer," but would definitely garner consideration.
--I have mowed my first lawn. That is in no way a metaphor. So it wasn't a push mower. So what. 'Twas still a vast green that I cut down to size, my friends. I had my red Joe Jost's hat, my Springsteen on the Ipod, my manhood claimed.
--Another first, and possibly last...I have flown 1st Class! Waiting in line to board in Denver, Nicole hears her name called on the PA. She gets out of line to get the scoop and returns with two 1st class seat upgrades, courtesy of the wonderful Charles (though we would not figure that out right away). Upon boarding, we were immediately asked what we would like to drink. I asked what the choices were and the very kind gentleman replied "Anything you want." Wow. So I had some wine for starters. And get this--I crossed my legs, resting the side of my foot on my other knee. On a plane, I did this!! I also reclined without the slightest hint of guilt. The whole experience was something I could definitely get used to. In fact, on all subsequent flights, I did inquire about an upgrade, but all flights were full so, luckily, the bubble of possibility was not burst by the reality of cost. Maybe next time? Maybe? No? Okay, but just maybe? One thing I noticed was that upon receiving the tickets, we didn't get back in line. We went straight to the front of the line in the priority line thingy and we didn't even think about it. What does that say about us, I fear. Ah screw it, bless you, Charles!
--First time it hit me that I am really, truly, completely married: On the plane en route to honeymoon. Getting up to ask the flight attendant (I started typing "steward...") for a Diet Coke, I explained that "My wife feels a migraine coming on." Ding! "My Wife." That was me saying that. The thing about the term "wife" is that it's so general. "Girlfriend" most likely means you have been seeing each other for 1 month-4 years, give or take. Obviously, there are exceptions. "Fiance" clearly implies where you are in the relationship and more or less when too, 7-18 months from tying the know. "Wife," however, could mean you're on your honeymoon or your 50th anniversary. I think there should be another term used for the early stages of marriage. There's "newlywed," of course, but you don't address someone as "my newlywed." One term I know I am going to get a lot of mileage out of......."Wifey."
"What's going on?"
"Nothing much, just sittin' here wif my wifey."
You can imagine the possibilities.
Friday, May 08, 2009
I Hath Failed
Mark Thursday, May 7th as the day I cracked. With my impending absence from work, I had a full day of clearing my desk before heading out for the Angels game. Why not use Conrad's Iphone to throw up a quickie post from the game? Two reasons:
1) We had the finest seats of my life and it would not have been advisable, from a safety standpoint, to take my eyes off the field for the risk of a right-handed hitter spraying a liner foul into my grill.
2) I'm not that serious about the whole thing.
It was a great game with the seats, the buddies, the retro 1980 uniforms, the first career complete game by Jered Weaver, two home runs by my fantasy players, and approximately 9,000 calories consumed. Not to mention, "Just Another Halo Victory!"
Someday when life allows, I would love to get season tickets to the Angels with the guys. And I'm not talking about going in on a couple seats and going to 30 games or so when we can and selling or giving away the extras. I'm talking about setting aside that summer and literally attending every single home game. Taking the journey with the team. Making the commitment to the team and with your bestest buds. It probably won't happen and if it does, I doubt it would be before we're all retired and the kids have all moved out (and they haven't even been conceived yet). What can I say, it's a dream of mine.
It bothers me when I am out running and a fellow runner passes me going the opposite way on the sidewalk and shuns me when I nod or smile at them. Now given the crazies in this world, I can fully understand why sometimes people might be wary of greeting a stranger on the street. Sometimes you feel it, sometimes you don't. I get that. But it's friggin' seven in the morning, folks. It's a proven fact that psychos sleep well past seven. Not to mention that they normally don't put on gym clothes and go jogging (soft J). I don't know about you stiffs, but I am rather proud if I am able to drag my ass out of bed and hit the streets for some stone cold sweatin'. Are you so pro that you feel not the pride? If you do feel it, are you too cool or tough to share it? I'm running, you're running; how about some sign of solidarity, guys? It reminds me of those rare times when you run into somebody wearing the exact same shirt as you. Some people smile and nod. Others are humorless dimwits or are simply above such frivolities. Same principle here, I guess. Color me a smiler.
Heading back to the heartland manana. We're gonna go for it. See most of you there next week! Hooooooooooooooooooooo!
I leave you with this great song by Glen Phillips.
1) We had the finest seats of my life and it would not have been advisable, from a safety standpoint, to take my eyes off the field for the risk of a right-handed hitter spraying a liner foul into my grill.
2) I'm not that serious about the whole thing.
It was a great game with the seats, the buddies, the retro 1980 uniforms, the first career complete game by Jered Weaver, two home runs by my fantasy players, and approximately 9,000 calories consumed. Not to mention, "Just Another Halo Victory!"
Someday when life allows, I would love to get season tickets to the Angels with the guys. And I'm not talking about going in on a couple seats and going to 30 games or so when we can and selling or giving away the extras. I'm talking about setting aside that summer and literally attending every single home game. Taking the journey with the team. Making the commitment to the team and with your bestest buds. It probably won't happen and if it does, I doubt it would be before we're all retired and the kids have all moved out (and they haven't even been conceived yet). What can I say, it's a dream of mine.
It bothers me when I am out running and a fellow runner passes me going the opposite way on the sidewalk and shuns me when I nod or smile at them. Now given the crazies in this world, I can fully understand why sometimes people might be wary of greeting a stranger on the street. Sometimes you feel it, sometimes you don't. I get that. But it's friggin' seven in the morning, folks. It's a proven fact that psychos sleep well past seven. Not to mention that they normally don't put on gym clothes and go jogging (soft J). I don't know about you stiffs, but I am rather proud if I am able to drag my ass out of bed and hit the streets for some stone cold sweatin'. Are you so pro that you feel not the pride? If you do feel it, are you too cool or tough to share it? I'm running, you're running; how about some sign of solidarity, guys? It reminds me of those rare times when you run into somebody wearing the exact same shirt as you. Some people smile and nod. Others are humorless dimwits or are simply above such frivolities. Same principle here, I guess. Color me a smiler.
Heading back to the heartland manana. We're gonna go for it. See most of you there next week! Hooooooooooooooooooooo!
