Nice Little Tuesday

I must have gotten one helluva nice night's sleep last night because I feel like a new man today. Refreshed! Rejuvenated! Renewed! I just wish I could better use of my buoyant spirit today. I could pay invoices while in a coma so it feels like a waste to do it today. Of course we're all familiar with calling in sick, but what about calling in feeling unusually great?

"Hey Boss...Yeah, I woke up this morning and I just felt fantastic. I mean I am really feeling spectacular. I don't think I should come in today, lest this spirit end up being contagious. Thanks for understanding. I'm sure I'll be back tomorrow."

I don't know, I don't think it would fly. Ah well, days like this are what daydreaming are for, right? I give you...

My Fake Day:

--I think I would start off with a pumpkin spice latte from Starbucks. They've been back for over a month and I have had, what, two? What is wrong with me?

--On that note, I am also long overdue on the fall playlist. Thanks to Wayne, my operation is mobile now. I started work on it yesterday and after about 2 hours I was not through the letter D. I don't think I want to spend the whole day on the computer though so I'll go with an on-the-go list of James Taylor and Alison Krauss.

--I think the first thing I would do is hop in the car and head east, out to Oak Glen. That's apple country, folks. I have also heard rumors of foliage, but I don't want to get my hopes up. Let's just do some apple picking. Let's walk around the orchard and just smell the trees and the dirt and the fruit. Just truly breathe. I brought sandwiches so we can eat lunch right out under that old tree. On our way out of town, we'll stop into one of the local diners for fresh apple fritters and cider.

--When we get home, we'll put those freshly picked apples to use. I am not a big fan of apple pie generally. I have nothing against it, but if I am having pie, I would prefer blueberry, pecan, or pumpkin. Then again I have never had a freshly home baked apple pie! House Rule #1 for my kitchen: Any serious culinary effort must be accompanied by a glass of wine. Now that that's settled, Well get our hands dirty making a good old fashioned apple pie. This "house" is going to smell like the bakery in heaven on Christmas morning.

--While the pie is baking, I'll take a walk up the street I am naming the Miracle Quarter-Mile, that oft mentioned block where the trees think they are in New England and not West LA. It's a nice little walk, especially with the Halloween decorations some houses have put up. One has a group of young white-sheet ghosts circling around a tree in the front yard. I'll snap a few photos, gather some of the red and yellow leaves that have fallen.

--When we get home, we'll pull that pie out of the oven and cut right into it. I know it's supposed to cool, but who can wait. I'll abide a sloppy first slice. I think I'll put a slice of cheddar cheese on mine. I've always heard about this, but never actually tried it. Maybe that's the missing ingredient for me and apple pie. It's worth a try.

--After pie, we'll play a board game or, better yet, take a nap. A sugar coma is no big deal if you are able to just give in to it, go with it.

--When we wake up, we'll hop in the car again and head for the beach. Sidebar: I know I have stretched time a bit here. It would probably be 8 pm by this point, but this is fantasy so I'll stretch this day as long as I want it. I drive home along the beach everyday and as great as that is, I never stop. It's so beautiful, I don't want to pass it by so quickly. I feel the urge to walk down to the water, stare out for more than fleeting glances as I avoid a head-on collision with oncoming traffic. But I would prefer to not do it alone either so today is the day to do it right. We'll walk along the beach hand-in-hand like a living chick flick (the we I have been referring to all this time is, of course, Nicole). When the sun finally sets and the pink sky begins to turn dark, we'll hop back in the car and head towards home, stopping first at...

--...Don Antonio's, because great Mexican food is the fare for all seasons. Aside from the sumptuous tacos, fajitas y margaritas, one of my favorite qualities about Don Antonio's is its festive atmosphere from the stalagmites of the cavern room to the white twinkle light, yellow-tile patio. I think my affinity for all things festive has been well documented by now. Dos tacos, por favor, una pollo y una carnitas. No flan tonight though, more pie awaits at home.

--The only thing better than spending time in a home overcome by seasonal scents is coming home to it, that first smell as you walk through the door. We're in for the night now. Cue the sweats. What to watch on TV tonight....hmmmm.....oh look at this, there is some sort of sporting event being televised. What are they calling it, basketball? And what is that team, the Los Angeles Lakers? Why are they giving them rings before the game begins? They are NBA Championship rings you say? This is good, let's stick with this program.

--Then, we'll watch "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown." Because it would not be the season without it.

Not a bad day, I think. And look at that, by entertaining my dreams for what the day could have been, I have killed off half of what it must be, getting ever closer to the whistle blow that portends all that it still might be. Time for lunch!

5 days everybody!

Angels 7, Yankees 6

We live to fight another day. I came into a free gorilla suit yesterday so I should have known my luck was looking up.

One step closer to the mustache. Two gargantuan steps to go still, but we're still alive. I think I had four heart attacks and two strokes last night while watching that game. We might need to force a Game 7 just to get on the right foot with Lackey. As it stands, last night's pull could seriously affect his decision on re-signing.

Just another little morsel on ridiculous sports fans' superstitions that occurred in the early innings of last night's game...Here's an IM conversation between me and Kissen:

Bottom 1st, Halos have runners on 2nd and 3rd, no outs, Torii Hunter at the plate

(Me) (5:13:52 PM): TORII COMES THROUGH!!! 2-0 HALOS!!!!

(Kissen) went away at 5:15:38 PM

Vladdy doubles, Kendry singles, Angels are on top 4-0 with no outs

(Kissen) returned at 5:17:48 PM
(Kissen) (5:18:40 PM): nice

(Kissen) (5:18:47 PM): I was on the can

(Me) (5:19:14 PM): guess what we might need you to go back there for the next few hours

(Kissen) (5:19:31 PM): I got a lap top with Wi Fi
(Kissen) (5:19:33 PM): shouldn't be a problem
(Kissen) (5:19:42 PM): let me see if I can cause a 2nd wave to hit

Maicer flies out, Juan Rivera grounds into an inning-ending double-play.

So in this case, it didn't seem to matter, but still, that's a true friend that's willing to go back to the bathroom stall for the sake of his friend's team.

Ah what the hell, I'm in.

Let's go, boys.

The Pledge

On ridiculous, meaningless, superstitious sports pledges...

A coworker was under the misunderstanding that my beard was a playoff beard, grown until the Angels either win the whole thing or get eliminated. I told her my beard had nothing to do with that, especially since I've been sportin' it since June. But then I got to thinking....

I pledged that if, by some miracle, the Angels manage to dig themselves out of this 3-1 hole and win this series, I would happily shave my beard as a sign of solidarity.

Then I was telling the boss about it this morning and he suggested I kick it up a notch and pledge to go with a mustache.

"If the Angels pull their heads out and come back to win, I will go mustache for the week of the World Series," I proclaimed.

He then went over the top on me and challenged me to commit to going with the 'stache for a full year if they should get to the World Series and win.

This is no small pledge. A year is a very long time to have a mustache. I remember last time I went to the porn 'stache, I was tickled by it for the first week. By the second week, the joke had worn off and people stopped laughing at me. At that point, they had just accepted that I looked like a sleezebag. Think of all the people you meet in a year. All those people would think the mustache was me. What about all the weddings, birthdays, etc. where you need to take real photos? What if I have to go on a job interview? Unless the position is with Vivid Entertainment, I think I could pretty much count on not getting that job. It's basically a choice to sacrifice my dignity for an entire year. That's something that could change a man. But wouldn't the joy of winning the World Series against such horrific odds fill me with an inner dignity and pride that could not be touched much less ruined by something as superficial as physical appearance, you ask? Maybe.

This is not something to rush into. A rash pledge of this sort is never wise, even when you know the chances of it actually qualifying make it a pretty safe one. I am going to stew on this until game time. I will post my decision here later.

Stay thirsty, my friends.

Just Tuesday

"True nature revealed true nature...

...The feeling went right down into her middle, and set loose something else, a spirit she'd never realized was there, much less locked up and trapped. And, they were still on the road, not even to the (grand) canyon yet! How would it feel when she could get out, walk ten paces and there would be the great space stretching miles and miles and miles? She couldn't imagine it. The profound opening of the earth. Great wonders all had powers to set free in you what wasn't free. Poets wrote about it. Only the dragging, grinding, minutiae of every day--cooking, driving, talking on the phone, explaining yourself to strangers and loved ones, selling houses, balancing checkbooks, stopping at the video store--all that made you forget what was possible in life.

Probably she'd faint. Certainly she would be speechless then cry. Conceivably she'd want to move out here right away, realize she'd been living her life wrong, and begin to fix it. That's why the people she sold houses to moved--to go where they could live better. They made up their minds--at least the ones who weren't forced into it by horrible luck--that they and not somebody else ran their lives."

