Roscoe Party

So the big Academy Awards show is this weekend, but if the Best Song category is any indication, Oscar is far from perfect and often gets it horribly wrong. With one week to spare, I have seen all the films nominated for the major awards this year so I feel comfortable putting out my own Best of 2008 list. The only ones I missed that I think might have a legitimate shot to take home a statue were "Synechdoche, New York" and "Doubt." Sorry, guys. So without further adieu, I present to you The Roscoes.

Winners in Bold Italic.

Best Picture:

The Dark Knight
Vicky Christina Barcelona
Rachel Getting Married
Milk
Frost/Nixon
The Wrestler

Best Director:

Christopher Nolan - The Dark Knight
Jonathan Demme - Rachel Getting Married
Gus Van Sant - Milk
Ron Howard - Frost/Nixon
Darren Aronofsky - The Wrestler
Danny Boyle - Slumdog Millionaire

Best Actor:

Sean Penn - Milk
Leonardo DiCaprio - Revolutionary Road
Mickey Rourke - The Wrestler
Frank Langella - Frost/Nixon

Best Actress:

Kate Winslet - The Reader
Kate Winslet - Revolutionary Road
Anne Hathaway - Rachel Getting Married
Meryl Streep* - Doubt

Best Song:

Bruce Springsteen - The Wrestler**

*I'll give her the nomination based on reputation alone

**The only one worth mentioning so why tarnish it with fellow nominees

Music of the.....(Yawn).....Night.

I learned an important lesson last night..."Phantom of the Opera" is not for me. Only one other time (unfortunately it was previous to this so it made for two in a row) have I experienced anger at a theatrical experience. This show put me in a miserable mood although it was not entirely the fault of the show itself. I was locked in for the first 25 minutes or so. Then the coughing started. It came at a constant clip of about 28 coughs per minute, one cough at a time from every nook and cranny of the auditorium. I thought we were under a biological attack. Needless to say, this was rather distracting. As for the actual show, the music, to me, was utterly unmoving. The show-within-the-show sections were pointless and ran way too long. Also, and I guess this is just a function of the genre, I can't stand when every word the characters utter is done so in "song," especially when this so-called music is a bunch of disconnected, seemingly random notes that have no discernible melody or direction. If this is what opera is, I guess I'm just anti-opera. I hope not though. I always thought I would enjoy opera. We did have a really good time though, up until the show started.

Got a real nice-looking weekend ahead. Tonight or tomorrow, I will be entering the bottling phase of the debut batch of my home brew experiment, or as we in the business call it, secondary fermentation. :-) Saturday morning, we head up to Big Bear where eight (or so) of us will cram into a cabin with food, booze, and board games under the threat of a massive snowstorm. We've got a Corrolla with chains. Should be fun. Sunday, we return home with an 80% chance of heavy showers waiting for us when we get there. The old man is going to be making an unprecedented February batch of his famous winter stew and he's going to teach me the trade as he does it. I tried to make it once before back around Christmas and, while it was decent, it paled in comparison. Now I will learn from the master. That should be an all-day affair with a good rainy-day movie (something epic) squeezed in between. I think I might just break out the apple whiskey too.

And on Monday, we embark on that most enjoyable-yet-still-somewhat-queer of wedding traditions, we register. I say queer because, although I completely understand why it's necessary, it's an awkward thing to create such a list, complete with quantities desired and prices. But hey, you only do this thing once*, right?



*(God willing)

It occurred to me last night...

That new RNC Chairman Michael Steele looks like an unused Fletch alias.

If I didn't have to be at work today....

I would go for a nice long drive. I implented my own personal stimulus package into the local music retail economy this weekend, making visits to Amoeba AND Fingerprints in Long Beach. So I am sitting on a lot of new music. Couple that with another great day of rain, and you have the perfect recipe for a long drive up (or down) the coast. Stops may include any interesting beach town boutiques that might pop up, a fogged-window diner for some clam chowder, any vista points, and perhaps a rustic tavern for a comforting pint. I think I could go all the way to San Francisco. At least to Carmel.

But processing invoices in El Segundo is cool too.

Tagged By Val

Ah what the hell...

Six names I go by

1. John
2. The King
3. Mr. Compart (Cruiser's Dad)
4. Yohn (Cruiser's Mom)
5. Grover (My Mom)

Three Things I Am Wearing Right Now

1. Navy blue school tie
2. Newsie hat
3. Green Saucony sneakers

Two Things I Want Very Badly At the Moment

1. A beer
2. Floor tickets to Springsteen

Three Favorite Things I Did Last Night

1. Watched the Lakers...
2. ...with two kittens on my lap
3. Had a glass of red wine

Four Things I Ate Today

1. Protein Shake
2. Pastrami sandwich
3. Widmer Drop Top Amber
4. Protein bar

Two People I Last Talked To On the Phone

1. The Vet (Looks like just some connective tissue, we'll continue to monitor the situation)
2. The Doug (He's out for Springsteen)

Six Things I Plan To Do Tomorrow

1. Get floor tickets to Springsteen ("If you will it, it is no dream")
2. Go see a travel agent about the honeymoon
3. Get a new hard drive
4. Go to Amoeba Records
5. See a movie (the Arclight is right there, it'd be a crime not to)
6. Relish the rain

Five Things I Am Grateful For Today

1. Not to be redundant but...the rain
2. The Friday Playlist! (Currently playing: Karma Chameleon)
3. That the vet said it's just connective tissue and not likely a sarcoma
4. That it's now six and I get to go home (sorry, this is like the most important section but I feel the weekend beckoning)
5. The fact that I have a job
6. The blogger help forum

Wow, I did that really boringly. Ah well, cheers!

You Can't Go Home Again -- Hallmark Edition

I was down in Long Beach over the weekend, visiting the fam, dining with The Cruiser, and selecting that most important of marital symbols, the wedding band. As we were driving all around town, I was giving Nicole the guided tour she could never have hoped for. There's the place I took my car when I had a nail in my tire...This used to be a Woolworth's...I had a BLT there once...You get the idea.