I leave you with this great song by Glen Phillips.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
The Grudge
One of my favorite parts of the movie "Diner," is where the guys are coming out of the movie theater when Tim Daley goes up and punches some guy seemingly out of the blue. Then his friends see who it was...Willard Bruxton(!), the last of a baseball team that had beaten up Daley's character as a kid and to whom he had sworn revenge. Even as he's a late-2o-something who's dealing with much more adult issues, he still settles the score with this childhood foe, standing over him and saying, "Now we're even." Is it immature and foolish? Sure, but it's so true. Though it's not necessarily a man thing, I think a lot of us guys have one or two people we'd still like to clock if we could. I know I do, and I'm not even a fighter. Far from it.
I hadn't thought about the guy in years when the other night as I tried to sleep, my mind in its own roundabout way led me back to this son of a bitch. His name was Brian and he was a counselor at the YMCA where I went to summer day camp. I had this friend named Ryan that I had known since pre-school. I was more quiet and shy than most of the kids and I think I was definitely a little clingy in regards to Ryan. He was actually kind of a little shit too now that I think about it, but only in a little kid kind of way, nothing serious. Anywho, we were in a church gymnasium that day, complete with carpeted basketball court, and I must have been following my friend Ryan around. He didn't like this I guess so he went and told Counselor Brian that I was following him. Before I describe what happened next, let me tell you about Brian. He was like a punk-rock, losery kind of guy. Not a guy who had this job because he enjoyed or worked well with children. I'm pretty sure he was there because he was involved with another one of the counselors. Half his head was buzzed short with the other half long, bleached and spiked out to its fullest. He wore studded bracelets and had a small voice he used to grumble out sentences with. In other words, to us 9-year-olds, he was really really cool. So there we were, Ryan, Brian, and I, with some other kids in the periphery, absorbing Brian's cool detachment when Brian hears Ryan's complaint (I should have changed one of their names). His deft, professional reply?
"Leave him alone, Fat Boy."
Motherfuckinweaselworthlesspieceofshit. I retreated to the least populated area of the gym, embarrassed like no other, emotionally devastated. I was a sensitive little guy with a complex about my weight. Hearing those words from an authority figure, albeit a dipshit version of one, and in front of all the other kids...it was rough. I told my mom about it, but I wouldn't let her call to complain, luckily for Brian.
Now I know what you might be thinking...Sure, that sucked, but grow up, get over it. And I have, I assure you. I haven't wasted a moment of my life thinking about it or fretting over it (with the obvious exception of this post, but, hey, I was gonna write something anyway). Not to mention, I am a big believer in the old adage, "The best revenge is a life well-lived." This is just one of those Willard Bruxton things, ya know?
I will go on whistling a happy tune, but Punker Brian, formerly of the Lakewood-Weingart Family YMCA, just know that should I ever see you in a crowd outside a movie theater, you are going down, buddy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
YOU MAKE THE CALL:
Is it acceptable to talk somewhat loudly or on one's cell phone, or both simultaneously, while in a book store?
You know my answer. No. Friggin. Way. True, it's not a library and I'm not saying it should be dead silent. They've got the cafe with the whistling milk steamers and the jingle of the register. There's even music playing throughout the store, of course. But it's a still a merchant of books, dammit, and thus is a designated place of peace, quiet, and reflection.
I hadn't thought about the guy in years when the other night as I tried to sleep, my mind in its own roundabout way led me back to this son of a bitch. His name was Brian and he was a counselor at the YMCA where I went to summer day camp. I had this friend named Ryan that I had known since pre-school. I was more quiet and shy than most of the kids and I think I was definitely a little clingy in regards to Ryan. He was actually kind of a little shit too now that I think about it, but only in a little kid kind of way, nothing serious. Anywho, we were in a church gymnasium that day, complete with carpeted basketball court, and I must have been following my friend Ryan around. He didn't like this I guess so he went and told Counselor Brian that I was following him. Before I describe what happened next, let me tell you about Brian. He was like a punk-rock, losery kind of guy. Not a guy who had this job because he enjoyed or worked well with children. I'm pretty sure he was there because he was involved with another one of the counselors. Half his head was buzzed short with the other half long, bleached and spiked out to its fullest. He wore studded bracelets and had a small voice he used to grumble out sentences with. In other words, to us 9-year-olds, he was really really cool. So there we were, Ryan, Brian, and I, with some other kids in the periphery, absorbing Brian's cool detachment when Brian hears Ryan's complaint (I should have changed one of their names). His deft, professional reply?
"Leave him alone, Fat Boy."
Motherfuckinweaselworthlesspieceofshit. I retreated to the least populated area of the gym, embarrassed like no other, emotionally devastated. I was a sensitive little guy with a complex about my weight. Hearing those words from an authority figure, albeit a dipshit version of one, and in front of all the other kids...it was rough. I told my mom about it, but I wouldn't let her call to complain, luckily for Brian.
Now I know what you might be thinking...Sure, that sucked, but grow up, get over it. And I have, I assure you. I haven't wasted a moment of my life thinking about it or fretting over it (with the obvious exception of this post, but, hey, I was gonna write something anyway). Not to mention, I am a big believer in the old adage, "The best revenge is a life well-lived." This is just one of those Willard Bruxton things, ya know?
I will go on whistling a happy tune, but Punker Brian, formerly of the Lakewood-Weingart Family YMCA, just know that should I ever see you in a crowd outside a movie theater, you are going down, buddy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
YOU MAKE THE CALL:
Is it acceptable to talk somewhat loudly or on one's cell phone, or both simultaneously, while in a book store?
You know my answer. No. Friggin. Way. True, it's not a library and I'm not saying it should be dead silent. They've got the cafe with the whistling milk steamers and the jingle of the register. There's even music playing throughout the store, of course. But it's a still a merchant of books, dammit, and thus is a designated place of peace, quiet, and reflection.
Rain, rain go away...
Visualize success...If you will it, it is no dream.I have been beating the drum for rain for years. I have looked to the sky begging for rain, praising it when it delivered, cursing it when it did not. My every step has been in time with a lifelong rain dance. And now, my friends, it's all about to bite me in the ass.
While the 10-day forecast doesn't quite reach to the big day yet, the weather all this week is rain, t-storms, and rain. Perhaps my impending arrival is causing an electromagnetic disturbance in the atmosphere like The Terminator arriving from the future, crouched nude. Perhaps I am destined to fall on my knees and beg the weather gods for a mere thirty minutes of well-timed mercy so that I may marry outdoors as planned.
How's the honeymoon forecast you ask? Again, can't quite see that far ahead yet, but they are also expecting t-storms next week, granted amid 85-degree temps. I am less concerned about this one, but I am still begging for a reprieve.