An excerpt from "A Multitude of Sins" by, my favorite author, Richard Ford. I crossed this passage while waiting for an oil change today and I just wanted to share because I love this guy's writing so much.

P.S. Why do I not own a bow tie by now?

I only have one thing to say....

VEGAS!!!!!!

Uh oh.

I just realized I like Taylor Swift. Is this the beginning of the end?

Uh oh, squared.

I just realized I announced to the world that I like Taylor Swift practically on the eve of a bachelor party in Vegas with 17 other guys. I'm dead meat.

Going Commando

A new day has dawned. The old pipes are out, the copper and the new showerhead are IN. Have you ever seen a man moved to song by water pressure? This man was singing a happy tune as he was pelted by a torrent stream of shower water this morning. My delicate skin had atrophied under the low-pressure regime I had been living with for so many months. It was a shock to the system to go from the drip-drip pressure I had to kneel under as it fell straight down to the tub floor to the stand-back-and-hold-on pressure of the Commando 450. I think I might have bruised. But man oh man, what a shower.

26 hours until Dollar Beer Night Reunion...

--There's nothing like coming home to massive holes in your dining room wall. "Look hun, I can see the laundry room!" Of course, it's for the wonderful cause of re-piping and it is great to spend some time with the new copper beauties we'll be celebrating with high-pressure showers in the next few days, but nobody likes to see holes in their walls.

--Another fine day of what I call Richmond Weather. Chilly and grey with a chance of showers, perfect for a fine lunch of chili and beer at my favorite place in El Segundo. I'd love to hole up there for the better part of the afternoon with a brew and a book.

--El Cholo tonight. I've always found that to be an odd name for a Mexican restaurant because of the connotations associated with the word as slang. I figured that couldn't be the meaning they were going for when they named it, but I never knew what the literal definition might be. Until now. Thanks to end-of-day boredom and the wonderous powers of the internet, I bring to you the actual Spanish dictionary definition of "El Cholo":

cholo [cho’-lo, lah]
adjective
1. Person of half-European and half-Indian parentage.

It's so much more clear to me now.

--If, God forbid, the Angels should fall to the Yankees in Games 1 & 2, you can start the blame right here. I wore my red halos hat and 2002 jersey for each game of the Division Series and you can see the results they produced. Due to bachelor party restrictions (VEGAS!!!!!), I will be virtually unable to don my uniform for these next two games. I am very, very conflicted about this. If the Angels could win Game 1, it would really give me a huge boost going into the rest of the weekend. And if you think I'm crazy, I quote Crash Davis:

"Don't fuck with a winning streak."

I know it's ridiculous, but I am not alone in this, right? I know for a fact Cruiser ordered his sister to NOT go to the bathroom and maintain her position during the 9th inning rally in Game 3 of the Boston series. And I think he was right to do so. Man oh man, halos...let's just win Game 1 and put the whole thing to bed.

Infectious

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

NOT NOW!!! OF ALL THE TIMES, NOT FRIGGIN' NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

SEVEN DAYS FROM VEGAS AND I AM GETTING SICK NOW?! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

MOTHER*CK$*N SON OF A B&TCH!

It's times like these that I really hate working in an office. Infected #1 got sick a week ago. Then another person was stricken. Then it hopped over the wall into our department. One of my coworkers is out today. I have been feeling it in my throat and as of today I feel it in my head which means that's about all she wrote. It drives me nuts. One person gets sick and like dominos, the rest of us go down in order. Everybody wants to be a hero and not miss work and who suffers for it? Everyone. SICKOS, STAY HOME! Some of us have Vegas trips you could be sabotaging!

SHIT!

And another thing...

--We have a woman here who has been sneezing a lot lately. Every time she sneezes, I yell a "bless you" undoubtedly audible to her. Not once has she said "thank you." Not once. One time she actually said "excuse me" AFTER I had already said "bless you." That's just a slap in the face. It's not that I need the recognition. I don't bless her to garner thanks. It's simply that she is severing the natural order of social behavior in these sneezing situations.

--Next week there shall occur a momentous reunion. The return to Dollar Beer Night. Back in the old days, when we were all working at Warner Bros. and living in the valley, Wednesday nights at The Park in Burbank were a tradition. Conrad, Bill Brasky, The Doug and I would all convene for the greatest promotion of all-time, Dollar Beer Night. We did it just about every week it seems. Sometimes even The Cruiser drove all the way up from Long Beach. It was no big deal at the time, just buddies hanging out drinking many beers for little money and harmlessly oogling the bartenders. It was such a no-brainer that I think we took it for granted. Then I moved to the other side of the hill, Bill moved to Portland, and I lost touch with this sacred event. Conrad carried the torch for a long time, but even he eventually moved on. Well next week, we're turning back the clock (I meant figuratively, but the literal clock turning has to be soon too, right?). Bill will be in town under unfortunate circumstances, but we intend to seize the opportunity for good use. The return to Dollar Beer Night! Next Wednesday! KISSEN! THE DOUG! ME! BILL FREAKIN BRASKY! Grab your bags, It's on! (Cruiser, this is your invitation) The only drawback is that Conrad, The Godfather of Dollar Beer Night, The Patron Saint of Dollar Beer Night shall not be able to join us.

--Between all the football and baseball watching, the seasonal delights at Starbucks, and all the beer, it says here that if you don't gain a minimum of 8 pounds this time of year, you are letting the good things in life pass you by.

IConnick

Have you heard/read/seen this story about Harry Connick. Jr. on the Australian gameshow?

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ynews/ynews_ts946

Here is the part that's so stupid, it makes my head spin...People are actually criticizing HC, Jr. for this. Seriously? Seriously. Criticizing him for disapproving of Blackface minstrelsy? They are calling him a hypocrite in light of his playing an African-American preacher on a sketch comedy show? If I could slap the collective face of these ignorant people, I would.

There is a difference between a White person playing an African-American and Blackface. It's not even a small difference. There is a vast chasm separating the connotations of the two. To even try to compare Harry in the MadTV sketch to Blackface is a degradation.

I Don't Get It

You know what's been driving me nuts lately? TV commercials that make no sense. I think this means I'm getting old. Still.

Have you seen these Tecate Light commercials? You know, the ones for the beer with "REAL CERVEZA TASTE."

We changed boxing with a champion both sides could root for....

(Footage of Oscar De La Hoya)

We changed cars by making them dance to our own beat...

(Footage of a car bouncing with its hydraulics)

We changed the boogie man by giving him a name...

(Footage of a drawing of and newspaper headline about the mythical Chupacabras)

We changed fashion by making it our own...

(Footage of a Latino male walking down the street wearing a t-shirt with Spanish words written on it)

First of all, who is "we?" Tecate Light? So Tecate Light is taking credit for inventing hydraulics, the Chupacabras, and Oscar De La Hoya? No. I'm pretty sure they mean Mexico. Still, I just don't get what they are trying to say exactly. Mexico revolutionized the black t-shirt by putting something Mexican on it? Okay.... Mexico changed the boogie man by calling giving him a name? What about the people that came up with "The Boogie Man?" Old news, I guess. It just makes no sense to me.

How about this one for the T-Mobile phone with Google? The one with Whoopi Goldberg, Phil Jackson, Jesse James, and the Cat Stevens song.

Whoopi touches the phone and slides a screen showing a drawing of her as a cartoonish vampire, "Count Whoopula..." Okay.....That's an important feature, I suppose.

She then hands it off to Phil Jackson who touches it and cues up aerial video of what I presume to be Montana....So you're telling me you can see video on the phone....AMAZING.

Next is Jesse James. He touches it and cues up a photo of he and some random guy.....Are you saying it has the capability to show a still photograph too?!?! GET OUT!

"T-Mobile presents the first phone that becomes 100% you."

What the crap does that mean? What is the big benefit they are selling me on here? Desktop wallpaper? I really don't understand. I wonder if there is an IPhone app that explains vague, pointless commercials.

One other thing about this product. They call it "The Google Phone" on the street, but the commercials always call it such and such phone "with Google." Now I'm not trying to be sarcastic here, but isn't any phone with internet capability technically "with Google?" We're talking about an internet search engine, right? Or is it some sort of operating system on the phone? Somebody must have one. Please, explain.

Also, is anyone else getting a little paranoid that Google is taking over the earth?

Programming Note

Just wanted to point out that "National Lampoon's Vacation" is airing on The Travel Channel. I love that. It's like Animal Planet showing "Jurassic Park."

Anti-Chaos Theory

Fair warning: I am going to be toeing the line here. I don't want to be whiny, but I know I am going to come dangerously close.