At one point she asked if there was a Hallmark nearby as she needed some cards. I was more than happy to oblige that there was not just a Hallmark, there was the Hallmark. I'm talking about Dick's Hallmark #5 on Spring Street, my friends. The place I spent several of my spare high school era hours as a proud member of the Dick's team. As we were on our way there, I started to reflect on the good ol' days at Dick's. I laughed about how funny Kay and Bev were, how nice Katheryn was, how we once caught the biggest cockroach of all-time in the back room and put it on display (in the back, of course). I remembered the many boring Sundays spent there working with Becky and the ridiculous things we did to pass the time. There was the giant homeless man who would amble in with his headphone blaring, take a lap around the store, yell out something random such as "That was the greatest time I ever had!!" before walking out again. I was our store Santa one year at Christmas and the Easter Bunny too if I am remembering correctly. I could go on and on. It was a great place to work for those three or four years.

We parked, got out, and Nicole asked, "Where is it?" I calmly answered, "It's right next to the Hollywood Video. It's right the--" I stopped short when I realized that the windows usually lit by the fluorescents I replaced dozens of times were dark. The displays I dusted over and over again were gone. The card racks I hosed down out in back in my swim trunks on a summer afternoon were no more. No cards. No Precious Moments. No people. Dick's Hallmark had been closed.

I've never been known to handle loss well and this moment was certainly no exception. Did I cry? No. Come on, let's not get melodramatic here. But I was certainly very upset. Remember in "Gross Pointe Blank" when John Cusack goes home to find that the house he grew up in was now a convenience store? It felt similar to that. They closed the doors on a chunk of my childhood and I knew nothing about it until that moment when I walked up to the doors. I peered inside and saw my memories gutted before my eyes. Emptiness. Nothing but cold, hollow, soulless emptiness. And it seemed so vast. Like the moment after being dumped when you realize despite the freshness of your pain that you've already been left behind, I was heartbroken.

Part of my love/hate with Long Beach is all the things it reminds me of when I return. Sometimes it's fun to recall the old days. Other times, it's a vacuum that fools me into believing I never left. Then there's the times like this one when it's neither. These are the times when I realize the old days are gone and not only have I left, but I can never go home again.

File under: Woe Is Me

I got an e-mail yesterday from the folks at the American Zoetrope Screenplay Contest. The grand prize is $5,000 but the real award is that, even if you make it only to the semi-finals, people are going to be reading your work and by "people" I mean people who are in a position to do something with it, agents, producers, development folk. So I get my annual e-mail stating the winner, finalists, semi-finalists, etc. and, as you might have guessed, the big unwritten P.S., "You're not on it." I read over the list, the titles of scripts and their authors and I couldn't help but plunge into the self-pitying pool of "What did they do that I didn't?" I read each and every name and, while I didn't see anyone I knew personally, I quickly recognized them all as the people passing me by.

None of this is new. I've entered contests before, including this one twice. At this point, I consider it a shot in the dark where the $50 entry fee is well worth the 3-hole-punchers' chance that I might make the cut. Despite the obvious feelings of inadequacy and failure described above, I wasn't all that broken up about it. It would be a big deal, sure, but it's not the only way to break through. No, the real core of my disappointment and pain this year was not simply seeing in print the names of all the competitors better than me. The hot stinger that stuck in my chest and could not be plucked out was the fact that, despite getting this e-mail thanks-but-no-thanks-ing me for my entry, I didn't even submit a script this year. I had nothing new to turn in. Even in a tough loss, there is a certain pride that comes from playing a good game. I didn't even put on my cleats and walk on the field!

I really need to start writing again. Not for a contest, just for me.

Happ Groundhog Day Everyone!

Good ol' Punxsutawney Phil predicts six more weeks of winter. Gee Phil, I just don't know if I can bear six more weeks of gorgeous 74 degree days, especially with those beautiful blue skies. You are a cruel, cruel little varmint.

Evolution of a Marriage

I stumbled on this article in the op-ed section of yesterday's paper and I thought it was really interesting. Just thought I'd pass it along.


The Darwins' marriage of science and religion
In their 43-year marriage, Charles and Emma Darwin used respect, understanding and acceptance to bridge the gulf between his reason and her steadfast faith.

By Deborah Heiligman January 29, 2009

On Jan. 29, 1839, in the little chapel in the English village of Maer, a religious, 30-year-old woman named Emma Wedgwood put on a green silk dress and got married. She believed firmly in a heaven and a hell. And she believed you had to accept God to go to heaven. She married Charles Darwin.

As we head into a new era for a country that has struggled for too long with the marriage of science and religion, we should take a look at the marriage of Charles and Emma Darwin.

When Charles came home in 1836 from his five-year voyage around the world, which included the visit to the Galapagos Islands, he was already seeing life and creation in a new way. And as he courted Emma, he also was secretly scribbling notes about a new idea, his theory of evolution, in leather-bound notebooks marked "private."

He knew that his view of creation would rock the faith of Emma and almost everyone in England, and as he prepared to propose to her, he agonized. Charles' father advised him to keep his mouth shut. "Conceal your doubts," he warned.

But Charles couldn't do that. He was too honest. He told Emma of his doubts about the veracity of the Bible and of his growing skepticism about religion.

Emma said she would marry him anyway. She prized his candor, and she knew he was a good and moral man. But in a letter she sent him soon after their engagement, she told him that she was sad that "our opinions on the most important subject should differ widely."

This was the first of several letters about religion that Emma wrote to Charles during their lives. She urged him not to close the door on faith. And she shared her fears that they would be separated for eternity. Charles always listened to what she had to say, and they talked about the problem. He kept each letter close. He wrote on one of them, "When I am dead, know that many times, I have kissed and cryed over this. C.D." On another he wrote, simply, "God bless you."

Charles and Emma had 10 children together. Three of the children died; the death of their beloved 10-year-old daughter, Annie, broke their hearts. That loss could have driven them apart forever. It strengthened Emma's faith and all but closed the door on God for Charles. But they fought for their marriage. The day after Annie died, Emma wrote to Charles, "You must remember that you are my prime treasure (and always have been)."

Darwin worked for decades on his theory. He tried to make his argument as strong and solid as possible, and he also aimed not to offend. He showed Emma drafts, and he worked harder on a passage when she wrote in the margin, "a great assumption." In 1859, as he finally readied "The Origin of Species" for publication, he gave the manuscript to Emma. She was always his best and most trusted editor. As she read the argument that essentially took God out of creation, she did not ask Charles to soften it at all. In fact, she helped him strengthen his book by making the language clearer. (She also cleaned up his spelling and punctuation.)

Through the years, the two continued to talk and listen to each other about this "most important subject," as Emma called it. She encouraged him not to approach religion in the same way he approached science. What leads to faith, she said, is "feeling, not reasoning."

