Sunday Morning

Daylight savings time returns this Sunday. This is a great relief to me. We don't have much in the way of harsh winters to complain about here, but I think we can all relate to the joy that comes from walking out of work at the end of the day and having it still be light out. It's simply a happier feeling. I've been kind of depressed lately myself so what I am most looking forward to is being able to see the ocean on my drive home. That's where I took the picture above, albeit on a day when I stayed later than usual. I think it brings me peace. I miss that.

Doesn't he look like Elijah Wood?

Has there ever been a movie that excited stoners more? I almost want to watch the audience going in just to observe how many have eyes that look like the Mad Hatter above. I am surprised they didn't release this movie on Bob Marley Day.

Not that there's anything wrong with that...

Greetings From the Jury Reporting Room!

(from Friday)

That's right, my friends, I'm on duty today. Took the wife to the airport at 5 a.m. (!), had a nice manly breakfast of solitude at The Pantry and reported for duty right on schedule at 7:45 a.m. Everyone says if you want to get out of it, you should just say you are racist or hate everyone, etc. This is funny, but I question whether anyone would really say that to a room full of people, even if they were strangers. Also, I've seen variations of this attemped in the past and, trust me, the judges are on to it. Not only are you unlikely to get excused but the judge is probably also going to humiliate you with his/her cross examination. No thank you, I am happy to serve.

Some interesting observations in the ol' holding chamber here...Remember that episode of "Seinfeld" where Elaine and Putty are on the plane and he's just staring at the seat back in front of him? Would you like a magazine, maybe some earphones? she asks him. Nope, he's fine, he says before going back to a blank stare. I am witnessing the same phenomenon this morning. Who goes----------pause for group reporting announcement.............

STILL CLEAR! Three groups called and I am 0 for 3.

Another sidebar...Conversation just overheard:

Young Guy:
(Looking out the window)
It's not raining yet?

The skies are vaguely cloudy.

Older Guy:

Nope, but it will be by tonight.

You know, we make fun of the local news' obssession with the mystical idea of rain (STORMWATCH!), but it's really evident in the people too. If there is even the slightest possibility of a single droplet falling in the tri-county area, it's like a mental scab that people can't stop picking. I should be more interested in this today as I am wearing suede shoes.

Now where was I...Ah yes. Who the hell comes to jury duty, where you know you are likely to spend 8 hours in a room with nothing to do, without so much as a pamphlet to read? Really, you didn't think to grab a magazine, newspaper, or novella? Not a Walkman, not a videogame, nor Kindle?

Sidebar #2 (or 3?): Now the hot topic is how "ridiculous" the security measures are at the airport. They makes you take your shoes off, they take your toothpaste....If I were not so damned passive aggressive, I would chime in that it beats exploding into a giant fireball at 30,000 feet. You're right guys, it's ridiculous. And I'm sure the only reason these measures are in place are to screw with you. You know I really hate people.

Sorry. Back to the easily entertained. Some people, apparently, think of jury duty as a great way to meet people. They come here to talk. Some enthralled in chat about the weather, or the inconvenience of safety, others by abstract speculation about the process at hand. What do you think they're doing? Are they calling names at random you think? Do you think they will call anymore groups before lunch? Is this your first time? The nerve of people to be friendly and personable, right? Sorry, I didn't mean to sound like a snarky little prick.

Ya know there is a common misperception out there that the womens' low-rise jean gave way to the visible-panty-bendover phenomena or "whale tail" as its more commonly known in the case of a thong, but new evidence discovered just this morning suggests a more nuanced relationship. About an hour ago, a woman approximately 54 years of age bent over to access something in her purse. Her jeans which reached well into the lumbar region were surpasses in height by underwear stretching halfway up her back. It begs the question, If a woman were to continually raise the waist level of her pants, would the underwear only rise ever higher? What if she went so far as to wear one of those one-piece things like mechanics wear? Would the underwear swallow her head in retaliation? Apparently, the underwear-pant line relationship is quite the game of cat and mouse. I find it appropriate that such a great truth should be revealed at a courthouse.

Alright, I think that's enough for now as this laptop is probably irradiating my testes. I'm against that.

P.S. The good news about sitting in a strange room for hours on end is that it has afforded me the opportunity to really dive in to my new Nick Hornby book, "Juliet, Naked." I am loving it so far. What's more, only about a third of the way in, I can tell it's only going to get better. Do you listen to music while you read? Fiction, I mean. I can't believe it's taken me this long to get on board with this pairing. I was using Bob Dylan for this book, but the wordier songs were becoming distracting. Very well then.

Hey oh! Just got the call! Headed for the big show! Adios muchachos!

Something's Gotta Give

If NBC is going to tape delay the Olympics, then there needs to be a consensus among the rest of the media to not report results as if we have the ability to watch them live.

It's driving me absolutely insane. If I want to actually watch the Olympics without already knowing the outcome, I have to go into a cone of silence the entire day. I can't go to espn.com even one single time. Do you have any idea how difficult this is for a red-blooded, sports-loving, American male? I believe it fits the legal definition of torture. (Insert political joke here) It's the painful. I can't follow the beginning of spring training. I can't check on breaking NBA trades. I can't even check the Olympic schedule. To safely avoid any spoiler, I must avoid sports altogether all day long. Not only that, but I can't go to any news site either. No NY Times, no msnbc, no nada. (Insert second political joke here) What am I supposed to do if I can't read about sports and world affairs, work?