October has arrived and that means baseball postseason. For the 4th time in the last six years, my Angels will face the Boston Red Sox in the first round of the playoffs. The Angles have never beaten Boston in a postseason series, going 0-4 dating back to the 1986 American League Championship Series. A few times, you could say they probably had the better team, but, regardless, failed to get the job done. The thought of enduring this matchup once more leads me to my theme of the day...Am I ever gonna catch a fuckin' break?

I've been working in production accounting for seven years. For nearly as long as I have been in, I have tried to get out. There have been fleeting glimmers of hope over the years, but nothing ever developed beyond the earliest stages. I've applied for other types of jobs in various fields and never, literally not once, been called for an interview.

Within the current job, I have been in line three times now to travel with the show and three times, some admittedly fair, some not, I have gotten the shaft.

I could go on and on, but I realize my point is already getting lost. I don't mean to whine about every little thing in my life that hasn't worked out like I might have hoped. Believe me, I realize all the luck I have had and all the many wonderful things I have to be thankful for. I realize how many people in the world would listen to my best effort at a pity party and would be doubled over in laughter if not slap me in the face. My point is just that you notice things in life that seem to develop as patterns. Baseball teams have mental blocks about teams they can't seem to beat, people get pigeonholed in careers they never wanted, vital issues are buried under counterproductive prideful bickering (cough--POLITICS!--cough, cough), etc. Don't you ever just feel overwhelmed by a sense of unfortunate predictability, like the course of everything is a train on a track and any alternate outcomes are merely the pretty trees you stare at out the window as you ramble on out of control?

Of course there are exceptions. The Red Sox were slave to a negative pattern themselves for quite a while there before completely turning the tables. My dad was a clock-watching desk jockey before busting out of the grind to start a successful photography business. I did get a very unexpected promotion one time. If it's not all cyclical, it at least does ebb and flow. There is solace to be taken in the hope and likelihood that good things will come. But at the same time, there is a sense, I think, that some things become less likely to suddenly change the longer they chug along on their current course. The longer I get pigeonholed, the longer I am going to probably continue to get pigeonholed. It perpetuates itself. But again, it's not just about me.

There is something to be said, of course, about creating your own destiny. Like Sarah Connor said, "No fate but what we make." There's a line in one of my favorite songs on the new Avett Brothers album which simply advises "Decide what to be and go be it." I believe that's true to some degree. I'll accept my share of responsibility for my life as I've made it for better or worse. If there are aspects I don't like, I could, presumably change them. I just wish I knew how. Better yet, I wish I knew what change within my personality would enable me to know how to change my life. I think I probably have a lack of drive, but now what? Is there a switch I can flip or is this one of those things that's supposed to change automatically when you recognize it like "I'm sorry, I just realized I'm being an asshole. Forget everything I just said"? I think maybe it's as much a lack of drive as it is a lack of direction in which to point the proverbial car.

Again, things could be worse. Far, far worse. And I'm sure they will be at some point. It's not that I'm unhappy. Generally, I'm not only happy, but damn near go lucky to boot. I guess my point is that however the change needs to come, whether by the natural progression of life, my own personal intervention, or some combination thereof, I am definitely ready for the turnabout. In other words, I am ready to catch a fuckin' break.

But it's not about me. That would be self-absorbed.

S.O.S.D.D.

--I like the name "The Buddy System" for a band and I don't care what anybody says. It makes me laugh. It wouldn't be a lasting band, of course. They'd never sniff a second album in the Billboard Top 100 much less the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Compare them to, say.....The Ataris. For this type of one-to-three-hit wonder, fun, simple pop music band, how can you go wrong with The Buddy System? I can't say it without laughing.

--Apparently, my floormats are trying to kill me.

--So it's looking like it will be me and the cats on Halloween night. My plan is to watch USC dismantle the Ducks of Oregon on their home field and then watch some Halloween movies. These are the ones I am thinking of as of now. If you've seen any of them, please weigh in.

"Nightmare Before Christmas"

"Creepshow"

"Halloween" (John Carpenter, not Rob Zombie...I have seen this one, but it's a classic)

"The Thing" (Saw this so long ago it's like never seeing it. I'm concerned even though it's scary, that the arctic setting will not feel Halloween-y)

Any other ideas?

--Well, I have great news. I have received the official OK from my coworkers to start my Christmas music the week of Thanksgiving. A huge victory for my cause.

--Speaking of Christmas music....Have you heard Bob Dylan is releasing a Christmas album this year? Should be interesting. I'd like to see Norah Jones put out a holiday album. Seems like a no-brainer to me. There are a lot of artists/groups that would make some quality holiday music, I feel. Ben Folds, Ben Kweller, Ben Lee...and those are just The Bens.

Reading Rainbow

I want a whole day just to read.

I have so many books I want to read, but I only end up reading for about 20 minutes a day. Just as I am starting to get some traction, I fall asleep. When you read as slowly as I do, you don't exactly burn through anything. I want a whole day to take my time and really make a dent in some of these books. Of course, it would be ideal if the temperature would drop about 20 degrees, the clouds would move in to diffuse the sun, and, let's go nuts, maybe even drop a few millimeters of rain. But I'd settle for just the day.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GUINNESS!!

250 YEARS OLD TODAY! LET'S ALL RAISE A PINT TO GUINNESS, SHALL WE?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BRUCE!!!

60 YEARS OLD TODAY!

This Time of Year by Better Than Ezra (#51 on the playlist at right)

Well there's a feeling in the air

Just like a Friday afternoon

Yeah you can go there if you want

But it fades too soon

So go on, let it be

If there's a feeling coming over me

Seems like it's always understood this time of year

Well I know there's a reason to change

Well I know there's a time for us

You think about the good times

And you live with all the bad

You can feel it in the air,

Feeling right this time of year

Well there's a football in the air

Across a leaf blown field

Yeah there's your first car on the road

And the girl you'd steal

So go on with yourself

If there's a feeling that there's something else

Seems like it's always understood

This time of year

Well I know there's a reason to change

Well I know there's a time for us

You think about the good times

And you live with all the bad

You can feel it in the air

Feeling right this time of year

Well there's a feeling in the air

Just like a Friday afternoon

Yeah you can go there if you want

Though it fades too soon

So go on, let it be

If there's a feeling coming over me

Seems like it's always understood this time of year

Yes, my friends, it is time for the Fall Playlist!!!

Abgels game liveblogging! God bless the laptop!

Angels with the tying run at 3rd, nobody out, trailing 5-4 to the almighty Yankees! Come on Figgins!

1-1 count....

off the plate, 2-1....

check swing foul, 2-2....

Feels like October, doesn't it?

Another foul...No, if it were October, we's inexplicably squeeze and the tying run would be out at the plate.

Pop out to 1B. Shite. Come on. Deep fly out ties the game. Contact play probably on.

1-0 to Maicer Izturis.

1-1.

2-1.

3-1. Hitter's count, kid.

BASE HIT! BASE HIT! IZTURIS SINGLES, KENDRICK SCORES! AFTER TRAILING 5-0, WE'RE TIED AT 5 IN THE 8TH!

Can somebody please explain this Tecate Light commerical to me? I just don't get it. I get that it's a Mexican beer company and when they say "we" in the commercial, they are claiming to speak for the entire country and its culture. What I don't get is what they are actually trying to say...I am sure it will show for the 57th time tonight at the next commercial so I will quote it verbatim. In the meantime....

WILD PITCH MOVES IZTURIS INTO SCORING POSITION AND THEN ABREU WALKS ANYWAY!

Why do so many pro athletes live in Florida? This Phil Hughes kid is the perfect example. He's from Southern California and he chooses to now live in Florida? Bullshit. Only an idiot would make that switch. I get that's for tax reasons, but my question is what designates the official residence? Could he own a hut in the Miami ghetto and get the tax shelter? Does he have to spend X number of days there yearly?

That strikeout from Vlad was my fault. Trust me.

Come on Torii! Find me some green double-I! Or strike out. It's okay though, we rally to tie!

You know what I got at Trader Joe's tonight? Beer Bread Mix. Beer. Bread Mix. Who knew?! Trader Joe, you never cease to amaze me.

Unfuckingbelievable. After checking the runner approximately 19 times, we try a pitchout and guess right, but can't execute the throw to 2nd. I think one reason I love this team is because I see a lot of myself in them.

This is the most touching commerical for men's hair coloring that I have ever seen...Cue the flutes!

It occurs to me that with something like 12 games remaining in the regular season, I have been to all of 2(!!) Angels games this season. I blame Kory for never coming through with free tickets. I think he's been holding out on me.

Ouch. Is there anything more deflating than a strike em out, throw em out double play to erase the tying run from the basepaths in the bottom of the ninth? Probably, but it's gotta be close.

Alright. Game over. Congrats Yankees, but you're still not beating anybody in the American League in the playoffs.

Evenin' folks.