Please, give me sunshine. I implore you. I offer as sacrifice my annual blog post complaining about 90 degree, sunny days in late October...plus a helluva nice watch.
Also...
Happy Cinco De Mayo, mis amigos! !Cervesas y margaritas para todos! Unfortunately, I shant be partaking as tonight marks a crucial step in my vacation preparation. Back Wax Night, everybody!
Monday, May 04, 2009
Get a hold of yourself, man!
This picture is from Cruiser's wedding. That's me and Joe on the right, wiping tears away before the first words have even been said. I'm in trouble.
We stopped by my grandparents for a visit Saturday night and I started to realize what's in store for me. We were just sitting there talking and I was fighting back tears thinking about the big day to come, how happy I was that they were going to be there, and how touched I was that they were going to be driving cross-country to be there. Come wedding time, I might have to ask somebody to punch me in the arm to save me from becoming a slobbering, cry-sloppy fool.
These are the days, aren't they?
In this last week before we skip town, one of the many last minute preparations I'm working on is to find a good book to take on the honeymoon. No politics, nothing depressing, upsetting, or very heavy. Beach reading, light but not frivolous, a quick read that leaves a lasting impression. Ya know, a good, solid summer read. I have one or two finalists on my shelf right now, but I always like to have a backup should my appetite shift once I get there. Anyone out there have any recommendations?
Went to a First Communion Saturday before my grandparents'. Saw actor Robert Davi. Also known as.....the white Special Agent Johnson from a little movie called "Die Hard" or Jake Fratelli from "The Goonies!" This was very exciting for me. At least I think it was him. I'm 90% sure. Let's just say it was, okay? Don't ruin it for me.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Got the drugs, on the mend
The sinus pressure is mostly relieved. However, now I am quite punchy. Dizzy and loopy, feeling like I just got punched very very hard or suplexed. Since it's a sinus thing, I can't really tell if the drugs are working overtime or not working at all. But it's kind of fun. I should avoid driving, I think.
Well, the big day is rapidly approaching. One way I know this, other than by the calendar, is that I had my first wedding anxiety dream last night. The ceremony was indoors for some reason, hopefully not a harbinger of things to come (damn you, rain and snow). It was just about go time, but the bulk of the best men were nowhere to be found. I came out of the bathroom and found they had arrived. However, Conrad and Adam were in a very conspicuous shouting match and Bill and Cruiser were raising hell too. I drew them outside and asked what their damn problem was. Then we realized they hadn't been at the rehearsal dinner the night before and didn't know where to go, what to do, or who to do it with. I then realized I had no idea either. I looked at my watch and we were a full ten minutes behind schedule. The End.
In terms of wedding anxiety dreams, that's a pretty benign one, I think. No offense to the groomsmen. If you put any stock in the affairs of my subconscious, I would have been stashed away in Arkham Asylum long ago.
I don't usually get into box office rankings, but this weekend's movie openings provide a battle of the demographics like no other. "Wolverine" vs. "Ghosts of Girlfriends Past," i.e. guy movie vs. chick flick. Hugh Jackman with adamantium claws that come out of his friggin' hands vs. Matthew McConaughey visited by all the women he's wronged. Could be the ultimate battle royale of who wears the pants in your relationship.
I, of course, will be seeing "Wolverine." Hell, I might make it a double feature with "State of Play" just for shits and giggles. "Prognosis Negative!!!!"
(Nevermind, that Nicole has no interest in "Ghosts" or that she has to go shopping anyway.)
Well, the big day is rapidly approaching. One way I know this, other than by the calendar, is that I had my first wedding anxiety dream last night. The ceremony was indoors for some reason, hopefully not a harbinger of things to come (damn you, rain and snow). It was just about go time, but the bulk of the best men were nowhere to be found. I came out of the bathroom and found they had arrived. However, Conrad and Adam were in a very conspicuous shouting match and Bill and Cruiser were raising hell too. I drew them outside and asked what their damn problem was. Then we realized they hadn't been at the rehearsal dinner the night before and didn't know where to go, what to do, or who to do it with. I then realized I had no idea either. I looked at my watch and we were a full ten minutes behind schedule. The End.
In terms of wedding anxiety dreams, that's a pretty benign one, I think. No offense to the groomsmen. If you put any stock in the affairs of my subconscious, I would have been stashed away in Arkham Asylum long ago.
I don't usually get into box office rankings, but this weekend's movie openings provide a battle of the demographics like no other. "Wolverine" vs. "Ghosts of Girlfriends Past," i.e. guy movie vs. chick flick. Hugh Jackman with adamantium claws that come out of his friggin' hands vs. Matthew McConaughey visited by all the women he's wronged. Could be the ultimate battle royale of who wears the pants in your relationship.
I, of course, will be seeing "Wolverine." Hell, I might make it a double feature with "State of Play" just for shits and giggles. "Prognosis Negative!!!!"
(Nevermind, that Nicole has no interest in "Ghosts" or that she has to go shopping anyway.)
Thursday, April 30, 2009
State or Wolverine? Fact or Crap?
And to El Doctor I shall go!
I caved this morning and had some coffee. At this point, the conventional methods of healing aren't working anyway so I might as well enjoy a tasty cup o' joe.
Has anyone seen "State of Play?" I want to see it, but there is also "Wolverine" to contend with.
Going to a Kentucky Derby party this weekend. I shall be slurping a mint julep and betting on horses I have never heard of. I watched "Seabiscuit" yesterday to get in the spirit. Now I just wish I had a fedora to wear.
Andrea The Receptionist has a tear-off daily calendar on her desk that has become a company favorite. It's called "Fact or Crap" which pretty much explains it. Today's Fact-or-Crap tidbit:
John Lennon and Yoko Ono once staged a month-long "bed-in" to raise awareness for world peace. (see below for answer)
Answer: CRAP! The couple did stage two "bed-ins," one in Amsterdam and one in Montreal, but they lasted one week each.
A bed-in. How very radical. Raise your hand if you've ever staged a bed-in on the fly. Raise your hand if it raised awareness about anything but your own lazy delight.
I caved this morning and had some coffee. At this point, the conventional methods of healing aren't working anyway so I might as well enjoy a tasty cup o' joe.
Has anyone seen "State of Play?" I want to see it, but there is also "Wolverine" to contend with.