I don't even know if I can have friends during the Olympics. Can I trust them not to IM, email, text, or Facebook something about the fate of the U.S. Olympians? We had one close call already and after this post, I have a feeling I will be getting spoiler messages simply out of spite.

That's it, I am moving to a secluded shack in the backwoods of Montana for the duration of the Olympiad. Of course, it will still need to have HD service.

Go for Gomez?

Anybody seen Gomez in concert? They are coming to the El Rey and since I am a fan but not a superfan (only know the last two albums and Ian Ball's solo), I am wondering if it is worth it. Help a brotha out.

Februrary in Southern California

From the shores of Malibu...

...to the snow-capped St. Jacinto Mountains and Idyllwild.

In the words of Frank Cushman, "I'll either surf or ski." And there was a small bit of desert in between!

My Top 10 (Non-Jazz) Rainy Day Albums

Because on a rainy day, nothing is better than jazz and it's not fair to compare...Also, greatest hits albums are not eligible.



10. Patty Griffin - 1000 Kisses


9. M. Ward - Hold Time (This album, I believe, will eventually be ranked higher, but I need to listen to it about 50 more times)


8. Wilco - Sky Blue Sky


7. James Taylor - JT


6. Mat Kearney - City of Black & White


5. Justin Townes Earle - The Good Life


4. Jackson Browne - Late For The Sky


3. Ben Folds Five - Whatever and Ever Amen


2. Nick Drake - Pink Moon


1. Counting Crows - August and Everything After


Please, friends, tell me yours.

Remember This Day, My Friends....

For it is the day we thought would never come...

The day they made donuts healthy.

I have sampled these myself, in the Pumpkin variety, and they were a delight. Today dawns a new age of eating, when one must no longer suppress one's desire for donuts.

Score on for The Veggie People.

A Man's Best Beers

Men love beer. If there were ever a stereotype that rang true, this might be the one. However, there is something to be said for the many layers of love men have for their precious porter, ale, lager, or stout. While we all have our favorites brands or styles, I believe there are times when the circumstances or setting are what makes a beer so beautiful. Men, you know what I'm talking about...

The Airport Beer - You've lugged your bag through the check-in line, you've cleared the strip search at security, you've peed and bought your magazine. It's time for a beer. Your trip has now officially begun. My best guess for why an airport beer tastes so damn good is that the air you breathe in as you take that first long sip is ripe with possibility as your journey lays before you. This is a beer that pairs perfectly with imagination as a man sitting in an airport bar feels he could be anyone, unfettered by the limitations of who he really is. The Airport Beer makes you feel mysterious, solitary, but secure. A man having an Airport Beer is a man who is going places. Minimum Airport Beers to Consume: 2.5

The Dollar Beer - It's usually a Miller Lite at room temp in a plastic mug, but the Dollar Beer is never about the taste or even the cost, really. The Dollar Beer is about the camaraderie of the guys you enjoy them with. It's about buying a round of six beers for the table and not hesitating to buy the next round too. There's no pause or ulterior thought processing about what your tab might be at that point. You can just relax, enjoy hanging out with the guys, drink all the beer you want and even have a grilled cheese, knowing your bill is not going to be more than thirty bucks. Minimum Dollar Beers to Consume: You don't count, that's the beauty of it.

The Ballgame Beer - With the exorbitant cost of this beer and the high risk of it being spilled as you or someone near you tries to catch a foul ball, it would make sense to buy insurance for The Ballgame Beer. "When trying to catch a foul ball, the last thing you should have to worry about is your beer. That's All State's stand." This is the food-pairing beer, the one that complements and is so well complemented by its partner, the hot dog, that the two become Siamese twins of taste. This is the beer that actually does quench your thirst, just like the breathless rush of euphoria of walking out of the tunnel and seeing the field for the first time. This is the beer that reminds you that no matter how long it's been, it has been too long. Minimum Ballgame Beers to Consume: 1.

The Handyman Beer - If tools are present, so shall be The Handyman Beer. Whether you're rebuilding an engine or struggling with a Swedish balsa wood bookcase, the one constant is this classic beer. This is the beer that makes you feel like a man. An American man. The Handyman Beer is the one that makes you think about your dad. Or your grandpa. It's the beer of classic rock or country played through the tin-sounding speakers of a beat up old boombox. This is the beer that makes even the flashlight-holding kid feel like one of the guys when he's given a sip. Always cheap, light, bitter, and out of a can, The Handyman Beer is a rite of passage and proof that every beer, even a Milwaukee's Best, has its own time and place. Minimum Handyman Beers to consume: 2.