After he became famous, people often wrote to the sage of Down House and asked him what he believed about God. Usually Darwin demurred. And he echoed Emma. He said his views were of "no consequence to anyone except myself" and that the question of religion was for theologians, not for scientists. Still, he often pointed to his friend, the American botanist Asa Gray, who was both an evolutionist and a theist.

Charles and Emma were married for 43 years. In his last years, Charles renewed a fascination with worms and wrote "The Formation of Vegetable Mold through the Action of Worms with Observations on Their Habits," a bestseller in its day. Emma, never much interested in science, found herself joining him in his obsession. They spent hours together watching the worms in the garden of Down House, side by side.

Although they never were able to see eye-to-eye on the question of religion and God, they were able to reach their hands across the gulf. In the end, each of them accepted and, it seems, truly understood what the other believed.

If it is a sign of intelligence to be able to hold two opposite thoughts or opinions in your head, then it is a mark of a successful marriage to be able to truly see the other person's point of view. This is also the mark of a successful society.

There is an apocryphal story that Darwin accepted God on his deathbed. The true story is this: When he suffered his last and fatal heart attack, Charles told Emma that he was "not the least afraid of death." And as he slipped away, he told her, "Remember what a good wife you have been to me." Emma held Charles in her arms as he died.

If I were still a kid...

I would fake an illness so I could spend the day at my grandparents today. I smelled toast when I walked in to work a few minutes ago and I imagined my grandma had made it for me or my grandpa. The two of them would still be in their robes when I got there and the whole house would smell like breakfast and encourage a few more hours sleep. Later, I might go to Sam's Club with my grandma where we would have hot dogs and orange sodas for lunch.

Sign of the Apocalypse

My mother just asked me to please join Facebook.

Sappy Inaugural Love-In Post!

For relaxing times, make it Santori time.

1.8 million people crammed into 146 acres (3.53 sq ft./person if you divide evenly) of the National Mall. Number of arrests: 0.00. That is one civil herd.

My dad asked me Wednesday night what my impressions and feelings were about being at the Presidential Inauguration of Barack Obama. He asked, "If you were going to write about it, how would you put it?" To answer his question...For me, being in D.C. in the days leading up to the inauguration was to catch a glimpse of our great potential as Americans and as human beings. I can hear some of you grumbling already, and, yes, it is going to be that kind of a post. If you're not up for it, navigate elsewhere. J. Crew.com is having a helluva sale.

The sense I got walking the streets was one of solidarity if not unity. Maybe it was that we were all from out of town and, thus, in a vacation mindset. Even if you're freezing your ass off, taking a trip anywhere, especially to city like our nation's capital, is energizing and tends to put people in a good mood. I'd like to think it was more than that though. It felt like more than that to me. It wasn't just that we were all there from out of town, it was that we had all come from such various places for one common purpose. It felt like it was a purpose more meaningful than just to get away for a few days or to do some sightseeing. The point is that people of all races, faiths, and even nationalities were standing shoulder to shoulder because they shared a common belief in the change represented by this historic election. And nobody was pushing. Literally speaking, it was amazing to me as I am as big of a crowd-phobe as anyone. Five hundred thousand people were crammed onto one short stretch of The National Mall that Sunday for the "We Are One" concert.. We were somewhere near the middle, but if someone wanted to squeeze closer to the front, the crowd let them through. No one complained or griped. A girl no taller than 5' 3" came through carrying six hot chocolates without lids and didn't spill a drop, a testament to her balance as much as the crowd's benevolence, I admit. It was difficult to decipher at times which people had come there together and which were complete strangers who for this moment at least, were not afraid of each other. Looking up at the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, it was easy to think that at the same location where Martin Luther King, Jr. spoke of his dream, that dream had finally been realized more than forty years later. Either that or I have grossly underestimated the trans formative power of a Bruce Springsteen concert. When it was over, the crowd dispersed slowly and safely without surging or bumping. Even after presumably getting what they came for, there was no urgent return to self-centric rushing and survival of the fittest.

The camaraderie could be seen everywhere. Sitting among several narrowly aligned restaurant tables, strangers seated next to each other didn't hesitate to strike up conversation. People smashed together in Metro cars joked and laughed and sincerely apologized to those on the station platforms who simply had no space to get on board. People walking down the middle of closed capital streets dropped gloves and hats, perhaps visitors from warmer climates not accustomed to juggling the many layers of warmth, and those behind them picked them up and chased them down. Vendors stood on seemingly every corner selling all things Obama. Exploitative? Sure, but there was also something to be said for people recognizing this moment in our history and feeling that they wanted to take a piece of it with them to wherever they may return. People looked each other in the eye and didn't turn away.

Of course, this was not a phenomenon entirely new to Americans. Throughout our history, we've been able to look past our petty differences and unite behind a common goal for the betterment of all. December 7th, 1941. September 11th, 2001. This time, however, at least in my lifetime, was unique in that the unity was not an answer to attack, but a homily of hope.

On Inauguration Day, we stood in the WWII Memorial, just on the far side of the Washington Monument. People smiled, cheered, and sang. Most powerful, however, was the absolute silence that seized the crowd when now-President Obama took the oath of office and addressed the nation and the world. One-point-eight million people silenced to listen to the words of one. I think one particular passage of President Obama's address aptly represents my experience in Washington, D.C. for the inauguration.

"...we know that our patchwork heritage is a strength, not a weakness. We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus, and non-believers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth; and because we have tasted the bitter swill of civil war and segregation, and emerged from that dark chapter stronger and more united, we cannot help but believe that the old hatreds shall someday pass; that the lines of tribe shall soon dissolve; that as the world grows smaller, our common humanity shall reveal itself..."

SAFE!!!!

Aaaaaaand we're back.....big, proud, patriotic post with photos coming soon.

Humor Me...

So we fly tomorrow which, of course, means I am getting nervous and paranoid today. As per usual, I am viewing everything I am doing over the last couple days through the filter of the poetic irony the actions would take on should I die on the trip.

For example...The fact that after months of many false starts and failed attempts to get our Save-the-Dates out, tonight we will seal and stamp the last one. We'll drop them in the mail on our way to the airport. Once again, I know I have seen too many movies, but the image of ~150 friends and family members opening a save-the-date after something horrible has made it a moot point is so poignant to me that it makes me fear for that possibility.

Apply this ridiculous anti-reasoning to everything you do in a day and you get a sense of what I am talking about.

The good news is that by saying all this on the world wide web, I feel like I am somewhat relieving the sense of morbid forboding. It can't happen now because I just jinxed it, right? Or can it because I just said that I had jinxed it? AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

I just want to get there. Apparently, a stiff Screwdriver might be required to keep my sanity until we arrive.