Going to a Kentucky Derby party this weekend. I shall be slurping a mint julep and betting on horses I have never heard of. I watched "Seabiscuit" yesterday to get in the spirit. Now I just wish I had a fedora to wear.
Andrea The Receptionist has a tear-off daily calendar on her desk that has become a company favorite. It's called "Fact or Crap" which pretty much explains it. Today's Fact-or-Crap tidbit:
John Lennon and Yoko Ono once staged a month-long "bed-in" to raise awareness for world peace. (see below for answer)
Answer: CRAP! The couple did stage two "bed-ins," one in Amsterdam and one in Montreal, but they lasted one week each.
A bed-in. How very radical. Raise your hand if you've ever staged a bed-in on the fly. Raise your hand if it raised awareness about anything but your own lazy delight.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Still F'in Sick
Came home early again. This son of a bitch has been sinuses in a vise. I fear this is no common cold, but rather the insidious sinus infection by which I have so many times been afflicted. So my mucus isn't green. So what. I have flushed my system with fluids. I have rested like a bear in winter. I have had my damn chicken soup, and I am still feeling like I'm thirty feet underwater. If another night of Nyquil sleep doesn't bring me some relief, I am off to see the doctor. If the only way this thing will free me is if I eradicate it with antibiotics, then so be it. My conscience will be clear.
One thing that bemused me yesterday: my unconscious ability to type. I never had a class and I never tried to teach myself. Through years of e-mailing and IMing, my fingers have just learned where the keys are on the board. For example, if you asked me where the "Y" key was, I couldn't tell you beyond a shot in the dark. Yet as I start this sentence with that very key, I do so (and throughout the post) without once looking down to guide my fingers. They know even though I do not. I am sure a lot of us "learned" typing this way, but isn't that just weird? I wonder what else I know how to do that I don't know about.
One thing that bemused me yesterday: my unconscious ability to type. I never had a class and I never tried to teach myself. Through years of e-mailing and IMing, my fingers have just learned where the keys are on the board. For example, if you asked me where the "Y" key was, I couldn't tell you beyond a shot in the dark. Yet as I start this sentence with that very key, I do so (and throughout the post) without once looking down to guide my fingers. They know even though I do not. I am sure a lot of us "learned" typing this way, but isn't that just weird? I wonder what else I know how to do that I don't know about.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Home sick.
So the Swine Flu it's not. Just your average cold. Had some matzo ball soup for lunch. Watched "The Natural" with a long intermission for a nap. It would have been longer had my phone not woken me up. I should have learned by now to turn it off because I swear every single time I am sick and napping, somebody calls right smack dab in the heart of the thing. And I don't usually get calls during the day. Ah well. "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again."
Monday, April 27, 2009
For the Record...
The whole daily post pledge thing obviously does not include weekends. I was going to post that on Saturday but I didn't want to send mixed signals. Not to mention that when you're walking around like Phil Jackson on his old hip, you pick your spots.
So that Avon Mock Walk training thing was no joke. I was surprised. When we ran that Nike 10K thing, that was 6+ miles and I cruised through that with plenty left in the tank so you would think 8 miles of non-running would be--you ready?--a walk in the park (yuk yuk yuk). So not so. My hips ached. My feet burned. Now that's all in the lower back and high ankle. And this was after less than 1/4 of what the actual Avon Walk course will be in September. Looks like some sort of training might be in order. Before you scoff or chalk it up to old age, go out and walk 8 miles for me. I didn't even mention the chaffing.
I am really due for some good dreams. For the past two or three weeks, I have had nothing but unsettling, if not downright sick and twisted dreams. Even the otherwise normal dreams have had some gross image spliced in as if by Tyler Derden himself. I remember waking up in the middle of the night after one particularly bad one ready to check myself into an asylum or chain myself to the radiator. Luckily, we don't have a radiator. This happens to everybody, right?
Hey, how 'bout those Lakers?
So that Avon Mock Walk training thing was no joke. I was surprised. When we ran that Nike 10K thing, that was 6+ miles and I cruised through that with plenty left in the tank so you would think 8 miles of non-running would be--you ready?--a walk in the park (yuk yuk yuk). So not so. My hips ached. My feet burned. Now that's all in the lower back and high ankle. And this was after less than 1/4 of what the actual Avon Walk course will be in September. Looks like some sort of training might be in order. Before you scoff or chalk it up to old age, go out and walk 8 miles for me. I didn't even mention the chaffing.
I am really due for some good dreams. For the past two or three weeks, I have had nothing but unsettling, if not downright sick and twisted dreams. Even the otherwise normal dreams have had some gross image spliced in as if by Tyler Derden himself. I remember waking up in the middle of the night after one particularly bad one ready to check myself into an asylum or chain myself to the radiator. Luckily, we don't have a radiator. This happens to everybody, right?
Hey, how 'bout those Lakers?
Friday, April 24, 2009
Dangerous? Sure, all you can handle bro
Had our usual lunch at The Richmond today. The special? A burger with bacon, cheddar, and--get this--peanut butter. Peanut butter on a burger. They really did it. I wasn't brave enough to try it and I have been thinking about it ever since. What if that was my one chance and I blew it? This was a carpe diem type of burger, I fear. In fact, that is what they should have called it, The Carpe Diem. I really need to start living more dangerously.
I spent last Friday night at Costco, wandering like a lost soul in a forgotten world. I was there for about two hours, browsing and having intense internal debates about what to get for when, what was worth it and what wasn't. It was only the second time I had used the membership since I got the card last May and I hadn't decided whether to renew at that point so I was combing every aisle making sure I wasn't overlooking the Holy Grail of bulk food and home products. I tell you this only because it appears tonight I shall return to finish what I started last Friday. Oh God, I am having a seemingly meaningful, emotional conversation with myself about another Friday night spent at Costco. Is this like being married by common law? Should I just start wearing the ring now?
After that, I imagine I'll compensate by doing something a little more...crazy. Watch me as I walk all around the house...with my shoes on! Hear me burp with nary an "excuse me" to follow. Hell, I might even go for that extra slice of pizza, that one more glass of wine, chugging furiously towards 11 p.m. like a runaway locomotive driven by a band of outlaws.
And that's just tonight. What's on tap for tomorrow night? Ha!..........You don't wanna know.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Watching the clock
Ah the challenge of Day 3.
I have been sitting her wondering what the hell to say and that hasn't gotten me anywhere so I'm just going to ramble.