The Brewery/Festival Beer - It's like drinking icy fresh mountain water straight from the spring. The Brewery/Festival Beer is a beer that comes with no baggage or guilt whatsoever. It's an educational experience. This is beer as art. "How do you like this one, Cornelius?" "The hops are in the forefront on this one, Alfred, but there is a surprising floral note and a toasty finish that tame it down a bit. Ultimately it tilts a may unrefined for me, old boy. I fear the only viable pairing would be Humboldt granola, the only suitable social gathering one in which Birkenstocks are predominant." And yet, there is still a place in our hearts for The Brewery/Festival Beer. This is the beer that helps a man to feel like an adult**. Minimum Brewery/Festival Beers to consume: 12 (They're just samples!)

**For better or for worse.

The Lunch Hour Beer - This is the beer that reminds even the most embedded of corporate drones that he is still and will always be his own man. They might have him by the balls from 9 to 1 and from 2 to 6, but for that precious, fleeting hour, a man can do whatever the hell he wants. Watch him have a beer with his burger. The Lunch Hour Beer reminds a man that each day is actually different from the last and that the weekend is always only a few days away. It's the beer of quiet rebellion and the beer of daydreaming, fooling the open minded man into feeling, if only for a second, that he's not working some boring job. He could be anywhere on his way to anywhere else. The Lunch Hour Beer is the archenemy of the Quizno's sub. Next time you see a long line of ugly golf shirts and baggy Dockers pouring out of Quizno's while there's ten open stools at O'Shaughnessy's next door, think of what a sad perversion of virtue that picture paints. No matter, as long as there is such a thing as bosses, The Lunch Hour Beer will endure. Minimum Lunch Beers to consume: 1*.

*Schooner, if possible.

Super Bowl Ad Previews

Why is this the hot topic dejuere for all the local news and national talk shows? Am I the only one that has no need or desire to see a preview of commercials? I know they are expensive and often funny, but, come on, they are still just commercials. I can wait.

Phil.

After watching another instantly classic "Modern Family" with my bride this evening, it occurred to me that she finds me less annoying immediately after watching this show, specifically the Phil character. So I threw it out there...

"I think after watching Phil from 'Modern Family' you appreciate me in a less annoying way."

"I think you're right."

Thank you, "Modern Family."

P.S. How great is this show? If I had to choose only one comedy I could keep watching, I can't tell you which one I would pick, "30 Rock" or "Modern Family." It's that close.

THE END IS NEAR!

True story:

It's a Tuesday like any other. I am hard at work at my desk or hard at looking like I'm at work anyway (the line is often blurred) when I hear a loud BANG! from one of the outer offices. The woman in this office is scared to death, shouting "JESUS!" in that split second after a bang that's reached only by primal instinct. I look over and I see feathers out her window, fluttering in the air. I know what you're thinking...A bird hit the window, so what. Hardly story-worthy. But there's more...

So she gets up and looks out her window to see what it was exactly had slammed so hard into the window, but it's not a bird that she sees. It's an entire flock of birds. Their bodies litter the sidewalk below. I got up from my desk and looked out to see it for myself. You couldn't count them there were so many. I would find out the next day from the first floor tenants who picked them up that were 26 birds in total. Yet the sound was one single bang.

Twenty-six birds crash against an office window, lay dead on the ground below. It's the opening to a horror movie, is it not?

It was an eery and upsetting sight. Luckily, we were told the next day that 9 of them actually lived and had only been dazed by the impact. They were released and flew away.

PCH

There's nothing wrong. My mood is fine. The week has been a little on the long side but nothing out of the ordinary. I just have that inexplicable yearning to hop in the car and drive up the coast. No room booked for the night. No turnaround point predetermined. No destination known. Just grab some a light jacket, maybe a sleeping bag, a cooler. Just go.

The Jell-O Still Giggles

I just saw something on espn.com about the 5 greatest Lakers or something and their pick for #1 was our old friend, the late great Chick Hearn. Man oh man, do I miss Chick. Sometimes I do forget that I miss him until while watching a Lakers game they will use some old footage in a promotional clip and I'll hear the golden voice back in action. No offense to Joel Myers, but I sigh when the game comes back on and Chick's not calling it. Just wanted to post a little "dribble drive" down memory lane.

Only in LA

Okay, not exactly. But more likely in LA? Absolutely.

Last weekend, we didn't do that much. Kind of laid low around the homestead. I used the opportunity to polish off the last five episodes of what I believe was one of the more underrated, under appreciated series on television, "The Shield." A couple episodes on Friday night, some less than peaceful sleep as a result Friday night (this show was intense!), and two more episodes Saturday evening. By then, I needed to get out of the house. The wife was entrenched on the computer so I went out to see "Invictus" by myself. As I stepped away from the concession counter with my Red Vines and Diet Coke, who should I see standing against the far wall, but actor Jay Karnes, a.k.a. Detective "Dutch" Wagenbach on a little called, you guessed it, "The Shield."