UPDATE: And now I just saw this....greeeeeeeeat....

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/plane_in_river

First firsthand indication that there are going to be a shitload of people at the Inauguration...

When I go to the REI in Manhattan Beach, CA and they are sold out of hand warmers due to a sales spike from Washington, DC-bound customers.

Bring it on!

For the Love of Pete

Has anyone seen my damn flip flops? I can't find them anywhere and you can understand what that does to a man.

It's 4 a.m. and I'm wide awake

It could be a Jerry Maguire, mission statement kind of night if I had any burning issue inside of me, keeping me up. But no, I'm here to talk to you about pillows.

It occurs to me that a blog provides a great service to the blogger in that it listens to the things you want to say, but stop yourself from actually speaking to even a friend when you realize they are utterly uninteresting and insignificant if not pointless. For instance, on these pillows...

I have been unfairly persecuting my pillows. And I don't mean my buttocks although they have seen their share of unfounded flak too(I will now accept my bonus points for finding use of that great word). For days now, I have been blaming our pillows for the 11 times a night I wake up because my upper extremities have gone numb. They're too heavy, I've been saying, too dense. If I want to face your way, I have to put my arm under your pillow and it cuts off my blood flow. Newer, lighter pillows, I demand! I need what the astronauts use (whatever that means)! Pillows of the future, now!

Now through a stop-and-go series of uneven sleep tonight, I have had the opportunity to try several varying methods for arm placement. Each one has been found to be a comfortable, workable alternative to the sub-pillow system or so I thought each time before waking again with a sledgehammer for an arm. The good news is, I think my research has finally led me to a conclusion in keeping with the scientific method. The bad news is that I've realized I can't sleep with my arms above my head in any formation (all on the flat plane of the bed, mind you) and that just can't be healthy.

This has been a problem only recently so it's got to be something I'm doing differently. If I haven't crashed by then, I think I shall go running before work this morning to promote better circulation. If that doesn't do the trick, I may never sleep straight through the night again! Bring on the babies, 'cause apparently I'm ready!

I did see a great movie tonight in my sleep. I don't mean that as a throw-away metaphor. Sometimes I do have these dreams that are honest-to-goodness movies complete with cinematic narrative, visual techniques, inter-cutting, and soundtrack. Call it the rem show. Usually, two minutes after awakening, these movies have already become one of those you where you vaguely remember the players, but have to check imdb to fill in the major blanks. Tonight's show, I can still recall pretty clearly though. I won't describe it here since the power tale of The Pillow Chronicles is still undoubtedly resonating. I took some notes so maybe I will try to write it someday, see if I can make sense of it or if the movie dream becomes like most others in that you can describe them to the smallest detail, but it means cohesively zilch to anyone but you. At 4 a.m., anything seems possible.

Man, what a weird week. I had a period of four days or so where I just was not myself. I felt extraordinarily tired, detached, mentally foggy and humorless. My stomach was not right either. My theories ranged from the early stages of carbon monoxide poisoning (detector purchased!) to mononucleosis. And then, suddenly, I was fine. I woke up Wednesday morning and, while still tired (see persecuted pillows), I could tell that I had snapped out of whatever it was.

I think it had a lot to do with post-holiday depression. I get so high on the holidays for so long and then on January 2nd, it all comes crashing down. All the good cheer is gone and there are no more big parties or visits to look forward to, not immediately anyway. Suddenly, all the nagging issues of daily life or the bigger picture that are driven into the background by gift shopping, decorating, music, drinking, and all other things distinctly Holiday, come rushing back into full view like a flash flood. It was a day or so after I started questioning my purpose on this earth again that the physical fatigue and mental fog set in so maybe my body and brain's reaction to that was to shut down. That's the theory I'm going with anyway.

Sidebar: I think I've said it before but an Itunes shuffle has a hilarious way of bringing levity. Just when a person might start to take themselves too seriously and ponder their grand purpose (not necessarily a bad thing), Itunes jumps in and hits you with Notorius B.I.G. and R.Kelly's "F*ck You Tonight," a love song for the ages. Hahahahahahahahahahaha.....Thank you, Itunes!

Alright, it's no longer 4, it's now 5:30. Time to feed the cats and try to sneak in a few winks before this rumored running thing goes down. Wish me luck and I'll do the same for you.

Happy Friday.

File under: No Shit, Sherlock

Lord knows I've spent enough breath defending my city of Los Angeles, but I will concede that there are certainly aspects of the city worth hating. However, one quality I think even the biggest of the LA-haters would have to appreciate (or should) is the city's proximity to such a wide variety of escapes. Which is why I think most anti-LA arguments are inherently flawed in that they consider LA as a metropolitan area and not Southern California as a whole. Every locale pictured above can be reached from LA proper within 3 hours by car (if you know when to leave and how to go). That being said, the image I have chosen to be my desktop all week, that which I imagine as my escape, the place I gaze at longingly between tasks.....New York City. A conflicted soul, I shall remain.

Quick funny

You know my friend Joe who skipped out on my 30th birthday party to go see John Mayer and didn't so much as write, text, or call on or around my birthday? You got him? Good.

You know what Joe DID do on my birthday? He cashed a check I had written him seven months prior--in May.

It's nice to know I was in his thoughts after all.

Still Kickin'

Good Lord, I have not put up a legitimate post in a long time! Even as I type, I feel like Harrison Ford in "Regarding Henry" learning how to talk again, how to decipher a square from a triangle. But I am back, damn it. With wine at the ready, calico on my lap, and Jackson Browne on the speakers, I am committing to the act of blog. Does anyone really care? I wouldn't dare presume they do, but for the one person I can confirm, Janene in Wyoming! Janene, this one's for you!

So what's been happening...let me think....