Highlights of the day thus far include:
--Me slamming my finger in the paper drawer of the printer (still recovering)
--Me calling out my coworker Tommy as one of those people that always flakes. Two days ago when I asked him if he wanted to go to H&M with me tonight, he was all for it. This morning he had downgraded to a Maybe. By the time I finished lunch, a solid No. Classic flake.
--A heated argument about whether the rice from the local Mexican restaurant are, in fact, vegetarian or whether they must be cooked in chicken stock and Tommy's confidence in their veggibility is all a farce based on a miscommunication. This one has calmed down at the moment, but the instigator had to run out to UPS which just happens to be right next door to the restaurant in question. I am looking forward to this sparking up again by day's end.
Here's a little piece of trivia for you...Can you name the first compact disc pressed and released for sale in the U.S.? (see bottom for answer)
Ya know every day beyond Monday has felt like Friday to me. And now, finally, tomorrow brings the real thing. Should be a nice little weekend. Angels game, Avon training walk w/Joe The Pro, Meghan's improv show, take some engagement photos (better late than never, right?), and sushi at Katsu-ya! I am ready for it, lemme tell ya.
Alright, that's all I got.
Trivia answer: The aptly titled "Born in the U.S.A." by one Bruce Springsteen. BRUCE!
I have been sitting her wondering what the hell to say and that hasn't gotten me anywhere so I'm just going to ramble.
Highlights of the day thus far include:
--Me slamming my finger in the paper drawer of the printer (still recovering)
--Me calling out my coworker Tommy as one of those people that always flakes. Two days ago when I asked him if he wanted to go to H&M with me tonight, he was all for it. This morning he had downgraded to a Maybe. By the time I finished lunch, a solid No. Classic flake.
--A heated argument about whether the rice from the local Mexican restaurant are, in fact, vegetarian or whether they must be cooked in chicken stock and Tommy's confidence in their veggibility is all a farce based on a miscommunication. This one has calmed down at the moment, but the instigator had to run out to UPS which just happens to be right next door to the restaurant in question. I am looking forward to this sparking up again by day's end.
Here's a little piece of trivia for you...Can you name the first compact disc pressed and released for sale in the U.S.? (see bottom for answer)
Ya know every day beyond Monday has felt like Friday to me. And now, finally, tomorrow brings the real thing. Should be a nice little weekend. Angels game, Avon training walk w/Joe The Pro, Meghan's improv show, take some engagement photos (better late than never, right?), and sushi at Katsu-ya! I am ready for it, lemme tell ya.
Alright, that's all I got.
Trivia answer: The aptly titled "Born in the U.S.A." by one Bruce Springsteen. BRUCE!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
That's An Interesting Bouquet, Or How I Learned I Have a Finely Tuned Palette
So I am sitting at the dining room table with Nicole last night, going over wedding ceremony specifics, when my bride-to-be rips her fourth fart of the night. To which I respond, "Oh God that smells like stale Pringles."
And the kicker? I was right. Hit the can right on the lid.
And the kicker? I was right. Hit the can right on the lid.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Zip a Dee Doo Dah
Could it possibly be a more glorious day outside? I think not. Sunny skies, 82 degrees, with a whisper of a westerly wind breezing at 9 mph. I should really consider faking an injury and heading for the beach. It's cold and stale in here under the pale flicker of these fluorescents. The other good news about my new desk configuration is that, as long as every one's office doors are open, I can see through to their windows. I can see about a 5' x 5' patch of blue sky. On a day like today, I think that might actually be a bad thing. Although, I suppose it's always helpful visual cue as to whether it's day or night.
So my blurb of the day is: I really love to sing.
Don't really mean much beyond that. I'm no pro or anything. You give me the right song on the right day and I can do okay. But that's not really the point. I'm not saying I love the sound of my singing; just saying I love the act of singing. Whether you sound like Susan Boyle or Peter Boyle, can anyone really deny that, if you're able to let go of any cares about what you sound like or what people think of you, the act of singing makes you feel good?
It's funny to me how there is a certain stigma attached to singing. A person can't exactly burst out in song without some weird looks, even from their friends. Whenever a person does spontaneously sing in a non-traditional setting for it, the instinct seems to be tell them to shut up, or at the very least to think it. Hell, my own fiance resists an honest serenade! I am guilty of this myself. Years ago, Kory, Adam, and I were coming back from a camping trip. They drove down in separate cars, meeting me there for the second half of my trip. When it came time to head back, I decided I would ride with Adam. That is, until he told me I should ride with Kory because he wanted to sing on the ride home. We, of course, never let him live it down. But I get it now. I might not tell a buddy to not ride in my car because I wanted to do it, but I get it.
Some of the best times I've had have been at parties over the years when somebody started playing piano or picked up a guitar. I can't play a lick, but I would often sing along if I knew the song. I remember one time back in college, my friend Dave played piano as he and I sang and within the span of a song, there were no fewer than 5 other people gathering around to watch or sing along. I love it when that happens, the spontaneous sing-a-long. You know all those scenes in Christmas movies where the family is gathered around the piano singing carols? I've never done that, but I am definitely into it, man.
I've been thinking that once I finish this next script, I am going to curb the writing and spend that time learning to play guitar. I'm not talking about a career change here. I have no illusions of playing shows or becoming a singer. I just think that it would be worth it to me to be able to provide my own music to sing along to without having to count on a karaoke machine or the next guy at the party to know something beyond "Crash Into Me." I still have my old ax (yeah I said it--wait, can an acoustic guitar be called an ax? Maybe not) from that class I took in college. All it needs are strings and a tune.
Anyway, that's what I have to say today. You may now proceed with the "Hey Johnny, sing us a song!" jokes. First one to quote Champ Kind's "He sounds like a gay" wins a free stick of gum. I'm ready for ya.
So my blurb of the day is: I really love to sing.
Don't really mean much beyond that. I'm no pro or anything. You give me the right song on the right day and I can do okay. But that's not really the point. I'm not saying I love the sound of my singing; just saying I love the act of singing. Whether you sound like Susan Boyle or Peter Boyle, can anyone really deny that, if you're able to let go of any cares about what you sound like or what people think of you, the act of singing makes you feel good?