You know my cowardice. I don't approach celebrities, I just can't. Even when it was one of my artistic heroes, Jackson Browne, standing 3 feet away in a casual chatting environment, I couldn't do it. But in this case, the coincidence was so funny to me, I didn't even hesitate. I walked right up to Mr. Karnes and quivered a wimpish "Excuse me, sir..." Luckily, he was really, really nice. I told him I had one episode left and he said I was in for quite an ending (paraphrasing). We talked about the incredible performance of Walton Goggins in the last few episodes. I asked him about the point in the series when they had him so fascinated by a serial killer that he strangled a cat to test the waters in which the killer lived. I had thought they would continue his character down that path and so I asked him about that. He said he had feared they would take that course as well, but was relieved when they did not. I agreed that, while it may have made for a more salacious storyline, in the end, it was best to keep the Dutch Boy real. He told me about the call he got from the show's creator, Shawn Ryan, about that episode. Ryan told him the good news was that David Mamet was going to be directing a very Dutch-heavy episode, but the bad news was they had him strangling a cat. We chatted for probably two minutes, but to me it was a very cool experience to be so engrossed in a show then step outside my door and chew the fat with one of the actors. Given my shyness, I was grateful Mr. Karnes had been so personable and gracious. We shook hands, he went his way, and I went mine. Of course, I had to call Nicole immediately and tell her about the whole thing because how weird was that?**

I watched the final episode the next morning and I wished I had the chance to talk to Karnes again. When Shane commits suicide, wasn't it an odd choice to have the perspective be primarily on the cops coming through the door instead of with Shane as he was about to pull the trigger? They had devoted so much time to Shane's plight and breakdown in the previous episodes, I didn't get why the focus was not more on him in his final moments. What really happened with Lloyd, the budding serial killer? We all agreed that he probably killed his mom, but once again, the little shit had left no evidence and was playing it cool under interrogation. I think we were supposed to believe that he was going to be arrested and charged, but that outcome had no teeth as they hadn't found any new angle other than Claudette lecturing him. What's the deal there? One other thing...During Vic's confession and also when he sees the crime scene photo of the dead Shane, it definitely appeared that he was breaking down, feeling truly contrite perhaps for the first time. And yet, he doesn't say it. You see it in his face, underneath, but the world never gets to hear Vic Mackey apologize. I get why that works, but in the interest of really completing the arc, couldn't there maybe have been a little more of that? If not the words, maybe shed a tear? Maybe end on him slumped in his new personal hell, the desk job, instead of defiantly walking out of it with his gun? I am nitpicking. The ending was fine. It was good. I guess whenever a series ends, its fans are always going to have mixed feelings about it and want to imagine other endings. Pathetic as it sounds, at least it's a way of draining a few more minutes of life out of the series.

**What's even weirder is that I saw him at a movie once before, but it was a much bigger theatre and there wasn't a real opportunity to say something.

Nancy and Madeline

Don't you just love it when you "discover" an artist that everyone else has known about for some time and you feel remiss for all the time you spent without their music? I don't know how I didn't find Madeline Peyroux sooner. Actually, I did find her, but I was looking for something else at the time so I naively let her slip through my fingers. Luckily for me, I got a second chance.

We were sitting at a place called Bar Mut in Barcelona, not far from the apartment, having a very nice lunch of tapas, wine, and beer. I guess it was a place that had been there forever but recently been refurbished. What remained was the perfect blend of old charm and upscale modern elegance. It was the type of place you feel good just sitting in...and then the wine and food comes and you feel even better. Anyway, this was also the type of place that had a great jazz mix playing in the background. Using my best broken Spanish, I asked our waiter what it was I was hearing and he came back with Madeline Peyroux. I had looked at it online casually since returning home, but hadn't pulled the trigger yet. Then I made my second great find of the weekend.

This second discovery counts as even less as such as it was a hit Hollywood movie, still in theaters everywhere. Hardly a hidden gem. However, I think anytime you find something you really love, whether it was hidden under a rock or plastered on posters all over town, you feel like it's a discovery for you personally. The movie was "It's Complicated." What a wonderful return to form for Nancy Meyers after that waxed figure of a movie, "The Holiday." This was back into "Something's Gotta Give" territory and as much as I loved that one, I think "It's Complicated" has a shot at dethroning it on my personal queue. Only after repeated viewings will I know for sure, but the performances of Meryl Streep and Alec Baldwin and the smooth, rhythmic writing made this movie play like a song nonetheless.

In the Nancy Meyers movies I don't like, the worlds she creates are too over the top. Like a towering piece of chocolate cake that's just too rich for more than two bites, the sets/settings of movies like "The Holiday" are too rich to be taken seriously as real dwellings and the characters that inhabit them become nothing more than paper dolls, shallow, one-dimensional caricatures that are secondary to the clothes they're wearing. BUT! When Nancy Meyers gets it right, she takes you right to the edge between realism and fantasy, to a place where everything is tasteful and entertaining, but does not feel completely out of reach either. In movies like these, and for me "It's Complicated" was one of these, she creates that chocolate cake that is just sweet enough to be seductive, each bite begetting the next, ultimately, pleasurably intoxicating. Ironically, these Nancy Meyers movies remind me how rich life can be even if I'm not spending the weekend at my beach house in the Hamptons, Christmas in a quaint English cottage, or fretting with my architect about the new addition to my Santa Barbara ranch house. They remind me that life can be as romantic as you wish it to be. Even a modest apartment can be a Nancy Meyers movie when the smell of fresh bread fills the air, when the soft light of candles pool, when a glass of wine opens up with a swirl, when the steady pluck of a jazz bass makes you tap your toes, and, most importantly, when you have someone to dance with.