I turned 30. This is a very big deal or so I am told. My birthday fell on a Monday so I, of course, was stricken ill (actually, I was coming down with a cold). I wasted the first part of the day futzing around on the internet, a morning much like those of my mid-to-late 20s. Then I took a nice, thoughtful drive up the coast and had lunch at the Malibu pier, tomato soup encrusted in a pastry shell, grapefruit juice and tea to combat the cold. I took my notepad with me in case I came into contact with any deep thoughts that had been recently reported in the vicinity. I scratched a few things down, but they were far from deep, held afloat by the water wings of expectancy. That was the thing about the whole ordeal, I felt like it was supposed to mean more to me than it did, the 30 part, I mean. I had planned to write this big post evaluating life as I saw it at such a benchmark age, a sort of "here's what I've figured out so far" type of deal. Then I realized my friends are all of similar age and it would probably be self-important to wax like the wise old man. And I could hear the older friends laughing, "Hey, look everybody, Mr. 3-0 is gonna tell us the meaning of life!" I will say this, for me personally, at the ripe age of 30, I feel like I know who I am, I know what I love, what I don't, I know how to appreciate things, small and large, rare and common, and I am never ever bored. That's very nice. The teens and early 20s got nothing on that. One of the nice things about those younger years are the sense of excitement and wonder about what might you become or how your life will take shape. At this point, it's not such a wide open question. Being an astronaut is pretty much off the table at this point, ya know? I do feel like I am capable of much more, but now there is a sense of urgency to get to it already. It's frustrating to think of what so many others have accomplished by their 30th...Kobe had 3 championships...Orson Wells had already made "Citizen Kane"...F. Scott Fitzgerald had already written "The Great Gatsby." Then again, "Annie Hall" and "When Harry Met Sally" were made by Woody Allen and Rob Reiner, respectively, at the shared age of 42. So there is hope yet. I gotta get going, damn it. Another thing I have realized, with no relation to my advancing age, is how conspicuously writing in a notebook or pad directly improves the service you receive. They always think you're writing about them.

After lunch, I got the best massage of my life. Ninety-minutes and I wanna tell you...this woman was a prodigy. She used her elbows nearly as much as her hands! When I walked out of there, I was a six foot pile of Jell-O swaying with the slightest breeze. My speech was slurred. Just awesome.

I returned home and was whisked away for an evening by Nicole and the folks for an evening of fine dining at Spago where I met Wolfgang Puck himself. It was a glorious meal, for sure, but I did feel a bit uncomfortable, like I didn't belong there and every person in the room knew it and was talking about it.

My dad gave me a really nice camera, one of his he wasn't using anymore. I've been really enjoying it so far even though I haven't really seen too much of what I have done since my friggin' back ordered card reader still hasn't come in. I'm thinking about starting a Flickr account because a lot of times I want to post pictures but it takes too long with Blogger and I don't want to pick 3 worthy of the effort out of 50+ pictures taken. File this under: when I have time(!).

I picked out my wedding suit tonight. Exciting stuff. It's really happening, isn't it?

Alright, that's all I got for now. NYE tomorrow, party to prepare for. Annual Freeze Your Ass Off Camping Trip on Friday. Perhaps Disneyland on Sunday. Oy. I mean, Woo-Hoo!

Next I shall post pictures and tell tales of my wonderful Christmas week in the Rockies!

Happy New Year, Cyberspace!

Photo Dump! (Or: What to Do When You're Sitting On Hold For 15 Minutes)

Loving kittens

The Major Award that sits proudly atop my TV thanks to my dear friend Lindsay

Went to a show recently and when they brought the bill, the little leather folder had an illuminated panel inside it! The future is now!

This is a sign that was posted on our fridge at work shortly after the cell phone law went into effect. No indication yet as to whether drunk driving or vehicular manslaughter are also against company policy in addition to being illegal.

My poor Mister when he was in the hospital

Testing out my phone's different photo features after seeing Jackson Browne at the beautifully restored Orpheum Theatre downtown

Uncle Pete! We went to the Cardinal & Gold tailgate before the....Arizona(?) game. He touched my hand...a hand that has not been washed since.

A lovely panoramic view of the almighty Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum, home of the University of Southern California Trojans

Okay so how old would you say that guy looks? How about the girl? This was a situation of what appeared to be family friends not adjusting the physicality of their relationship as puberty enters the equation. This girl was all up on this guy for over a half hour. On his lap, whispering in his ear, playing with his cheeks, etc. etc. I'm not exagerrating. It made me uncomfortable. But her parents seemed to be fine with it.

These are the two self-righteous dipshits who arrived at the game midway through the 3rd quarter and seemed appalled that we were in their seats(!). As it turned out, our group had slid down one seat too far. Rather than making thirty more people to my left move, I just took the empty seat one row back. It was at that point that I realized there were no fewer than twelve empty seats to the immediate right of these gentlemen. What's worse--they left the game 15 minutes after getting there. I assume they could have been found making citizens' arrests for jaywalking on Exposition Blvd. I have a camera and I am not afraid to use it! Social Police!

Self-explanatory sky.

Sue Me

But I am ready for Christmas, damn it! I'm in the spirit! I'm singin' the songs! I'm burnin' the Yankee candles! Slippers, sweaters, and sweats! The three S's! (For colder climates, see Four S's including scarves) I don't care that it's November 13th! What am I saying? November 13th is the Christmas season in its early prime! I am taking a lot of heat from the holiday fascists here at work, but, screw em, I'm goin' anyway. The bus is leaving with or without 'em. They can go on listening to their Kings of Leon until December friggin' 24th if they so choose. I can't help them if they can't admit that they have a problem. I'm diving into the good stuff! On, Bing! On, Harry Jr.! On, Manheim friggin' Steamroller!

Wow. Speechless.

I won't even attempt to talk about what it means for our country. There are enough people describing it today better than I could. I can talk about my personal feelings though. It was an historic moment. I felt like I was watching a man land on the moon. Like The Berlin Wall was coming down. Like I was watching "Star Wars" for the first time. If there had been a way to harness the sex had by democrats and like-minded people all over the world last night, there would no longer be an energy crisis. Seriously though, it's just a truly profound sensation of pride, hope, and awe.

YES WE DID!!!!

I'm just sayin'

Obviously this is not without exception, but I find it interesting how people that move to LA maintain fierce loyalty and pride for wherever they came from and tend to bash LA in the same breath while people that move to New York are quick to claim their identity as "New Yorkers." I don't really have anything to say about it beyond that. Just find it interesting, that's all.

HOLY SHIT, WHERE'S THE TYLENOL?!

In the heartless, greedy spirit of Ebenezer Scrooge and Frank Shirley, I have just learned that our boss has decided that the scheduled two weeks off at Christmas will be unpaid. That's right, you read it right, he's decided to not just take away our never-existent Christmas bonuses this year, he's decided to withhold our salary and not pay us anything at all. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night! To think, I bought a Christmas CD at lunch, feeling almost guilty about being so in the spirit so long before Christmas. An hour later, I would experience the polar opposite of this whistle-while-you-work optimism and cheeriness as I heard I would need to find another means by which to pay my Christmas rent and bills. This was an inspiration not to sing carols and spread good cheer--no, this was the inspiration to piss on Scrooge's desk and punch him in his smug, insufferable beak. Luckily, there are blogs.