Nice Lil' Saturday....

I have rarely been so excited to do so little.

My plan for tomorrow:

3:00 a.m. Feed Mr. Frodo (non-negotiable)
6:58 a.m. Wake up by own choice
7:00 a.m. Watch ESPN College Gameday, have egg white breakfast sandwich
7:40 a.m. Walk to Starbucks for Pumpkin Spice Latte (Father joins at this point)
7:55 a.m. Stop at Whole Foods to buy sauerkraut, pretzels
8:10 a.m. Walk up to leaf-changing block and back
8:30 a.m. Read paper, more Gameday
9:30 a.m. Begin vigorous cleaning, play new music
11:00 a.m. Shower
11:15 a.m. Toss football around
11:35 a.m. First Beer of the Day!
11:40 a.m.-12:10 p.m. Prepare food - Grill sausages (you catching the Oktoberfest theme?)
12:30 p.m. USC Trojans @ Washington Huskies! FIGHT ON!
3:30 p.m. Take nap.
4:30 p.m. Go for walk to elementary school and back
5:15 p.m. Watch movie, likely a tense drama
7:30 p.m. Leave for Wine & Cheese Party in the valley

I just can't wait.

All times are approximate

Real Men Wear Pink

You bet your boobies, we did it.

We even look drunk, right?

It's Wednesday and I am still walking with a limp.

Luckily, the positives I took from the Avon Walk experience will long outlast the physical aches and pains. What a weekend.

Friday afternoon, I headed down to the LBC to check in at Event Eve. That was my first glimpse at the scale and scope of the event. You've never seen so much pink. After that, wouldn't you know it, I had just enough time to go to Fingerprints before meeting Kory and Jen for a pasta dinner. Funny how that worked out, isn't it? Had a nice meal with the Burroughs followed by an ice cream cone from Rite-Aid (Lord, it sounded so much better when it was Thrifty's). The Lederers were very kind to let me crash in their spare room that night so I could get up at 4:30 instead of 3:30. If you've ever been in the room I'm referring to, you'll understand when I say it felt like sleeping in the Baseball Hall of Fame. Which was great.

Thanks to a 5:30 a.m. pickup by The Cruiser (who was PRECISELY on schedule, by the way--thanks, Kor), I arrived at the Queen Mary starting line right on time. My coworker and friend, Kate, found me instantly and I was quickly introduced to Stephanie and Jennifer, some friends of hers. The team was assembled. The opening ceremony was quite moving. This was my first Walk and even though breast cancer has touched my life in direct and indirect ways, this was the first time that the true purpose and weight of this cause hit home for me. Hearing the personal testimonies of the survivors, those still battling, and the loved ones of those that had fought hard but been lost, it was emotionally stirring, which is to say we were all bawling. Joining hands with perfect strangers in a pledge of solidarity, the ceremony really set the tone for the incredibly kind, generous, and compassionate spirit of the weekend.

And then we were off and walking! The course was really beautiful. Of course, I hail from Long Beach so I had home course advantage, but even I was impressed with the scenery of the route. We walked through the marina, through The Pike, down the beach, back through Naples, down to Seal Beach, up through the Seal Beach residential, back down PCH all the way up and over to the LB City College Area, through Heartwell Park, to the Eastern border neighborhood near Demille Middle School and into El Dorado Park where we would camp for the night. It took us about nine hours including a quick lunch stop and a long pause for Stephanie to get blister treatment. All day, I served as a tour guide, pointing out points of interest from my life growing up in the area. "There's where I went to dinner before my prom...There's the bench where I cried when so-and-so broke up with me...there's the El Dorado library, closed Mondays....There's where Kory foiled a robbery....etc, etc." I'm not sure anyone was still interested beyond mile 10 but that didn't stop me.

The most amazing part of it was the overwhelming support we received every step of the way. Literally all day long, for both days, cars were passing by honking and cheering. There were people that would drive along the route, stopping to dance or cheer and then quickly driving a few miles ahead to do it all over again throughout the entire course. Who are the wonderful, thoughful people who do this, devoting their entire weekend to clapping and encouraging us and motivating us to keep on chugging? Then there were the official volunteers working the rest stops and the Wellness Village camp, serving food, unloading gear, treating our wounds. I can still picture the Youth Crew volunteers, kids ranging from 12-16 who organizes the lines at the portapotties, holding the doors open for us and telling us to keep our arms and legs inside and "enjoy the ride." And the little kids in the homes we walked past yelling across streets to us, "Thank you for walking!" Our favorites might have been the Scooters For Hooters group, tough-looking bikers with their Harleys, serving as traffic control/crossing guards for us throughout the weekend. With their beards died pink and their music blasting, they, like all the other supporters and volunteers, always, without exception, had smiles on their faces and jokes to tell. I can't imagine what the walk would have been like without any of them.

As upbeat and positive as everyone was, there was a current of sadness running underneath it all. Many walkers had t-shirts with photos of loved ones they'd lost to breast cancer. Mothers, sisters, wives, and daughters. I began to recognize their faces on the t-shirts as if they were there walking with us, which, I presume, was the point. I regret that I didn't get to hear their stories or at least learn their names. Something tells me they'll be back next year.

When we finally caught sight of the Wellness Village at the end of 26.2 miles on Day One, I was running on fumes. I probably consumed 6000 calories in snacks and energy Gu, but my legs were begging for mercy. Of course, the superhuman women on my team were charging ahead like it was mile one. I've never been so thrilled to see an open lawn. As we entered the village, there was a red carpet with cheerleaders and supporters on either side yelling for us and high-fiving us as we came through. Breast cancer paparazzi, if you will. Once inside, I finally sat down on the cool grass. I made some phone calls before heading over to shower and change clothes. That shower, in a big trailer, was one of the most fulfilling and refreshing showers of my life. That night we dined on meatballs and pasta and watched the evening's entertainment, "Fireside Follies." It was like being at summer camp. Jennifer and I were so friggin' exhausted it was like we were drunk. I hit the sack around 9:30 but, between the snorers, my inability to find one good, lasting position, and all the caffeine I'd ingested in my energy Gu, I barely caught a wink. But I rested, which was key.

I rose at 6:30 a.m. Sunday morning to fresher legs. I packed my gear, struck the tent, had some breakfast and set out to bring it home on Day Two! We had been saying on Saturday that a measely 13.1 miles on Sunday would be cake. We'd be dancing that one, cruising it like it was a victory lap, we thought. We were wrong. 13.1 miles after 26.2 the day before is exactly like 26.2 miles after none the day before. By the halfway point, I was struggling. It's only half the distance, but mentally it was doubly taxing because I was thinking of it as the home stretch, not focusing on the five-plus hours it was still going to take. But we made it. We crossed that finish line with arms raised high in victory.

There was some debate on whether to stick around for the closing ceremonies because they weren't due to start for another hour and a half, but I am so glad that we decided to stay. Three groups entered the ceremony seperately, the walkers first on the outside, then the survivors walking right down the middle, then the volunteers behind them, with all our friends and family surrounding the whole thing. It was a really great way for each population to be recognized and give the personal appreciation for each other group. The closing ceremony was even more emotional than the opening. More tears, more cheers, more unity. I remember when I turned to go after it had ended, there was an older woman hugging a tall, young man with a pink mohawk. They were not letting go, her face buried in his chest. I could tell by the way she was shaking that she was sobbing. That's the image that I'll remember as puncuating a wonderful, enrichening weekend (much more so than the hour and forty-five minutes it took us to get out of the parking lot).

The Avon Walk for Breast Cancer Los Angeles brought out approximately 5,500 walkers (450 men--I saw about 10) to walk 39.2 miles over 2 days and raised over 4 million dollars to fight breast cancer.

For 2 days, we walked as 1.

I can't do it.

I can make no valid case for hating Tim Tebow. I thought I could, but there's just no justifying it. I thought I could talk about his ridiculous "jump passes" or wax cynical about how underneath the virginal, bible-thumping, goody two-shoes preacher's son must lay a flawed person not unlike the rest of us. I was all ready to write that it wasn't so much that I hated Tim Tebow as much as I just didn't believe Tim Tebow. But how the hell do I really know? Tim Tebow is only an image to me and I have to admit that if that image bore a cardinal & gold uniform and a Trojan on his helmet, I would probably be president of the Tim Tebow fan club. That being said, I can think of no player, team, or coach that I would love to see SC beat than Tim Tebow, his mentor Urban Meyer, and his team the Florida Gators. Man, I hope they get the chance.

SPORTS EDITION!