To me, Madeline Peyroux is the soundtrack to life lived like a Nancy Meyers movie and I snatched it up as soon as we got home from "It's Complicated." I have been listening to her album, "Careless Love," ever since. It's been raining all week and as much as I would love to be at home with a pair of sweatpants and a movie fest, but listening to this album with a cup of coffee and writing this entry, make being at work a little more tolerable.

Can You Hear Me Now?

For all those following this riveting story, I am back online. Got out of the jam at the reasonable cost of a new $30 Nokia that should last me until Apple's big unveiling.

Waterlogged

So I'm out kayaking on a beautiful Southern California morning, my ass soggy in the seat, when I realize, "I think my cell phone is still in my pocket. I wonder if it's getting wet." I brace my oar across my mostly seaworthy vessel and reach in to check. Hey whatdya know, it sure is wet. It's practically underwater. Greeeeeeat....But it's an older phone and the beauty of these old beasts is that they are resilient, tough as nails. I turn it on and it seems to be okay as it starts up. Then what should appear but the two words no phone owner ever wants to read, "Insert Smartchip." Uh oh. I turn it off, thinking it just needs to sleep for a minute and it will awaken stronger than ever. It then starts making musical, chirping noises despite being turned off. That can't be good. So I take it apart and place in a sunny section of my craft to dry out. It has never powered up again. I've charged it, I have tinkered with it, I have seduced it. Nothing. My hope is that the battery is just fried and I can get out of this on the cheap. My worst fear is that the phone and the smartchip are totally shot and not only do I need a new phone, but will starting totally from scratch. Thanks to the generosity of the fellas and their birthday and Christmas gifts, I will be getting a new iphone. But I had already decided to wait for the new version to come out in June. I remain steadfast in that decision. So now I am at the mercy of AT&T, hardly the most compassionate of cell phone carriers. They have been less than understanding of my previous issues with neglect. Maybe they can fix it. If they can't, maybe they will give me some crappy phone they have laying around that will tide me over. Maybe I will have to pay 30 or 40 bucks for it. I must also allow for the possibility, however, that maybe I will be phoneless. Can a modern man live in the world of today and tomorrow survive six months without a cell phone? I hope I don't have to find out, but if there were ever a man to take on such an endeavor, I think I might be such a man. Stay tuned, my friends.

Hello, 2010!

I'm back, baby! Back in the New World and back on line! Wow, what a friggin' holiday. I tell ya what....I still don't feel like everything is back to normal, which is kind of good. Everything feels kind of new, slightly different. Kind of like the first day of school.

Barcelona was awesome. A truly great trip that I'll never forget. It's all still a little overwhelming to think about so rather than give a blow-by-blow with all of the 1,400 pictures I took, I thought I would just post one little nugget for now. I think I'll have to use one of those online picture gallery sites for the photos anyway (suggestions for ease of use are welcomed). Not to mention, Conrad is the most regular reader and he was on the trip so I figured I'd post a couple things from the day after he left.

If you didn't know, Conrad and The Doug arrived in Barcelona a day earlier than me and left a day earlier. I had to book it that way because of the Denver trip and it was also vastly cheaper using those dates. Anyway, so there I am in Barcelona all alone on my last day. Early in the evening, I was making my way home after a long day of walking but I wasn't quite ready to be inside yet so I decided to go have a beer (when in doubt, have a beer, I say). I was sitting at the bar at the Cerveceria Catalunya, which came highly recommended by the good people at Fodor's, sipping on an Estrella and finishing up my last few postcards when I overhear the guy sitting one stool away from me talking to the bartender. He was clearly American (or Canadian). After a few minutes, I began to look his way, trying to catch his glance so that I could strike up a conversation. He was sitting 3 feet away and yet it really seemed to me like he was purposely avoiding eye contact with me. Of course, this gets me thinking which is never a good thing. He was a young man, my age or close to it, with a scruffy beard and a Rastafarian headband. I began moving toward the conclusion that despite us being two fellow Americans happened upon each other in a foreign land 6,000 miles from home that he was discriminating against me because I was wearing a button-down shirt and a coordinating sweater. I was in high school again where skaters and band geeks are as awkward as black panthers and skinheads due to their differing clothing labels. It was a near tragedy that I was so close to letting this idiotic, immature insecurity and madly neurotic idea rule the moment. I was resigned to sit there and say nothing. Then, I kid you not, I thought to myself, "What would Cruiser do?" At that point, I quickly got over myself and offered a friendly "Hola." What do you know, he replied. His name was Tim.

As it turns out, he was not only American, but from California. Southern. San Clemente. He went to Wilson freakin' High School in Long Beach, a few miles from my alma mater for crying out loud. Small world, huh? The guy wasn't shunning me, he was just shy. Did we become the best of friends? Of course not. Did we sit there for another three hours drinking and regaling ourselves with stories from the homeland? Unfortunately, not. We talked intermittently for ten minutes before he got his check and headed home (see I scared him off). But who knows, maybe I'll take him up on his offer and stop into his restaurant some time. I was really just taken by the small worldedness of it all and the risk of it almost never happening because of my own head. Lesson learned.