Although...if any of you are actually looking for any last minute gifts for me as my hero Clark W. Griswold details in the clip above, I do have the prick's address (wink).

It's only Thursday? Seriously?

It really feels like it should be Saturday already. I swear they snuck a day in on me somewhere. As such, my motivation to work has descended into negative integers. Note my defiant blogging at work. And I don't even have anything interesting to say! Woooooooooo!

Feels more like a Disneyland day than a work day. Except for the fact that's 90 friggin' degrees outside. In October.

Had my show on Monday night. Thanks to the two of you who showed up! Hahahaha...Seriously though, I'll get over it in a couple years.

I think it went pretty well. I think we, as a class, really stepped up, especially considering how far we had come in eight weeks of class. I am sure of one thing regardless--I had a great time doing it. It was an incredible feeling to be up on the stage, looking out into the lights, seeing nothing yet knowing the people are there, staring back at you expectantly. I was fairly nervous before the show, but it was a really good nervous, more anxious than anything else. Nothing like what I have felt before softball games where my stomach feels like it's about to revolt. In this case, I felt much more confident, the fearful mantra "please don't hit it to me" never once entering my mind. And then to be out there and feel that sense of highwire danger, that a lean one way or the other could have me plummeting to death by humiliation...and yet to be okay with that potential failure made me more confident that I would do just fine. I'm not gonna lie, it was a great feeling--call it a spiritual flutter--to be out there with no idea what I was going to say until I heard myself say it and then to hear people laugh...really, truly exciting.

Also, it was weird how it really wasn't until the show itself, I think, that we really bonded as a class/team. I would have guessed that with a class like this with such feelings of vulnerability running throughout we would have bonded much earlier, like people in a hostage situation or something. But after class we said our cordial goodbyes and scattered. After the show though we were ready to go drinking together. I can think of a lot of explanations for it, but who cares at this point. I was just happy to see it.

Alright, duty calls. Grrrrrrr....

Terry Tate Returns!!

Throwing Down The Gauntlet

Every Friday, I eat lunch at this place in El Segundo called The Richmond. Love it. I've often how thought how it reminds me of one of the greatest places in the world, Joe Jost's in Long Beach. Well apparently The Richmond is well aware of Joe Jost's and their famous pickled eggs because as you can see on the Specials Board today, they are claiming to be better than the reigning champ. Who's ready for an Egg-off?

Still Kickin'

Wow, it's been a while. And to leave off with such a downer no less. The problem is, in the good ol' days, I would blog at work. My current situation doesn't really allow me to do this as I am out in the open with my monitor on display for all to see. Still, I don't want to leave that long, downer of a post up there at the top any longer so here's a short anecdote from my visit to the Whole Foods this morning. Have a splendid weekend!

So I stop at the Whole Foods because I need cash for lunch today. I figure I'll pick up an issue of "The Atlantic Monthly," pay with debit and get cash back. I'm considering subscribing to the magazine so it was to work out perfectly. Except they did not have "The Atlantic" on this fine morning and I have no need for "Yoga Magazine" or "Martha Stewart Living." I wasted the next ten minutes frantically wandering around, searching for something--anything--that I really needed. Gum? Nope, used that one last Friday. I had decided on a cookie until I saw that it was three whole doll-hairs. Three fucking dollars for a single cookie? I won't pay it. Finally, I settled on a lemon. I'll cut it and squeeze it into my water today, I thought. Great. Get to the checkout, cashier rings it up at 99 cents. The dreadlocked guy behind me chimed in with what I was thinking.

"A dollar for one lemon? I could have sold you one for a quarter," he said.

The cashier quipped, "Is it organic though?"

"I grew it myself. Yeah, it's organic."

Earlier this week, one of my neighbors committed suicide.

I find it interesting how the first question that usually comes to mind is "How did he do it?" Thankfully, I don't have all the details. All I know is that it involved a sealed room, a BBQ, and that he had been there long enough for the gruesomeness of the scene to overwhelm the responding fire fighters.

I didn't know this man, but it saddens me to think that he was in such utter despair. He lived in the building, but the two buildings have their backs to each other so it's not really fair to say that he lived next door. The buildings on this street are designed in clusters of two with a courtyard area in between. I wonder how this has affected the neighbors in his cluster.

I heard about the ordeal from my upstairs neighbor. I know I have commented before on the unique community of my two-building cluster, but I was reminded again by it when I found out. In most other apartments in LA, I'll bet I never would have had such a conversation about something that occurred outside my four walls. This poor soul would have grossly taken his own life less than one hundred feet from where I sleep and I never would have known the difference. He must have thought so or at least that no one would care. It makes me think about two levels of loneliness, physical and emotional, specifically, how physical affects emotional. Does a person stranded alone in a desert hurt more than a person living in a big city surrounded by millions of people but without any meaningful connections of his own? My personal feeling is that it hurts more, or in a sharper, more damaging way to feel alone in the company of others. If such a state had a capitol, it would have to be Los Angeles.

Yet, if you're open to it, there always seems to be a surprising, hopeful yin to the solemn yang, a friendly face whose looks at you are absorbed rather than caromed off to a safer landing. Last night as I was getting the mail, I saw a flier posted above the boxes. It was an invitation to a community cookout on Sunday. It said, "It's time for another community gathering! Bring something to drink and a cold dish if you like. Live music starts at six. Free, free, free..." I checked the name and address, some guy I've never met from a building across the narrow but busy street. Wow, I thought. I did not see that one coming. There is hope for us yet after all. I only wonder if my unnamed neighbor had held on a little longer. I wonder if I could have met him at this Sunday community barbecue. What are the chances we might have toasted a couple of beers together? Would we have liked each other?

Annual Whining-About-Fall Post!

If there is a good thing about working in the middle of an office building without an easily viewed window, it's that you can imagine the outside world to be whatever you want and you might actually start to believe it. According to me, we sit firmly in the Fall.

When I'm not in my bubble at work and my imagination is tested by the sunny skies and 78 degree days, I must work a little harder. Luckily, Starbucks has armed me with the return of the Pumpkin Spice Latte, a seasonal delight. I've got the Fall Playlist fresh on the Ipod, ready to go. There is a tree-lined stretch of street in my neighborhood where the leaves actually change colors and, get this, fall to the ground. Right now, all roads pass through, if not lead to, this street. I've got football. I've got the "Peanuts" gang. I've got the Land's End and LL Bean catalogs. I've got soup.

