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.)

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.

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.

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."

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?

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.

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!

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.

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.

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

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.

Bless You!

Cruiser brought this to our attention the other night. It had us all giggling like school girls. Thanks, Cruise.

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?

HAPPY ST. PATTY'S DAY!!

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.

The Wallet Report

Current conditions

Thickness: 2 inches

Weight: 8 ounces

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

Just Because It's Great

"Farther On" by Jackson Browne

If you want to actually hear the song, it's #46 on the music player on the right sidebar. If you click on a track number and drag your mouse down, you are able to scroll down.

Farther On

In my early years I hid my tears
And passed my days alone
Adrift on an ocean of loneliness
My dreams like nets were thrown
To catch the love that I'd heard of
In books and films and songs
Now there's a world of illusion and fantasy
In the place where the real world belongs

Still I look for the beauty in songs
To fill my head and lead me on
Though my dreams have come up torn and empty
As many times as love has come and gone

To those gentle ones my memory runs
To the laughter we shared at the meals
I filled their kitchens and living rooms
With my schemes and my broken wheels
It was never clear how far or near
The gates to my citadel lay
They were cutting from stone some dreams of their own
But they listened to mine anyway

I'm not sure what I'm trying to say
It could be I've lost my way
Though I keep a watch over the distance
Heaven's no closer than it was yesterday

And the angels are older
They know not to wait up for the sun
They look over my shoulder
At the maps and the drawings of the journey I've begun

Now the distance leads me farther on
Though the reasons I once had are gone
I keep thinking I'll find what I'm looking for
In the sand beneath the dawn

But the angels are older
They can see that the sun's setting fast
They look over my shoulder
At the vision of paradise contained in the light of the past
And they lay down behind me
To sleep beside the road till the morning has come
Where they know they will find me
With my maps and my faith in the distance
Moving farther on

Sweet Sounds of Spring

Right now in Tempe, Arizona, the Angels are 3 innings into their first game of the 2009 Spring Training season. If it were any other year, the fellas and I would be enjoying this game from the bleachers right now, with a dog in one hand, a cold, tall beer in the other, the warm dessert sun shining on us. It's not to be this year, unfortunately, but thanks to the wonders of technology, I can still listen to the game from my windowless position here in El Segundo. God, it's great to even hear a baseball game played again. It's great to hear the familiar voices of Angel broadcasters Terry Smith, Rory Marcus, and Jose Mota. As much as I love following the game and hearing the guys again, I think my favorite part is between innings, when the broadcast is simply the peaceful hum of the crowd, the echo of the PA system, and the pop of the ball in the mitt as the next pitcher warms up. Ha! Right now, I can hear Bobby Darin's "Dreamlover" and a vendor selling beer. If I close my eyes, I am there.

Welcome back, baseball.

Status Update!!!!!!

John is...aggravated by his chapped lips.

John is...putting on Chapstick.

John is...at work.

John is...wearing a hat.

John is...heading to the water cooler.

John is...happy to have cold Arrowhead.

John is...pausing to contemplate.

John is...back at the helm!

John is...needing a nice clean shave.

John is...tying his shoes.

John is...off to the bathroom!

John is...back.

John is...a paintball sniper.

John is...a Facebook hater.

Dear Friends,

I lost my phone over the weekend so if you call or text me in the next few days with no reply from me, please know you are not being shunned.

UPDATE: Back on line! Let those calls come flooding in! Okay, any minute now....Still waiting...Got the old phone up and running again. Looks like I'll be using this for a while since I am not eligible for an upgrade until May 2010. Nothing like a little technological devolution.

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.