Of course, I did then wonder if he had still been avoiding me, not because of my clothes, but because he actually recognized me from the high school days. I'm trying, folks. Baby steps.

P.S.

Why is it that when you're riding in a car, the people in the front seats are overly considerate of the comfort of those seated behind them (Do you have enough room? You sure? Because I don't mind, I will put my knees right into the dashboard), but on an airplane they don't give two shits if they put their chair back in your lap? Without fail, I always get the people who recline their seat to the fullest for the entire flight, even pushing it so far as to wait for the flight attendants to ask them to raise it back for landing. Not only that but they slam themselves into it trying to get every last millimeter out of it, like it's not an economy class airline seat ramming into someone else's knees, but a 5-star hotel bed that's just not quite soft enough.

Christmas 'Coaster

The work is nearly over and the fun part of the ride is about to begin.

It was a stressful weekend of shopping, cleaning, and reorganizing, the nerveracking clink-clink-clink of the chain pulling my little rollercoaster car seemingly straight in the sky. With the Christmas parties of Friday and Saturday night, I could begin to see where the track appeared to end, curving out of sight into a plummet downward. As I cruised home from my grandparents on Sunday night, I felt that brief moment of weightless joy as the climb has ended, just before the pull of gravity snatches you back to Earth. Coming back from a nice visit with my family, I felt a sentimental rush and sensed perhaps for the first time that the holiday season was actually here all around me, no longer an idea in my mind or a series of notes on the calendar. Even though I was in my car alone, speeding down the freeway, I felt that rare, joyous sense of being in the moment.

I think it started on Saturday when we were cleaning out the office, clearing room for Bill Brasky and Sarah to sleep when they arrive this week. I opened the bottom cupboard of my bookcase for the first time in at least two years and began going through old photos and letters. Nothing like sifting through the past to remind you of how far you've come and all the places you've been. I read letters from my friend Adam he sent me while he was in on his mission in Japan and I was away at school. Reading these letters he wrote when he was probably only nineteen, he already had a clear sense of direction and purpose, saying how he wanted to practice law and join the Navy. Ten years later, that's exactly what he's doing today. I found letters from an old girlfriend. It's always amazing to me to see these little time capsules, these expressions of love that was so true at the time, but seems so odd when seen in the context of the present circumstances. I, of course, am happily married. She is married and has a daughter. It's a simple concept, I guess, that people love for a time and then things happen, you move on and find your ultimate happiness with someone else. But it's always amazing to me how it happens. I felt like Ebenezer Scrooge viewing my memories large as life through a pane of snow-frosted glass. One second you are there again and then the window turns dark and you are standing in the cold with a ghost. That sounds much more grim than I mean it to. There was no sadness involved at all. Obviously, things turned out for the best and I wouldn't trade it for the world. My point is just to say how interesting it is how our lives truly are journeys, how what we know to be true today can change so drastically by tomorrow, and what an odd sensation it is to flip open the book of this journey and find yourself a hundred pages back, just like that. It's also fascinating to me how old letters can occur to you as new information. I found one letter from the old girlfriend where I guess we had had a fight and she was apologizing, but standing firm on the her request that had apparently started the whole thing. And what was this request by which I was apparently so offended and opposed? To set aside time for us to go on a date just the two of us...once a month! What nerve!, right? Oy. Don't you just look back at yourself sometimes and just shake your head about what an idiot you were? The solace, of course, comes when you realize you can't know anything without learning it first and that the mistakes of the past have only paved the way for a better future. So Nicole(2), my bride, the next time you trip over one of my many faults, just be thankful you didn't meet me earlier!

I read letters from my mom when she was living in Italy as part of her training. In one letter she referenced where I could stay when I came to visit and some of the things we might do when I was there. I was surprised by this because I don't recall ever entertaining any idea of going to visit, which I am sure I didn't. Who knows, the young punk me probably thought he didn't want to stay with a bunch of priests. I'll give myself a slight break though in that I had never traveled to Europe at that point and barely had money to grab a burger and a beer so the whole idea probably just seemed unreal to me. In every letter from my mom, whether she was telling me about her experiences in Rome or her realization that she was finally in the right place in her life, one phrase common to every letter was to say "write me." I felt my heart sink a little bit, realizing if she kept telling me to write her, it was likely that I had not. As fate would have it, she called me later that day and I was able to apologize for being a self-centered twenty-year-old. Luckily, she had not been holding a grudge.

Perhaps the most meaningful experience of the whole process was reading letters and cards from my late grandmother, on my dad's side. Of course our passed loved ones remain alive in our hearts, but to see her handwriting and hear her words in my head...she was alive again. It was as if I had just pulled these letters not from a dusty box on a shelf, but from the mailbox out front. I laughed as I was reminded how she would go on telling me all about the lives of her old friends or coworkers, people I had and would never meet. I will say, I was more able now to discern the point she was trying to make, but it was more about reliving the little quirks that made my Nana unique. As more of the new information from old letters I referred to earlier, I learned or was reminded that my grandpa on my mom's side had gone to visit her in the hospital before she died. They had probably not seen each other since my parents divorced some seventeen years before so this gesture really choked me up for a moment. This was a feeling that would carry over to my visit on Sunday and have my heart feeling so full on the drive home Sunday night.