I can get through this.

You know why I'm the coolest kid in school?

'Cause today I brought my lunch in this:

Boo ya!

I (Heart) Politics

Feelin' the flow, doin' the Buffalo Dance...

I feel like I am entering a good time in my life.

I had my first improv class last Thursday. It went terribly in the sense that I was overwhelmingly nervous to the point of uncontrollably smiling throughout. I couldn't stop doing the nice, nervous, neurotic guy sch tick. Not sch tick in the sense that it was an act. It wasn't an act, but it was a front, a defensive stance. Still, it went well in the sense that I was inspired to do better the next week. It felt great just to be there doing it, even if I wasn't doing my best right out of the shoot. It was a jolt of energy to be doing something, for a change, that felt like it had some sort of purpose for me. And yet, it was completely and utterly exhausting. I went to bed at eight o'clock the night following that first class. Not to sound like the loser constantly trying to match his peak back in high school, but I really need to find my way back to where I was in high school. What I mean is that I need to find the courage to not be nervous or the ability, at least, to not let that nervousness affect my behavior or performance. I need to get back to that place where I can just effortlessly be myself and enjoy the moment, however it turns out. Now that the first class is out of the way and the ice has been mostly broken, I am hoping I can talk myself into it.

Last Sunday, I ran in the Nike Human Race 10K in downtown LA. I never would have considered it if The Doug hadn't pitched the idea, selling it with the free shoes he could get me by running under the umbrella of his team. I needed some new shoes and I've been running pretty well so I figured, what the hell. It's funny how sometimes you stumble upon the great things before you ever knew you really needed them. I was a little nervous about the distance. Even in my best shape, I've never been much of a distance runner. I'd been running about 3 miles, four times a week around the neighborhood so I figured I could probably stretch it into 6.2, especially if it was going to be flat. The first third or so, I was stuck in the pack, without the option of going much faster than a mild jog. I had Obama's speech from the DNC inspiring me on the ol' ipod. Then it got to be a bit frustrating. I was a third of the way through and it wasn't the least bit challenging. I know this will sound terrible, but, screw it, I'm not perfect. I looked around and I felt like I should be doing better than the pack I was running in. No offense to my man Barack, but I skipped out of his speech, got to the music, and got moving. It was night. The music kicked in and I felt like a character in a movie, entering his third act and chasing full steam that which he had only just then realized he wanted more than anything in life. As I passed the kilometer and mile markers, a smile spread across my face as I realized I was really doing this thing that I was not sure I could do and it felt like I was doing it well. Water stations appeared a few times on my right, but all I thought about was moving to the outside to avoid the pack slowing down to drink. I was in the zone. My legs felt great, my heart and lungs felt strong. I was working shit out. Bystanders began to appear along the railings along the sidelines of the course. I figured they were out there to cheer someone they knew, not because this was entertaining, but I pretended they were cheering for me. As I made the final turn and started the home stretch, I tapped into an attitude that a passive-aggressive guy like me rarely sees. I was going for it and loving every second. Finally, the start/finish gate came back into sight. The crowd had swollen now and there were bright lights shining on us. I felt a certain rush from this but I don't think I understood until later that it was a feeling of pride about being on one side of the railing versus the other. I never played youth sports. This was me doing it for once rather than watching someone else do it, wishing it were me. I crossed that finish and I felt like King Kong. To put it in perspective, my time was not impressive when compared to actual runners. Hell, my time didn't even sniff what Matthew McConaughey had put up in Austin earlier that day. But that was not the point for me. Mine was not a race against anyone but myself and my own expectations for what I could achieve. It felt good to surprise myself.

I haven't run again since that Sunday night. I've been far too sore. I'm not planning to suddenly devote my life to the sport or even think about running something like a marathon. But I do have the clear memory of the place I was at mentally that night and I can now use my daily morning runs to try to feel that again rather than to simply try to get some exercise.

And I might do the Westside 10K coming up in October for shits and giggles.

Aside from that, I'll be getting my video camera back from my uncle soon and I'm gonna use it to do a short film. I went to film school, damn it. Why the fuck have I been talking myself out of it for so long? I'm also feeling like I'm ready to start writing again. Or at least start seriously thinking about the things you have to do before actually writing, which is often the most difficult part.

Yessir, I'm feeling good. I'm in a place where I can relish in the process without the constraint of worrying about the result. If only I didn't have that 40-hour-a-week nuisance known as "work" slowing me down. Cheers!

Paul Simon is Trying to Get Me Fired

--Got my first improv class tonight. I'm currently running on a fantastic blend of nervousness, excitement, and Dunkin' Donuts coffee. Stay tuned...

--Speaking of Dunkin' Donuts coffee....Today marks Day One of the Dunkin' Donuts Coffee Challenge here at the office. Ya see, two of my coworkers are Dunkin' Donuts coffee snobs, always perpetuating that tired old bit about Dunkin' Donuts being the best and why don't they have them out here when they have the commercials and, God, I love the east coast, bla bla bla....(I'm not bitter about this or anything) So I have challenged them to a bet. Every day, we will make D.D. coffee here in our little bullpen....until the day I slip in a ringer. If, on that fateful day, they do not discern the difference, I win the challenge. If they get an itchy taste trigger and accuse me of making a switch on which I have not made one, I also win. Twenty dollar buy in. I can't lose.

--So I'm listening to my ipod on my little ipod speakers and just cruisin' along here at work when all of a sudden there's a loud record scratch in my head. Was that the N-word that just came flowing out of my speakers? Yes, it was. From Paul Simon. "Adios Hermanos" was the song. I'm sure there's an argument to be made for the context of the song, but that's beside the point when you're listening at work. I can't have racial epithets popping out randomly. What the fuck, Paul? Same thing goes for you, Randy Newman, when your song "Rednecks" came on later in the same damn day, using the same fuckin' word. You rock and roll legends trying to get me fired or what?

--Ever since I was thinking about biking to work, I have been more aware of the cyclists I come across on the streets and it really bothers me...Why are only 10% of them wearing helmets? Not only is it The Law, but isn't that common sense for personal safety? Would you go on a roller coaster and elect to not put the lap bar down? Would you dive head first into murky water of undetermined depth? Would you chow down on a yogurt with a compromised seal? It's just basic self-protection, isn't it? I almost want to give them a little car-to-bicycle love tap just to teach them a lesson.