It's funny to me how there is a certain stigma attached to singing. A person can't exactly burst out in song without some weird looks, even from their friends. Whenever a person does spontaneously sing in a non-traditional setting for it, the instinct seems to be tell them to shut up, or at the very least to think it. Hell, my own fiance resists an honest serenade! I am guilty of this myself. Years ago, Kory, Adam, and I were coming back from a camping trip. They drove down in separate cars, meeting me there for the second half of my trip. When it came time to head back, I decided I would ride with Adam. That is, until he told me I should ride with Kory because he wanted to sing on the ride home. We, of course, never let him live it down. But I get it now. I might not tell a buddy to not ride in my car because I wanted to do it, but I get it.
Some of the best times I've had have been at parties over the years when somebody started playing piano or picked up a guitar. I can't play a lick, but I would often sing along if I knew the song. I remember one time back in college, my friend Dave played piano as he and I sang and within the span of a song, there were no fewer than 5 other people gathering around to watch or sing along. I love it when that happens, the spontaneous sing-a-long. You know all those scenes in Christmas movies where the family is gathered around the piano singing carols? I've never done that, but I am definitely into it, man.
I've been thinking that once I finish this next script, I am going to curb the writing and spend that time learning to play guitar. I'm not talking about a career change here. I have no illusions of playing shows or becoming a singer. I just think that it would be worth it to me to be able to provide my own music to sing along to without having to count on a karaoke machine or the next guy at the party to know something beyond "Crash Into Me." I still have my old ax (yeah I said it--wait, can an acoustic guitar be called an ax? Maybe not) from that class I took in college. All it needs are strings and a tune.
Anyway, that's what I have to say today. You may now proceed with the "Hey Johnny, sing us a song!" jokes. First one to quote Champ Kind's "He sounds like a gay" wins a free stick of gum. I'm ready for ya.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Back in the Saddle
It has been a while. What can I say, I've been busy. Not only that, but with everything going on with Wayne, it didn't seem right to come on here and do my usual frivolous rambling as if everything was fine and dandy. However, I know we're all following Val's blog daily now and I would hope that I could operate under a running disclaimer that Wayne and the family are never out of my mind. Besides, it's not like my blog has a sterling reputation for seriousness anyway.
I am now prepared to make the pledge that so many a blogger before me has made. With the exception of my wedding week and honeymoon, I herby commit to put up a new post each day. I can't promise they'll all be worth a shit, but I can assure you that they will exist. Quantity over quality, my friends. I think we're off to a great start so far.
There is a big development that gives me the confidence to make the pledge to post daily. Ya see, we've done some rearranging of desks here at the ol' office. My monitor is no longer exposed to the office equivalent of the 405 freeway. After more than a year of living in a glass house, my computer-using ass is no longer hanging in the proverbial wind. I feel like a new man. I'm like Andy Dufresne standing with his arms raised to the sky as the rain of freedom washes the excrement of incarceration from his body.
Well, that might have to do it for today. It is another gorgeous 85 degree day and I am Whole Foods-bound for lunch. In the words of George Costanza, I'm back, baby!
Related topic: Name great songs that aren't really about anything at all.
"Wordplay" by Jason Mraz
"Hook" by Blues Traveler
"Wordplay" by Jason Mraz
"Hook" by Blues Traveler
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
I Am a Gullible Fool
So I fell for an April Fool's Joke. The Google one. Idiot. In my defense, I had no idea that Google had a reputation for these pranks. I also sniffed it out just before I actually published my ranting, on-a-soapbox, holier-than-thou blog post, but I think Conrad is right, that I owe it to the world to post it and admit I am a dope. Here it is:
Original Blog Post Title: Personal Freedom Technology or The End of Personal Relationships and Possibly Civilization As We Know It?
http://mail.google.com/mail/help/autopilot/index.html
Autopilot e-mail. You send me an email or a chat message. Gmail reads it and replies with its best guess of what I would say and how I would say it. It has sliders to adjust its accuracy in impersonating my capitalization habits, typo frequency, tone, brevity, and emoticon use. They say if you give it enough sample emails, it can actually get quite good at being you. Is that really a good thing? I'm not sure.
The Cons:
Has personal correspondence become such a burden that we need to rely on computers to live our lives for us? This is a seriously scary program. Where do we go from here? The Matrix, that's where. Terminator-land. To a Brave New World. What's worse than not returning some one's phone call or email? How about giving that person the middle finger of asking a computer to reply to them for you? Clearly, you can't be bothered. You're too busy doing...what? What the fuck is everyone in this society so busy doing that they need computers to maintain their friendships? Obviously, there's many answers to that, but how many of them are really valid in the grand scheme? In the end, what is more important than personal relationships? I picture the long line of humanity marching with its heads down, focused on their texting and facebooking as they blindly walk straight for the abattoir of a completely automated life. Google = Cyberdine. Gmail Autopilot = Skynet 1.0.
The Pros:
Unlike Facebook, this program doesn't suck the life out of actual physical human interaction, it frees the individual from the chains of online life. Instead of answering all their emails, citizens of Googledom can frolic in the fields of physical face-to-faced-ness. They can finally take that botany class at city college they have been wanting to take for years. They can go on rollerblading dates and meet for coffee at independently owned coffeehouses. They can form community service groups, painting over graffiti and planting new trees. Just think of all that could be accomplished if only we didn't have to answer all those emails and chats! !Viva La Revolucion de AutoPilot!
My Ruling:
To free oneself from the obligations of online interaction by means of creating a virtual version of yourself to do it in your name is not freedom at all. It is trading one master for another and a more sick and twisted one at that. Just in case you didn't actually follow the link above, I am going to post GMail Autopilot's Frequently Asked Questions because you need to see this.
FAQ
How does Gmail mirror my communication style?
The more Gmail messages Autopilot can sample, the better. With fewer than 100 messages, there may not be enough data to calibrate Autopilot effectively. You can adjust tone, typo propensity, and preferred punctuation from the Autopilot tab under Settings.You may want to log in every week or so to ensure Autopilot is calibrated optimally.
Does Autopilot work for Gmail chat too?
Yes. Chat was actually simpler to build, given the natural language headway made by Joseph Weizenbaum's ELIZA. While many claim ELIZA oft times passed the Turing test, Gmail Autopilot passes with 99.9% accuracy due to the inclusion of human-like qualities such as compassion and wisdom and CADIE's related ability to calibrate to match your chat style.
What happens if a sender and recipient both have Autopilot on?
Two Gmail accounts can happily converse with each other for up to three messages each. Beyond that, our experiments have shown a significant decline in the quality ranking of Autopilot's responses and further messages may commit you to dinner parties or baby namings in which you have no interest.