Remember when I used to have a sports blog? Remember when Joe and I started doing Soapbox Sports back before Blogger with its many blog templates was even invented? Man, that was a pain in the ass. It took us all week to get that thing up, not just writing all the content, but doing all the layout work too. I'm no stranger to nostagia, so I'll say it, I miss it a little bit. I think more often than not we did a pretty decent job. Anyway, as we begin the NFL season and get ever closer to the baseball postseason, I thought why not do a rare sports post for old times' sake. Play ball, start your engines, aaaan the they're off, let's get ready to rumble, yada, yada, yada.

--Does anyone else wish we could just skip September and move right into October? I mean, really, do we really need September? Do we need to go to college football games played in 100-degree heat? I don't. Give me rain. Do we need all the false hope of teams like the Texas Rangers beating teams like the Red Sox for the Wild Card spots? It's not going to happen so let's just skip to the point. Same with the Angels. Once again, the Angels and Red Sox appear to be on course for a first round matchup. Can't we just skip ahead to the 2nd round and somebody just tell me what happened? We lost in 5? Fine, I'm used to it by now. We won?! We actually won?! Awesome, but I'm kind of glad to have missed the stressful cloud of defeatism that I would have undoubtedly endured. Can't we just cut to the chase?

--I realize Eric Mangini used to work with Bill Belicek, but what is with all the cloak & dagger mystery about their starting quarterback? I get the back-and-forth of a natural position battle, but announcing that you will not publicly name a starter and will only inform the two players themselves? Why? We're still talking about the Cleveland Browns here, aren't we? And is it not still a 50/50 shot? Are they going to pull a Ted Dibiase and bring out some entirely new Undertaker character as their final, mystery teammate? When the offense comes on to the field, are they really hoping for the Vikings' defense to see the starting QB and shit their pants in shock and awe? "OH MY GOD, IT'S BRADY QUINN!! NO! NO! IT CAN'T BE! NOT QUINN! I THOUGHT IT WAS GONNA BE DEREK ANDERSON! WHAT IN BLAZES ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO NOW?! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" Come on Coach, get over it.

SIDEBAR:

--Why do they not make pants in length 33? 32 is too short, 34 is a little too long. Of course, I error on the side of a little bunch around the ankles, but to the eye of the world that may not know any better, it looks like I don't know how to wear pants.

--I was pondering an agonizing "What if" this morning. What if I had to choose between Disneyland and wine? What if I had to give one of them up for life? It's a very tough choice, but it didn't take me long, which may surprise you as will my decision, but I realized I value Disneyland above even wine. It's complicated but the reasons are obvious, I think.

--Went to the cast and crew screening of the movie Nicole has been working on, "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs." I didn't have high expectations going in and I wasn't really feeling it for the first 15 minutes or so, but by the end I could honestly say I loved the movie. Really cleverly done. I would recommend it even to my adult friends.

END OF SIDEBAR.

--It's funny to me that espn has launched a new site called "espnboston.com." Doesn't it seem more appropriate to create a new site called "espn-every-other-city-besides-boston-and-newyork.com" and keep the main site as is since it's already pretty much a boston sports site? I know, I know, they also created an espnchicago site, but, come on, that's just window dressing. We all know it.

--I didn't see a single minute of the US Open, but I am thrilled not only to see Federer lose, but to see him whining to the chair umpire during a replay. To see the smug smile and seemingly impenetrable veneer of confidence cracked was refreshing.

--Then there's Serena. I don't know why, but my reaction to that whole tantrum was to imagine it from the line judge's perspective. I wonder what I would have done if I was at work doing my best and someone told me they were going to shove a calculator down my throat. I'm not sure I would take it very well. Then again, I know I probably wouldn't react very well to being called for a friggin' foot fault either.

That's all I got for now. Check back later for Why I Hate Tim Tebow.

You Make The Call

So I just went to the running store to get a couple pairs of the socks I am going to use for the Avon this weekend. I was all checked out and on my way out the door when I turned and made one last impulse buy. I really need some outside opinions on this.

I got pink wristbands.

Here was my thinking...Pink is the big color for the Walk. Pink shirts, shorts, ribbons galore. Pink is going to be everywhere and on everyone. Except on me. I shalt not done pink shorts. I am going to be walking step for step with all the pink-clad people so it's not like I need the pink to prove my dedication. But I just felt like to wear no pink at all might be kind of party-pooper-ish so I thought the wristbands (sweatbands) might be an acceptable compromise. A showing of solidarity. What's the vote on this?

A) Totally fine. It's a good cause and if the color of that cause is pink, then so be it. Just as long as you only wear them for the two days of the Walk.

B) There are simply no circumstances under which it is acceptable for men to wear pink.

Things A Man Might Scribble On a Cocktail Napkin While Sitting Alone at a Bar On a Saturday Night Having Many Beers While Waiting For a Concert

A man at a bar
Alone
Saturday Night
People conversing all around
He has a power
Invisibility
He sees everyone in detail
The two ladies huddled giggling around an iphone
No one sees him
Times like this
I'm glad I have my beard
A man's best friend
Can be his beard.

**By comparison, the legend goes that Aaron Sorkin wrote "A Few Good Men" on cocktail napkins. Aaron Sorkin I am not.

Greetings From: New York!

I am typing from your awesomely average New York diner. In this dream, I have the laptop I have so desperately needed for so long. Something about New York diners...In my experience, the true diner in its most romanticized image, only exists in New York nowadays. Much like Italian restaurants or pizza joints, everyone has their favorite. Mine is Cosmo's on 23rd and 2nd (kind of disappoints me that they actually have a website) for no better reason than the time I've spent there. I can still hear in my mind many of the conversations I had over coffee at that diner, not to mention the Monte Christo which was incredible.

As a man who does more than my share of ipod walking, I can say with conviction that there is no finer place in the U.S. for it than New York City. It's a very cinematic city, and since our generation tends to think of our lives as movies about ourselves, it makes for a rich setting for a musical montage of our walk to work or to the deli on the corner. With so many unique characters crammed into such a small space, every turn brings a surprise, every first glance of daylight climbing the steps out of a subway station, stimulating. New York is also such a walking city in general that it provides frequent and varying opportunities for ipod walking. I can recall walking to A Tribe Called Quest while on my way to an internship and feeling cool, if not tough as my steps subconsciously fell in rhythm with the beats. Another time I was walking to class along Washington Square park, listening to one of my favorite bands whom I had just discovered, the now dissolved Nickel Creek. As I huddled inside my pea coat listening to "When You Come Back Down," it began to snow and I remember the music and the scene intertwined so beautifully that, even if just for a second, I was pulled out of a very upsetting time and reminded that if moments like this could still exist, maybe everything else would be okay too.

I believe that certain things, or people, happen to us in our lives at the exact right time, so much so that it can't be coincidental. Maybe not the most convenient time, but as it turns out, the right time. I think certain songs enter our lives at certain times in the same way. Have you ever heard a song for the first time and been overwhelmed by a sense of greater truth and understanding, an injection of a feeling that someone else truly empathises with you, more so than any friend who says they "understand?" For me, this song in this moment was exactly that. In hindsight, I don't think it's that great of a song, but all that matters is that it reaches you. It doesn't always have to be a tear-jerking tune lamenting lost love either. It can be a song that gives you chills and makes you sing because nothing else can express the excitement and joy you're feeling inside. It's like the scene in "Jerry Maguire" where he's just left Cush's house and is searching the radio for something to rock out to. Rolling Stones aren't doing it. Definitely not Juice Newton. Then he hits "FreeFallin'" and he's...freefallin'. Sometimes, of course, it's luck, even bad luck. But sometimes it's more.

Back in New York, I would be finishing my Monte Christo and coffee and off for a walk through Central Park. The leaves might not be changing quite yet, but if the right song comes on, I could be embedded in autumn just the same.

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

THE PUMPKIN SPICE LATTES ARE HERE! THE PUMPKIN SPICE LATTES ARE HERE! THE PUMPKIN SPICE LATTES.....ARE...........HERE!

Today is officially the first day of Fall.

(Thanks to Lindsay for the tip.)

Greetings From: Denver!

Today, I am feeling Denver.

Val posted some pics of Caeden over the weekend and in one of them (2nd one from the top), I swear he looks 16 years old. I see that picture and I imagine walking through the door and instead of being greeted with a running-start hug, hearing the deep voice of a young man saying "Hey, what's up?" Frightening.

What can I say, I miss the Koops, both Denver and Rapid City chapters. When I say I'm feeling Denver, I'm assuming both chapters would be united under one roof as they usually are when I've been there. I'd like to be playing Construction with Caeden, making faces at little Claire, cooking a pork shoulder with Wayne, having a beer with Dave, marveling at the various culinary and crafty delights that Val has seemingly whipped out of thin air, laughing at Nicole and Donna as the waterworks start flowing right on cue.