It's the sensation of looking at people you've loved and held on a pedastal for so many years and suddenly, amazingly, you see them in a new light and you realize you love them even more than you thought you did.

I had a really nice visit while I was down there, my last chance before Christmas. I felt like I was able to not only enjoy the company of my family, but also to express to them how much I loved them, if only by being fully present and staying as long as I could. After spending so much time on Saturday revisiting the past and its inevitable regrets, I appreciated the present all the more. In the moment--it's a great place to be. No idea how to get to it, nor how to stay, but you sure know it when you are there.

This is what the holidays are all about for me, a reaffirmation of all that is good in life, the people that are most important, and all the ways in which I am blessed. Okay, that and egg nog. And mulled wine. And cookies and other sweet indulgences. So to recap, that's a egg nog, mulled wine, cookies, various other sweet indulgences, and a reaffirmation of all that is good in life. Done and done.

Now the coaster begins to point downward and the ride really begins. Bill Brasky arrives tomorrow night. Hanging with the guys all week leading up to Kissen's wedding on Saturday. Disneyland(!) Sunday. Off to Denver on Tuesday. Ice skating, gift wrapping, dogsledding, stew-cooking, family, family, family. It's Christmas at last! This is me, arms in the air, ready to scream my head off the whole ride through.

Christmas In My Head (Now here's a wall so you can bang yours against it)

December is finally here! Amen. Do you know what this means? It means the advent calendar is now more than decoration! It's in use, baby! It means the lighting of the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center! Perhaps above all else, it means I don't have to hear it anymore from the "Christmas music, already?" crowd. Those sad sack, anti-Christmas Eeyores have finally run out of material to moan about. Nothing can stop me now!

One reason I start early every year is that there is so little time actually available to do all the holiday-related things I want to do each year. Every year I think of baking all day one day, seeing a million movies, making people gifts, writing out Christmas cards, writing out Christmas letters, visiting friends and family, curling up with Mr. Frodo and a good book, playing boardgames, taking a trip up to the mountains, going to Disneyland, decorating the tree, having a Christmas cocktail party, going caroling, volunteering at a soup kitchen, exercising to offset the holiday gluttony, chopping wood, going to Starbucks for seasonal delights, strolling the beautifully decorated canals of Belmont Shore...I seriously could go on. The problem is I lose 40 hours a week to fluorescent lighting and paper pushing. Other than the three paltry weekends that fill up around Halloween, I am forced to fulfill my Christmas checklist through fantasy, daydreaming if you will. This, my friends, is why I decorate the office and play Christmas music with two weeks until Thanksgiving, because I need audio/visual aids. I sometimes wonder if I sometimes had the free time to do all the things I'd like to in a holiday season if I wouldn't explode. In the wise words of the immortal Clark W. Griswold, Jr., I might be the jolliest asshole this side of the nuthouse, needing plastic surgery to remove my smile. Man would it be sweet. Of course there is one crucial element of that list that absolutely cannot be spared nor can it, unfortunately, be daydreamed away....shopping.

I love Christmas shopping as long as 1) I have ample time so that I can go at an enjoyable pace and 2) I have a list to work from that I feel confident about. In other words, almost never. And that is what creates the darker side of Christmas in my head. As Kory or Adam or actually almost any friend can attest, I am chronically indecisive. I think about things way more than they usually merit. I hem and haw about which jeans to wear each day. I agonize over what to have for lunch. When it comes to something as meaningful as giving Christmas gifts, I fall victim to paralysis by analysis year after year after year. I think that's nice...but would they really like it? I don't know.....Do they already have one? I don't know if when they open this it will mean to them what it means to me to give it to them. I could explain it I guess, but how good a gift could it be if I have to explain it? Should I just go with a gift card? No, I refuse. Should I ask so-and-so what they want since they probably know? That's just giving up. What about this, this seems like them. But is it personal enough or does it scream "work gift being re-gifted?" Is it wrong to give Christmas stuff as Christmas gifts? I guess it might be since they don't open it until the pinnacle of the season. What about tickets to something? Then they'll think I'm implying that they have to take me and will not believe me even if I swear otherwise. I got it! That would be perfect! Boo-ya! Shit, I can't really afford that. You know what, the budget is a guideline. This is the gift and the cost is secondary. Although I think so-and-so is bound to be getting them that. What if they like the one from me better and it causes friction in their relationship. Better play it safe and abort. Screw it, I can't make a good decision in this hypertensive state. I'll sleep on it and start fresh tomorrow.

Every. Single. Time.

It really saps my Christmas spirit, I tell ya. Friends, please know this, if I ever give you a gift that you don't like, it is not for a lack of care or thought. If it truly is the thought that counts, chances are, it's the greatest gift in the world even if your taste says otherwise.

P.S. Which Christmas album should I get, Tony Bennett, Diana Krall, or Neil Diamond? I can't make these choices on my own.

Rivalry

It pains me to say it, but Bill Plaschke is the only one who gets it right.

http://www.latimes.com/sports/college/usc/la-sp-plaschke29-2009nov29,0,5628166.column

Walk This Way

You know how you think someone likes you and considers you a friend, and then something happens and you realize they may have just been being polite or keeping the peace all this time?