Separated at Birth Pt. Deux

U.S. Beach Volleyball Superstar and Olympic Gold Medal Winner Misty May-Treanor

Jeff Tweedy, Lead singer of Wilco

Here ya go, Conrad.

This commercial cracks me up

Brilliant!

I'm watching "The Office" at the office! Thank you, Netflix Instant Play!

Separated at Birth?

Political pundit Rachel Maddow

Angels first baseman Mark Teixeira

I love them both, by the way.

Tag, unfortunately not Laser-

Tagged by Valerie.

My mission as I've chosen to accept it: list 3 joys, 3 fears, 3 current obsessions/collections, 3 surprising facts and then tag 5 other people. Leave a comment for the people you tag so they know they have been tagged.

joys

1. Travel. A joy often stifled by the rarity of opportunities to do it or the limitation of having to choose only one trip. Still, there's nothing like getting away, touching down in a new city. Also, I love airports and everything about air travel. To me, it's the best time to finally sit and think.

2. Lazy Sunday mornings with the local paper.

3. Singing loud in the car with the sunroof open, windows down, driving along the beach.

fears

1. Never escaping from my current field of work.

2. Alzeimer's Disease. Ever since I saw "Away From Her." Other diseases are surely more painful (though not to the loved ones of the afflicted, I imagine), but I can't think of another that is more cruel.

3. Sharks.

obsessions

1. Music. I've been doing a lot of exchanging with friends which has no doubt saved me hundreds. Bitch of it is, I've got too much! I was just telling someone what I really need is a 5-day road trip to soak in all the new music I've brought in in the last couple months.

2. Online window shopping. Camera, clothes, ties, books, TVs, home theater systens, airline tickets, Christmas gifts, upcoming concerts.

3. Wedding planning. Seven months and nary a date nor venue! You'd think it was a government project.

facts

1. I sometimes wish I wore glasses (not just reading ones). I know it's vain, but I like the way they look.

2. I will learn how to play guitar. Someday.

3. Eating apples makes my face sweat.

Bonus fact: The movie "Once" is NOT a love story. I am prepared to argue this to the death.

Tag Five People:

1. Cruiser
2. Cruiser
3. Cruiser
4. Cruiser
5. Cruiser

19 Days and Counting...

I am so friggin' fired up for college football season, I could wet myself.

I haven't been this excited since the day I earned the name "Kettle-part." I intend to ration my enthusiasm a bit better this time around.

Uncle Pete. God bless him. I love this man. This picture is getting framed and put on my desk.

Dear IPhone Owning Friends (a.k.a. ICult),

You guys are insane. For the last time, I don't want an IPhone. I'm not going to get an IPhone. No, I do not feel left out because you psychos are surrounding me and trying to make me envious of an electronic device. It's just a fucking phone, folks!! The fact that you "love" your cell phone scares me. I imagine you petting it and cuddling it as you sleep at night. The idea that you will gain some level of satisfaction or pleasure by my personal cell phone choice is rather disturbing. Please, and I really mean this, my answer is No. NOW BACK OFF!!

4 Reasons Why It's Fun To Work In This Office Today

1. Tie Day Friday participation is catching on. We are three strong now thanks to new guy Brandon.

2. Block Party Friday! On Fridays, T-Bone and I go tit-for-tat with the upbeat, carry-you-into-weekend type music. It started way back when when I would play "Your Love" by The Outfield at 5:55 on Fridays and grew into an all-day 80s/90s/old school hip-hop/rock & roll extravaganza. As of today, we are upping the ante once a month with Block Party Fridays. On days such as this, I will play a song by Toto, for example. T-Bone will then have to answer by playing another song by Toto and then a song by an artist of his choosing. It goes back and forth. So far, so awesome.

3. The Office Wager White Board has arrived!! Now we have a central source on which to keep track of all our off-track betting. The only current bet on the board is on how soon our boss will get a ticket for non-hands-free cell phone use, but it's still new. I'm sure we'll have more action going very soon.

4. The bells!! Thanks to Office Depot, T-Bone and I finally have our bells. We're talking your hotel reception desk bell, as used by Bean from Kevin and Bean. This has been the best part of the day. Melissa bashes LA or waxes on about Boston or New York? DING! Someone mentions an attractive woman? DING! J.C. comes looking for his check at 9:01 Tuesday morning like he does every week? DING DING DING! Man, I wish I could carry this thing with me everywhere.

You Make The Fall

Would it be alright with everyone if we just skipped August and went right into September? I've got some chai tea here and I am reeeeeeally feeling like I'm ready for Fall. August is kind of a 'tweener of a month anyway, isn't it? July is the peak of the American summer with 4th of July and vacations and what not. September is school back in session, college football in full swing, the weather dropping a few degrees (except in Southern California). Let's just get straight to it, shall we?

In My Mind I'm Gone...

Saw James Taylor Wednesday night. If you know me at all, I know I really don't need to say much else to convey what that means to me. I was thinking though as I watched him for never-enough-teenth time how his songs to me are a lot like old friends in that we've been through a lot together. Obviously, it's a little different in that I am a human being and while you could argue that a song is a living thing, it's not like you can buy it a beer. Anywho! My point is just that I was thinking about how I have been listening to JT's music throughout so many different stages of my life, how throughout all the ups and downs and changes, I have always gone to his music for peace and perspective.

My favorite JT song is probably "Carolina in My Mind." A lot of times when I hear it, I remember listening to it one particular day when I was back in New York. I hadn't been living there for very long so I didn't have any real friends yet and I was having kind of a tough time regardless. I remember going to Central Park one day by myself and sitting up on a hill, against a tree overlooking the Bethesda Fountain. I sat there with an apple, a pad and pen, and "James Taylor Live" on my Discman. I remember feeling like I was taking my first deep breath since I had been there. I started to feel a little more at home. Here's looking at you, JT.

There was one little nugget of information I can relay that sets this particular concert apart from all his other shows...I saw Helen Hunt. I. Saw. Helen. Hunt. I shit you not. Can you imagine? I am lucky I didn't faint on the spot given the perfect storm that JT and HH are to me. There she was, talking to some assumed friends during the intermission, a mere six rows in front of me (cue "Dream Weaver"). Luckily when we all took our seats again, she was not visible as that would have been a tremendous distraction.

James and Helen at once. To paraphrase Clark W. Griswold, Jr., I would have needed plastic surgery to remove my smile.