I checked the weather and apparently it's much cooler in Denver which would be most welcome. I recall Wayne talking about how great Colorado was in the summer and it occurs to me I've never been during that season. Once in the late fall, but otherwise always winter. I'd like to see some leaves on those trees! I'd like to see Aspen or Breckenridge, maybe put my feet in a stream, us men do a little fly fishing. Ever since the legendary John Tesh album, I've always wanted to see a show at Red Rocks so I'd work that in there too. Why not a Rockies game while we're at it? They have a beautiful ballpark (so I hear) in resurgent, upscale downtown Denver. We'll hit the game and go for dinner and drinks at one of the stylish eateries in the area.

I realize this kind of trip is not possible right now for obvious reasons, but this is a daydream after all so why not go big?

SIDEBAR: I was lucky enough to stumble upon a lone mango among the mire of green bananas and soft apples in the company fruit basket. I seized this opportunity, but I was reminded of the complications that come with eating nature's tastiest of candies. Eating a mango is a lot like making out for the first time, it's just a sloppy mess. It's about as clean as mudwrestling, but even more fulfilling. Don't get me wrong, it's well worth the cleanup not to mention the awkward looks you get as you stand alone at the kitchen counter with mango juice all up in your beard, dripping down from your hands. That mango was a prize so I was not ashamed. Somewhere, however, there is someone who knows how to carve these things so that you can eat them in a somewhat civilized manner with minimal fruit flesh loss. I intend to find this person and beg them to take me under their wing passing their wisdom down to me.

I Left My Heart in El Segundo

Wow, it's been a while. It feels good on a hot Sunday night to begin the babble.

I moved desks again at work, my new location affording me the greatest computer monitor privacy one could hope for short of having an office. My time wasted on this blog should be at an all-time high. Problem is, I've been too damn busy to take advantage of it. Not the good kind of busy either. I've been the kind of busy that consists of tedious, grueling, repetitive work that numbs the brain rather than stimulating it. Every morning (weekday morning, that is), as I begin to pore over receipts and calculate exchange rates, my heart and mind wanders to wherever I'd really like to be. Every day it's some place different. One day New York, Barcelona the next. Maybe I'll try to relieve these urges with a quick entry here, a working stiff's daydream travel channel, if you will. Couldn't hurt, I guess.

There are also the times where I look around and feel like there's no place in the world I'd rather be at that particular moment. Sometimes these opposing feelings occur one after the other, which is confusing. It kind of cheapens both feelings, actually, and leads me to think I'm a whiny loser and a sentimental fool at once! But I digress...My bride and I spent last Friday night painting the town red. That might elicit images of fine dining, dancing, and cavorting in general lavish bliss, but I should mention the town we painted was El Segundo.

I love El Segundo. I really do. It's nearly as close to the ocean as Manhattan, Redondo, or Santa Monica, but it's somehow preserved the feel of a quaint, quiet, charming beach town without any of the bloated self-image or wandering topless schizophrenics. There is no singles scene in El Segundo. I'm not sure if there are even any legal residents between the ages of 19-35. Someone might want to look into that. In the meantime, El Segundo lives on as a family town with a legitimate Main Street, with parades, mom and pop shops, and no need for an Olive Garden or Wal-Mart. I don't mean to discount the value of a good shopping mall, Barnes & Noble or Jiffy Lube, but the beauty of El Segundo is that while all of that is within ten minutes' reach, it's safely situated on the other side of the wall known as Sepulveda Blvd. Still convenient whenever you need it, but existing in your life strictly on your terms. Wow, that hit home. Now I'm sympathizing with Olive Garden. Anyway, it's a great little town where I always see kids skateboarding and playing, and their parents out for an evening walk. To me, El Segundo is idyllic and I would live there in a second if ever won the lottery.

We began our date with dinner at the Richmond Bar & Grill, where I have had lunch every Friday for over a year now. The walls are adorned with kitschy vintage signs like "Next time bring your wife" or "If you're drinking to forget, please pay in advance." The draft beers are always changing and the people are always the same. There's no obvious alkies (I go incognito) or starving actors. The Richmond is a family bar where you feel everyone there is a friend of a friend if for no better reason than you all appreciate the same qualities in your bar & grills. And did I mention they make their own chips? We dined on a couple of chicken sandwiches and pale ales and said hi to the waitress who knows me as a regular. Finally, I'm a regular! We sat at the bar and it was the rare Friday night dinner out that was actually relaxing. No fuss to get a seat, no valet, no coronary when the check came.

After dinner, we had a little time to kill. My bride wished she had gotten a schooner instead of a paltry pint (that's my girl) so we journeyed down a block to the Purple Orchid Exotic Tiki Lounge. In the age of monosyllabic infamy for clubs and restaurants (see Toast, Milk), all I needed to fall in love with the Purple Orchid Exotic Tiki Lounge was to say its big, long, beautiful name. The interior of the Purple Orchid Exotic Tiki Lounge (try saying it, it's great fun), is about everything you could reasonably expect from a tiki bar in a small town. Purple felt pool tables, native Hawaiian wood carvings, blowfish lamps, and stiff boat drinks served in ceramic hula girl glasses. We did one at the Purple Orchid Exotic Tiki Lounge and walked back up the block for our main attraction.

I had always seen the Old Town Music Hall as I crossed the street from my Friday lunches at The Richmond, but I never realized it was still in business. I was never there at the right time. The Old Town Music Hall is a time machine. From the carnival-style admittance tickets to the old-fashioned red-and-white striped popcorn boxes, to the home baked macaroons served out of tupperware, the place just oozed nostalgia. And we hadn't even been inside yet. The pride of the Old Town Music Hall is the Mighty Wurlitzer Organ, a relic from the silent film era, beautifully restored and rejuvenated by the owners of the theatre, Bill Coffman and Bill Field. The console of the organ sits at the front of the intimate, 188-seat theatre where it controls over 2000 pipes, moving percussive instruments and effects. At about ten after eight, one of the Bills (I don't recall which) walked down, sat at the organ and told us briefly about its history and how he and his late partner had put it all together. Bill was an older guy and though he spoke of him without a drip of sentimentality, it was easy to discern that Bill missed his old friend and partner. The idea of these two guys creating this gem together and one Bill carrying on the show after losing the other struck me as very sweet and romantic, as did the Old Town Music Hall as a whole. Bill then began playing the organ and the entire front wall of the theatre came to life with the action of the thousands of its moving pieces. It was like Phantom of the Opera meets Alice in Wonderland. After that brief introduction, the movie screen rolled down from the ceiling and Bill continued his fine organ playing as musical accompaniment to an old Laurel and Hardy short. I'm telling you, it was a time machine. Following the follies, there was an intermission(!). We had to go out for more candy and popcorn, feeling like kids who could eat anything they wanted and did, if not just to soak in the atmosphere of standing in line outside as the leaves blew down the dark street lit only with the glow of neon from the Richmond across the way. Then began our feature presentation..."Casablanca." Widely regarded as the greatest screenplay of all-time and personally one of my favorite films, seeing it in this place, on this night, somehow it meant a little more this time around. I envied Nicole as she was seeing it for the first time. When Rick uttered that most famous of last lines and the credits appeared, the audience applauded. It was not a grand or totally surprising gesture, but like everything else at the Old Town Music Hall, it was a small thing that, to me, held a greater meaning.

Any other Friday night, we may as well have been at The Landmark, swirling our pinots at the wine bar and seeing a newer, louder movie having to do with Nazis. I'm fine with that date and we do it all the time. On this particular Friday night, however, I felt blissfully content to be in El Segundo. It felt good to go small.

There is something wrong with me...

I was at Target Monday night and I happened to catch a passing glimpse of a fall wreath in the Smith & Hawken section. Just like that, I'm craving a pumpkin spice latte and fantasizing about huge piles of red and gold leaves.

Last night, coming off maybe one of the hottest days of the summer mind you, I was listening to Christmas music and itching to watch "Miracle on 34th Street."

It's still friggin' August. I think I might be turning into an elf. I'd ask for help, but the scariest part is...I don't really want it.

In looking for the Newman pic I used below, I stumbled on this. How funny us this?

NEWMAN!

We're Famous!

Finally, my face in print!

(click on image for better view)

Breastbeat

I have decided to combine my love for music with my efforts to raise funds as part of the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. I am excited to announce the release of a very special mix CD called "Simply The Breast."

Over the next few nights, after walking of course, I am going to be putting together a collection of great music that hasn't gotten a lot of attention. A collection of somewhat hidden gems if you will. As many of you know, I take my playlists very seriously. I love those moments when I've got a song playing and someone perks up and asks, "Who is this?" Conversely, I love being on the other end of that scenario too. It will come as no surprise then that I adore-a Pandora and think Itunes' Genius is, well, genius. Obviously, I can't make a single CD that would fit everyone's varying tastes as well as those two musical engines can, but I think I can find a common though eclectic ground of songs that are so universally awesome that it could be overall pleasing to most good people I know. This is my challenge anyway.