Do I really need to explain how and why this is wrong? If human cloning scares the shit out of you, then this should too. Besides, are we really to believe that with this new found free time, people are going to actually use it to do something healthy and constructive? I doubt it. Freedom from emails and chatting is just freedom to spend more time on Facebook, Twitter, Second Life or whatever soul-sucking online networking program the kids are using now instead of playing street hockey or cruising the mall.
I can hear their snickering and the pitter patter of footsteps as my Facebook-loving pals run to sign up for Gmail Autopilot. I probably should expect to get emails and chats from only their autopilots for the foreseeable future.
Let this video be a warning to you, gentlemen. Should I discover I have been conversing with an autopilot, I will unleash hell like Chris Farley when told he's drinking Colombian decaffeinated crystals.
Original Blog Post Title: Personal Freedom Technology or The End of Personal Relationships and Possibly Civilization As We Know It?
http://mail.google.com/mail/help/autopilot/index.html
Autopilot e-mail. You send me an email or a chat message. Gmail reads it and replies with its best guess of what I would say and how I would say it. It has sliders to adjust its accuracy in impersonating my capitalization habits, typo frequency, tone, brevity, and emoticon use. They say if you give it enough sample emails, it can actually get quite good at being you. Is that really a good thing? I'm not sure.
The Cons:
Has personal correspondence become such a burden that we need to rely on computers to live our lives for us? This is a seriously scary program. Where do we go from here? The Matrix, that's where. Terminator-land. To a Brave New World. What's worse than not returning some one's phone call or email? How about giving that person the middle finger of asking a computer to reply to them for you? Clearly, you can't be bothered. You're too busy doing...what? What the fuck is everyone in this society so busy doing that they need computers to maintain their friendships? Obviously, there's many answers to that, but how many of them are really valid in the grand scheme? In the end, what is more important than personal relationships? I picture the long line of humanity marching with its heads down, focused on their texting and facebooking as they blindly walk straight for the abattoir of a completely automated life. Google = Cyberdine. Gmail Autopilot = Skynet 1.0.
The Pros:
Unlike Facebook, this program doesn't suck the life out of actual physical human interaction, it frees the individual from the chains of online life. Instead of answering all their emails, citizens of Googledom can frolic in the fields of physical face-to-faced-ness. They can finally take that botany class at city college they have been wanting to take for years. They can go on rollerblading dates and meet for coffee at independently owned coffeehouses. They can form community service groups, painting over graffiti and planting new trees. Just think of all that could be accomplished if only we didn't have to answer all those emails and chats! !Viva La Revolucion de AutoPilot!
My Ruling:
To free oneself from the obligations of online interaction by means of creating a virtual version of yourself to do it in your name is not freedom at all. It is trading one master for another and a more sick and twisted one at that. Just in case you didn't actually follow the link above, I am going to post GMail Autopilot's Frequently Asked Questions because you need to see this.
FAQ
How does Gmail mirror my communication style?
The more Gmail messages Autopilot can sample, the better. With fewer than 100 messages, there may not be enough data to calibrate Autopilot effectively. You can adjust tone, typo propensity, and preferred punctuation from the Autopilot tab under Settings.You may want to log in every week or so to ensure Autopilot is calibrated optimally.
Does Autopilot work for Gmail chat too?
Yes. Chat was actually simpler to build, given the natural language headway made by Joseph Weizenbaum's ELIZA. While many claim ELIZA oft times passed the Turing test, Gmail Autopilot passes with 99.9% accuracy due to the inclusion of human-like qualities such as compassion and wisdom and CADIE's related ability to calibrate to match your chat style.
What happens if a sender and recipient both have Autopilot on?
Two Gmail accounts can happily converse with each other for up to three messages each. Beyond that, our experiments have shown a significant decline in the quality ranking of Autopilot's responses and further messages may commit you to dinner parties or baby namings in which you have no interest.
Do I really need to explain how and why this is wrong? If human cloning scares the shit out of you, then this should too. Besides, are we really to believe that with this new found free time, people are going to actually use it to do something healthy and constructive? I doubt it. Freedom from emails and chatting is just freedom to spend more time on Facebook, Twitter, Second Life or whatever soul-sucking online networking program the kids are using now instead of playing street hockey or cruising the mall.
I can hear their snickering and the pitter patter of footsteps as my Facebook-loving pals run to sign up for Gmail Autopilot. I probably should expect to get emails and chats from only their autopilots for the foreseeable future.
Let this video be a warning to you, gentlemen. Should I discover I have been conversing with an autopilot, I will unleash hell like Chris Farley when told he's drinking Colombian decaffeinated crystals.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Bless You!
Cruiser brought this to our attention the other night. It had us all giggling like school girls. Thanks, Cruise.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Avon Anyone?
I'm thinking about doing the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer in September. It's a 39.3 mile walk over two days, September 12-13th. Joe did one of these down in San Diego last year and it was a great experience. Anybody wanna join me?
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
F-U, Big C
Come to find out Cancer has picked a fight with my loved ones. It's not the first time.
My grandmother had breast cancer. My friend's mom did as well, even worse than my grandma. Both are still here to talk about it today.
You probably already know about Kory's dad. If not, I will let Kory tell you himself. Phil is like a father to me so I don't take this any more lightly than Kory. It's difficult to see someone you love in pain and to feel powerless to stop it. What do you do?
Two days after realizing the condition Phil is in, we get a call Sunday morning from Nicole's brother Wayne. He went to the hospital with an uncontrollable cough. Today we learn he has Stage 4 Sarcoma. I have about a 5-minute Google's worth of medical knowledge on the subject, but I know that stage 4 is the most advanced there is. And I know we are scared shitless. Wayne is 36 years old with a wife (Val), a five-year-old boy (Caeden) and an infant girl (Claire). He has a mother, a father, a sister, a future brother, aunts, uncles...we all need him. And we all intend to fight with him.
I'm no tough guy, but I think it's only natural to feel the need to react physically and forcefully when faced with a certain, direct threat. And yet there's nothing you can do in that regard. As bad as you want to fight, there's nobody to punch. But we can pray. We can help take care of the kids, get dinner, and standby to support and encourage. So we will.
If you are a praying person, please pray for Wayne and Phil. Thank you.
My grandmother had breast cancer. My friend's mom did as well, even worse than my grandma. Both are still here to talk about it today.