Then comes the fundraising part. While it's probably very very illegal to "sell" a CD of other peoples' works, as a separate proposition, I am sure this wonderful collection of music may very well inspire listeners to donate $20 to the crucial cause of breast cancer which kills 40,000 women a year.

So please, friends, if you would like to hear some great new music, please just let me know where to send your copy of "Simply The Breast."

And if you would like to make a donation to the fight against breast cancer, you may do so using my personal page through Avon, sponsors of the upcoming Avon Walk for Breast Cancer, Los Angeles.

http://www.avonwalk.org/goto/JohnKumpart

I would love to share this great music I have stumbled on which I feel enriches my life.

Donations to Avon will go toward funding access to care and finding a cure for Breast Cancer and are, of course, tax deductible.

Thanks everyone. I really hope you like the music.

P.S. Obviously, you don't want to post your address in the comments so email it to me at john.kumpart@gmail.com...Although, who am I kidding, chances are I already have all 10 of your addresses and you could easily just write "I'll take one," but let's play along, shall we?

Avon Walk For Breast Cancer - Training Report - 4 Weeks To Go

I hit a nice milestone last weekend.

On Saturday, I walked all of 20 miles! We started at 6 a.m. and finished around 1:30 p.m. That's 7.5 hours of walking to you and me! I fared much better this time than the previous weekend when I did the 15 miles. I attribute it to better walking gear, better nutrition and hydration, and better company. I joined up with some fellow Avon walkers for a training walk led by a veteran walker (and breast cancer survivor) and it made such a huge difference to have people to talk to. Our leader gave me some great tips for the big walk and taught me a new stretching exercise that I know saved my hips and knees a lot of pain. Most importantly, as tired as I was at the end of the 20 miles, I knew if it were the actual event, I could have easily squeezed 6.2 more miles out of myself, eaten a big spaghetti dinner, and done another 13.1 miles the next day. It was a good feeling, to be confident that I will be able to do this thingI am also counting on my USC Trojans to give me a morale boost by winning at Ohio State that Saturday night. Fight On.

Have you ever wondered?

Why is the soup of the day on Friday always Clam Chowder?



P.S. Take it easy, Conrad. I am NOT saying that it shouldn't be, I am merely asking why it is.

Thunderin' Thursday

So "500 Days of Summer" definitely lived up to expectations. Now I am looking forward to this new Mike Judge movie, "Extract." I couldn't find the embed code for the trailer so here is the good old-fashioned link:

http://www.apple.com/trailers/miramax/extract/

Funny, no? I especially like the part about the sweatpants, not to mention the presence of Mila Kunis, Kristen Wiig, and Ben Affleck as a long-haired, bearded bartender. I'm seeing great potential for this one.

Speaking of Mike Judge,...I forget how it started, but I got on a weird Michael Bolton kick this morning. Very weird...

On my way in Monday morning, I observed two seagulls perched on the fountain out front, staring at their reflections in the glassy black tiles. I was momentarily tickled by this but did not think anything else of it as we are only a mile or two from the ocean, but then there they were again when I left for lunch. It's now Thursday and they are still here, just hanging out. I snapped a couple photos of them this time which I will post when I get home to the proper cord. In the meantime, I think I shall name them....Buddy (after Buddy Hackett who voiced the seagull character in "The Little Mermaid") and Kim (because if my dad is going to name his cat after my son, I am going to name my seagull after him). Buddy & Kim, Kim & Buddy. I like it.

I am loving summer, but, damn it am I ready for Fall. I should say "Fall," as it exists here only as a state of mind, not as an actual season of weather.

Sure could use Conrad's homemade chair this weekend...Native-American Giver! (I realize that my attempt to make the term "Indian Giver" politically correct is kind of like the scene in National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation when the little girl is talking with Uncle Clark and uses the term "shittin' bricks." Clark says, "You know you shouldn't use that language" to which she corrects herself by saying, "Sorry. Shittin' rocks.")

The Albums of Summer 2009: Paolo Nutini's "Sunny Side Up" and The Flaming Lips' "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots." I realize the Lips' album was released 7 years ago but I wasn't ready for it then so it's new to me in '09, okay?

Training for this Avon Walk is a killer, man. I did 15 miles last weekend and just about collapsed when I walked back through the door. I was pretty much ruined for Sunday. It sounds so easy, walking. Even if it is for 6 hours at a time, it's still just walking, right? You would think so. I would think so. We would both be wrong. My hips felt like Bo Jackson's. Despite many snacks and water along the way, my energy was totally tapped. When I started out, I was whistling a happy tune, la dee dah, look at the trees, isn't it nice to be out walking, etc. By the last third, I was deleriously singing along loudly to Jimmy Buffet, gawkers be damned. And this was only 15 miles. Day one of the big walk will be 26.2. Luckily, I still have time to build up to it. It's just tough to set aside 6 hours on a Saturday to train, ya know? Kind of throws off the whole flow of the weekend. This Saturday, I'll be rolling out of bed around 5 to squeeze in 20 miles before lunch. If you don't see me Saturday night, you'll now know why...I'm still walking. But it's all for the cause! I got some new shoes and other gear this week that should help, and I will be bringing mental toughness to the table too. Mama said knock you out!

Sniff

I know I've talked about this before, but since when does that stop me from saying it all over again....I get it from my old man.


It always amazes me how powerful a simple scent can be. The other night, I was on one of my walks and for the briefest of moments I smelled Disneyland at night. It could have been Knott's Berry Farm too. It was a unique bouquet of street vendor hot dogs, pavement, water (like a fountain), and the summer night air. Even though I only caught this whiff for a second or two, I was overwhelmed with the desire to be at Disneyland. Not only that, memories of many teenage nights at Knott's Berry Farm came flooding back like the splash down on the log ride. No, I was not high at the time.

Today as I was walking out of Target, I got the smell of popcorn in my nose. Sidebar: doesn't the popcorn at Target always smell incredible? Anyway, within those few steps between the corn and the door, I was reminded of all the lazy summer days spent at the movie theater. Lakewood Center to be specific. The big one, not the smaller Lakewood Center South. Now I can hear Mr. Moviefone in my head telling me for the umpteenth time where it is located (Faculty, South of Candlewood). I smelled the popcorn and it was almost like being back there. I could see it in my head, the ginormous theater, the cardboard cutout ads on the way in, the gold curtains. And of course, the many summer blockbusters we saw there, with a big bucket of highly "buttered" popcorn and a Mr. Pibb or Cherry Coke. For a minute there, I really longed for the freedom of the old days, having nothing to do but play and little more to worry about in life at all (it was a brief period in time, the worry-free). I can't tell you how badly I wanted to skip work and head for the movies.

Tough Loss

I have today off work and despite it being a gorgeous day, I committed myself to staying home and writing. As I'm sitting here pecking away (and not doing very well at that), I find out that one of my heroes, John Hughes, has died of a heart attack while out on a morning walk. Very very sad. I just pulled up the IMDB list of his writing credits. Some of my all-time favorites...

Dutch
Home Alone
Christmas Vacation(!!!!)
Uncle Buck
The Great Outdoors
She's Having a Baby
Plains, Trains, & Automobiles
Some Kind of Wonderful
Ferris Bueller's Day Off
Pretty in Pink
Weird Science
European Vacation
The (fuckin!) Breakfast Club(!!)
Sixteen Candles
National Lampoon's Vacation

I can't think of a single writer with a resume that could come close to that in terms of movies that people love to the point that they will watch them again and again and again. On that list, everything from "Home Alone" down to "Sixteen Candles" are one after another with not a dud to be seen in between. That's a six year hot streak of 13 movies that will stand the test of time. Just awesome.

It's just an odd, odd summer, isn't it?

I Am The Walrus....You Are The Cat

Just talked to my old man. They got a new cat today, male. This is good, exciting news, right? You would think. I was excited for them up until the point where he tells me what they have decided to name him. I won't say the name here, but I will say that it's the name I was pretty much set on for my future son. Obviously, Nicole would have some say in that decision, but my point is this is the name I wanted and was ready to go to bat for in the baby name deliberations. And now they're stealing the name from me...for their cat. I don't know why they couldn't go with Soda. We were all agreed on Soda! I told the old man straight away that we had a little conflict here and they needed to decide whether they wanted their cat and their future grandson to have the same name. I don't think they are changing it. This should be fun. Poor kid is gonna grow up thinking he was named after a friggin' feline. And can you imagine the confusion and mishaps at Christmas?

DAD: "Ooops! Sorry (name of cat/child), that ball of twine was actually supposed to be for the cat (name again)."

DAD: "Ooops! No no (cat name), that cashmere sweater was for (child's name). Give it here now..."

STEPMOM: "Awww but look at how he snuggles into it, honey. He really likes it. Maybe his big brother will be nice and let him have it? What do you say, (child's name)?"

TROUBLED CHILD: "Seriously? Ummm..."

STEPMOM: "Say 'thank you,' (cat's name). Say 'thank you.' Here (child), here's some fresh nip for you."

Thanks, Dad.

Tales from Stumptown

Some stories from Portland that you've probably already heard...

--So we're at BrewFest on Friday...And every five-to-ten minutes someone in the increasingly drunk crowd will start a loud "Wooooooooo" that other people will join in with until it builds into a full crowd crescendo of Wooooo's. Once we get wise to this, we, of course, vow to start one ourselves by day's end. Fast forward a few hours and many many spent tokens later. We start our Woo with great, expectantly contagious enthusiasm and ample volume...and nothing happens. A few charity woos but nothing more. Flummoxed, we try again a few minutes later and again, we are collectively shunned. What the hell, fellow BrewFesters?

--Early Sunday evening, Nicole and I took a short walk up to Multnomah Village, a charming small-town-ish main street just a block or so from Sarah and Bill's place. It was after 5 so just about everything was closed. Even though it was in the upper nineties with 'Nam-like humidity, it was nice to be out for a bit and just window shop this quiet little village. On our way back just ten minutes or so after arriving, we were about to turn down a side street when my compulsion pulled me into what appeared to be the only open store in town. Even though it was not the least bit visually enticing from the street and the name of the store left me a little confused as to what we might find inside, I did not fight the tractor beam pulling me towards Post Hip CDs. Once inside, I quickly realized the dusty stuffed animals that filled the front window display (wtf?) were not a fluke. The place had the feel of a thrift store. CDs loosely grouped into genre but otherwise totally unorganized. No artsy end caps or featured albums. The listening stations were two ratty old chairs with a couple of discmans. Fingerprints, it was not, but I was loving it anyway. A middle-aged guy with Harry Potter-ish think, very round frames seemed to be the owner. He was talking to two older gentlemen seated on a couch. They weren't shopping or working; they were apparently there just to talk. It felt like an old barbershop at that point. I found a huge stack of old, used Jackson Browne, James Taylor, Rolling Stones, and Chet Baker, and I sat down to give them a listen (as if I didn't know I was going to get them). Wow, I had forgotten how great a CD sounds. A CD on a CD player with any decent pair of earphones is pretty tough to beat. Eat your heart out, IPod (and I love my IPod). Another couple came in as I was sitting there, and somehow I deduced that they were fellow merchants from another store down the street. They visited for a few minutes and I was really taken by the whole experience of this small town, very low maintenance, no frills music store that seemed to double as a local piazza just 15 minutes from downtown Portland. When I went to check out, the proprietor (I really should have known his name) stepped around several stacks of CDs piled on the floor, behind the short counter that was really nothing more than a formality. There was no cash register, just a spiral notebook where he wrote down by hand the albums I was buying on an otherwise blank page. He did the math in his head(!) and I handed him the cash (I wasn't going to dare hand a debit card). He handed me my discs in a plastic bag I would later notice was being reused from a drugstore. On the way out, I pointed out the vintage typewriters by the door and we ended up talking for another ten minutes. It was really cool. I left with a renewed faith in humanity and six great albums to boot. Viva Portland.

Mooooooon River!

In the last two weeks, I have come to relate to this scene in a very direct way. I don't know yet whether these real life vignettes of violation have made this scene more or less funny.

As promised!

Little Wednesday

--Looking like I will be blessed with a four-day weekend next week. My mind spins with the possibilities. Paris? Tuscany? Anaheim? A man with a couple days off is a terrible thing to waste. It couldn't come at a better time actually. It's been a busy string of months and it's frustrating to not be able to keep up with normal life things like keeping the house clean and getting birthday gifts on time, not to mention the leisurely pleasure of having time to think.

--Had a great time in Portland last weekend. Sarah and Bill Brasky were incredible hosts. I'll post some pics and stories later, just wanted to mention it now.

--Viva El Doug! Poor guy ate shit on his bike and hurt himself pretty badly. I tell you what, this has been a bitch of a year, hasn't it? I won't list them for the sake of it appearing as if I am comparing one hardship with another, but it seems like most people I know have had something really difficult happen in their lives this year. And we're only in July! Still, there have been some really amazing, beautiful, positive things, many of which have come by way of the negative so there you have it. Let's just cease and desist with the bad news until after New Year's, okay Universe? I think that's fair.

--On that same note, with everything Wayne has been going through, who do you think texted me this morning to ask me how I was feeling? The guy was barely home from the hospital and he was asking me how I was (I have been having some severe stomach pains for the past two weeks). He's fighting cancer and he's asking me about my stomach ache. Amazing guy, wouldn't you say? By the way, I'll be shutting up about my health right about....now.

--Also derived from the list of shit....We lost Callie yesterday. If you've ever been to my dad's, you would remember Callie as the sweet little calico that fell over when you scratched her back and was widely regarded as one of the sweeter cats of all time. There was nothing specifically wrong with her in the way of a disease or anything like that. She was just so old (19) and had nothing left in the tank. She couldn't walk more than a few steps without falling over to rest, couldn't make it to the litter box before she had to go, couldn't make it up onto her favorite couch. So, difficult as it was, it was time.

Well, that's all for today.

yikes

--I just saw footage of myself sprinting. Wow, that was an eye-opener. I run like a friggin' goofball! I run like Johnny Damon throws. Come to think of it, my running form reminds me a lot of Bengie Molina. At least it seems to generate more speed for me than it does for Bengie. Still, poetry in motion, I'm not.

--The Pottery Barn catalog is no longer allowed in my home. All it does is make me feel inadequate, reminding me of the house (and life) I will never have. And actually, I'm okay with that part. It's having the wife look at it and then look to me longingly for the same reasons. That's where we gotta nip it in the bud.

--"Even a broken clock is right twice a day..." So I am browsing the Nordstrom Anniversary sale for potential Christmas gifts (I swear) when I came across the summer suit of my dreams (okay so maybe i diverted momentarily), twinkling like the Griswold Family Christmas Tree. Based on the size, I thought for sure it was too small, but since size ain't nothing but a number, I figured I would just make sure. It fit. Like a glove. At least I thought so. But I thought I might be convincing myself it fit since I had instantly become smitten. So I waited for some help from the salesmen. And waited. And waited. There were only two of them and both were tied up with a couple of high maintenance guys. One of these customers was looking at the exact type of suit I am talking about and was smaller than me. He hadn't seen it yet so I walked back to the rack and picked it up, straight away. I saw he and his ladyfriend eyeing it in my hands, but I would not relent. So I stood around pretending to browse for a while. Then I made Nicole, with bad back, wait even longer. Finally, the troll gave up and moved on and his salesman was free. He agreed that it fit like a glove (and this is Nordstrom where I trust the suit salemen to be honest). After another half hour of fretting, we called the tailor, marked the pants and took care of the paperwork. It occurs to me I have been babbling on without yet telling you the best part, the only real point to the story....I got this summer suit of my dreams, this friggin' beauty, for--are you ready?--sixty-seven percent off. SIX-SEVEN. After getting absolutely abused on the airfare to Portland, this little retail miracle at least gives me hope that maybe there is a lucky yin to the cursed yang.

--I think I might have somehow become lactose intolerant. I'll spare you the details. This is upsetting because ever since I was a kid, there's been few things more satisfying than a taaaall glass of milk. If it's true, if I have crossed to the other side, I can only begin to grasp the reaches of the domino effect. Not gonna eat a brownie with soy milk. Not gonna eat a brownie, period. Cookies? Mac & Cheese? Say it ain't so!

--Anybody heard anything about what caused that Southwest plane to tear a hole in itself last week? Just curious since we're flying Southwest in a couple days. I'm sure it's fine. Uh huh, right.

--I need to post more cat pictures. I've got two of the cuter, more interesting cats in the continental US and yet what kind of proud father am I that I never post pictures?

The $18 DVD Rental

The only problem with Netflix is that the no-late-fee thing can encourage movie-watching laziness. One movie can sit unwatched for weeks on end. Before you know it, you've paid two months worth of membership for one movie that you still haven't seen. This was the case for me with "Flash of Genius," starring Greg Kinnear. Last night, we drew a line in the sand. Watched the movie and suspended the account thereafter.

Let me tell you, this movie might have been worth the eighteen bucks. It's a thought-provoking, inspiring story of integrity, perserverance, and truth. I recommend renting it and watching it within the first two months of bringing it home.