You probably already know about Kory's dad. If not, I will let Kory tell you himself. Phil is like a father to me so I don't take this any more lightly than Kory. It's difficult to see someone you love in pain and to feel powerless to stop it. What do you do?
Two days after realizing the condition Phil is in, we get a call Sunday morning from Nicole's brother Wayne. He went to the hospital with an uncontrollable cough. Today we learn he has Stage 4 Sarcoma. I have about a 5-minute Google's worth of medical knowledge on the subject, but I know that stage 4 is the most advanced there is. And I know we are scared shitless. Wayne is 36 years old with a wife (Val), a five-year-old boy (Caeden) and an infant girl (Claire). He has a mother, a father, a sister, a future brother, aunts, uncles...we all need him. And we all intend to fight with him.
I'm no tough guy, but I think it's only natural to feel the need to react physically and forcefully when faced with a certain, direct threat. And yet there's nothing you can do in that regard. As bad as you want to fight, there's nobody to punch. But we can pray. We can help take care of the kids, get dinner, and standby to support and encourage. So we will.
If you are a praying person, please pray for Wayne and Phil. Thank you.
Checkin' In
I haven't posted in the last few days because, in light of developing health issues in the family, it just didn't seem appropriate. But I can't just sit here either. So what else are blogs for...
--Loving daylight savings time. It's almost like having two days in one. I drive home and I can actually see the water again. I can open the sunroof and get the wind whipping through. When I get home, I am compelled not to lay on the couch and sip soup, but to play music and grill meat. The weeknights feel like weekends, a celebratory spirit in the air. The only drawback is that when I would normally go running in the morning, it is now still quite dark. Unless I am training to fight Apollo Creed, I don't run in the dark. Also, it is still so friggin' cold (no offense, new yorkers)! I am sick of losing feeling in my hands when I run and really tired of coughing up lord knows what every morning. This does not happen when it's warm.
--Do you ever feel like you know there is a part of you that exists but you have no clue how to access it?
--Val's blog (as linked on the right sidebar) is titled "In the Moment." It occurs to me lately what a strange and difficult this concept is. One of my greatest personal challenges is to be in the moment as often as I should. Unfortunately, I think I often fail. I get wrapped up in the next thing or the last thing, I lose the things presently right in front of my face. It's a vicious cycle because when I realize I missed something, I focus on it and feel guilty about it and next thing I know I missed something else in the meantime. Maybe this is part of why I enjoyed that improv class so much, it was definitively immediate. There was no room for inner turmoil or daydreaming. If you drifted from anything but the utmost attention to the moment, you fell behind and had no chance of catching up. I know this is maddeningly vague, but I'm really not withholding any specifics. I wish I could freeze time. That way I could do all the things I want to do and be all the things I want to be without any sacrifice. I could stop "the moment" from passing until I was certain I had done it right. Until I become Evie from "Out of This World" though I guess I will have to just try to do a better job of maximizing my real time potential.
Say what a great opportunity to post another relevant Jackson Browne song!
Alive in the World by Jackson Browne
I want to live in the world, not inside my head
I want to live in the world, I want to stand and be counted
With the hopeful and the willing
With the open and the strong
With the voices in the darkness
Fashioning daylight out of song
And the millions of lovers
Alive in the world
I want to live in the world, not behind some wall
I want to live in the world, where I will hear if another voice should call
To the prisoner inside me
To the captive of my doubt
Who among his fantasies harbors the dream of breaking out
And taking his chances
Alive in the world
To open my eyes and wake up alive in the world
To open my eyes and fully arrive in the world
With its beauty and its cruelty
With its heartbreak and its joy
With it constantly giving birth to life and to forces that destroy
And the infinite power of change
Alive in the world
To open my eyes and wake up alive in the world
To open my eyes and fully arrive in the world
To open my eyes and wake up alive in the world
To open my eyes and fully arrive in the world
--Loving daylight savings time. It's almost like having two days in one. I drive home and I can actually see the water again. I can open the sunroof and get the wind whipping through. When I get home, I am compelled not to lay on the couch and sip soup, but to play music and grill meat. The weeknights feel like weekends, a celebratory spirit in the air. The only drawback is that when I would normally go running in the morning, it is now still quite dark. Unless I am training to fight Apollo Creed, I don't run in the dark. Also, it is still so friggin' cold (no offense, new yorkers)! I am sick of losing feeling in my hands when I run and really tired of coughing up lord knows what every morning. This does not happen when it's warm.
--Do you ever feel like you know there is a part of you that exists but you have no clue how to access it?
--Val's blog (as linked on the right sidebar) is titled "In the Moment." It occurs to me lately what a strange and difficult this concept is. One of my greatest personal challenges is to be in the moment as often as I should. Unfortunately, I think I often fail. I get wrapped up in the next thing or the last thing, I lose the things presently right in front of my face. It's a vicious cycle because when I realize I missed something, I focus on it and feel guilty about it and next thing I know I missed something else in the meantime. Maybe this is part of why I enjoyed that improv class so much, it was definitively immediate. There was no room for inner turmoil or daydreaming. If you drifted from anything but the utmost attention to the moment, you fell behind and had no chance of catching up. I know this is maddeningly vague, but I'm really not withholding any specifics. I wish I could freeze time. That way I could do all the things I want to do and be all the things I want to be without any sacrifice. I could stop "the moment" from passing until I was certain I had done it right. Until I become Evie from "Out of This World" though I guess I will have to just try to do a better job of maximizing my real time potential.
Say what a great opportunity to post another relevant Jackson Browne song!
Alive in the World by Jackson Browne
I want to live in the world, not inside my head
I want to live in the world, I want to stand and be counted
With the hopeful and the willing
With the open and the strong
With the voices in the darkness
Fashioning daylight out of song
And the millions of lovers
Alive in the world
I want to live in the world, not behind some wall
I want to live in the world, where I will hear if another voice should call
To the prisoner inside me
To the captive of my doubt
Who among his fantasies harbors the dream of breaking out
And taking his chances
Alive in the world
To open my eyes and wake up alive in the world
To open my eyes and fully arrive in the world
With its beauty and its cruelty
With its heartbreak and its joy
With it constantly giving birth to life and to forces that destroy
And the infinite power of change
Alive in the world
To open my eyes and wake up alive in the world
To open my eyes and fully arrive in the world
To open my eyes and wake up alive in the world
To open my eyes and fully arrive in the world
Friday, March 06, 2009
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