There was an incident in the parking lot this morning that, if I didn't know better, would otherwise prove to be just such a rude awakening.

A coworker and I arrived at precisely the same moment. She was closing her driver-side door just as I was opening my trunk. I yelled out a "Hello" in my usual workplace Russian accent. She replied. I then turned to gather my things. In a matter of five seconds, I slung my messenger bag over my shoulder, closed the trunk and looked over, expecting to see my coworker there waiting for me. She wasn't there. In a state of shock, I turned toward the building and saw her walking 20 paces ahead, making a beeline for the door. I couldn't believe it.

Luckily, I know not to take this particular instance personally. This coworker is famous for not being a morning person and I have the utmost confidence that this was not a slight against me personally. However, I think it could still prove to be a good test for the future. It's definitely a choice you make. Last week, another coworker (on the other side of our bullpen wall) arrived at the same time as me. As it became clear that I was waiting for her, she, without making eye contact, began fidgeting in her car with various nondescript busyness. Now that was clearly someone buying time to avoid what they feared would be an awkward walk-in. I know because I've done it myself.

"Oh shit there's so and so. You know I really need to clean out this middle console..."

!Vamos Barthelona!

Barcelona has been at the top of my list of world destinations I would love to visit pretty much since my first journey overseas almost three years ago. The art of the modernistas, the colorful traditions, the wine, the paella, the culture, the architecture, the futbol, the pride of the Catalan people, it was all calling my name.

I knew Conrad was going in January. He found out that one of the execs we used to work for had a place there and, I don't know how, but he procured use of the place. And for no charge at that. I was happy for him, of course, knowing it would be an incredible experience for him, but as I told him, I was also openly envious.

According to him, he asked me if I wanted to go, but I told him even if I could get the time off work, which was highly unlikely, that there was no way I could afford it. I actually think this part is probably 100% true. The part where we begin to diverge is where he says he twice offered to buy my airfare. The first time, or so the story goes, I refused because I didn't believe him. The second time, he claims, I turned him down again, saying even if he got my ticket, I would have no money to do anything once we got there. While that certainly sounds like me, I just can't believe I would be so short-sighted or dense as to turn down free airfare and free lodging for the top destination on my places-to-see-before-I-die list over something as ultimately trivial as spending money. It's unimaginable to me and I will admit I can be very stupid sometimes. But I digress.

Come to find out, The Doug was now on board for the trip. That didn't really change anything for me, except refresh the topic in my mind as I see The Doug more often than Conrad these days since Conrad is in Atlanta. But still, the timing is financially incompatible for me so what did it matter? In the waning hours of a slow work day, I looked into airfares on a whim. They were over $900. Case closed, so much for that daydream.

Then I got an email from a coworker with all sorts of travel deals. She has no idea why she gets them or when she starting getting them, but she makes a habit of passing them along to us. I am skimming one of them and see a link for LA to Barcelona for ~$500. Whaaa? Turns out it's legit. So I talk to Nicole. Apparently, she is pining for the Wife of the Year Award because I can think of no other way that she greenlights this thing. She's not working at the moment so times are tight, not to mention that the travel dates would mean spending our first New Year's Eve as a married couple some 6,000 miles and an ocean apart to say nothing of the fact that I would be going to Barcelona(!) without her. And yet, she gave me the Go seemingly without hesitation. All I can guess is that having been there before and knowing how badly I wanted to go, she valued my happiness above all else (And the award goes to......Nicole!). So I had that going for me, which was nice...

Next I had to clear it with the boss. He's going to be in Germany for almost the exact same period, but that could have worked for or against me. I don't know. One thing that was definitely not helping me was that I was already the first one in our department leaving town for Christmas. What could I do, that trip was booked, and, besides, that's Christmas. I wasn't about to mess with that even if I could. With nothing to offer as bargaining collateral, I pitched him the idea, stressing it as perhaps my best opportunity to see my most desired location on the globe. He would need to think about it, of course. If he were to come back and say no deal, I would not have even been that disappointed as I knew it was really too much time to ask for right now. I would have chalked it up to fate and moved on. But he said yes.

In the end, it all fell to me. To go or not to go. Could I afford it? Absolutely not. Was it the responsible choice? Probably not. Would it mean we would be homeless and hungry? Well, not necessarily. Was it an incredible opportunity and perhaps my best shot to see Barcelona? It just might have been. Sadly, I must admit that knowing me, I would have bet that I would play it safe and let the parade pass me by. It didn't use to be that way with me, not as much anyway, but it has been since adulthood took hold. I am glad to report that, like most others, it's a bet I would have lost.

I decided that if I waited for the perfect time to do something like this, I would probably be waiting for the rest of my life. The airfare was as low as it gets, the lodging was free. What more did I really expect to have going for me? There is no perfect time for anything. There are only opportunities to act and the choices we make at those moments in time. I looked in the mirror and decided I was much more likely to regret not going than I was to regret going. The time was now.

So I booked it.

Barcelona, stay there, I'm coming to you.

"LAY OFF ME, I'M STARVING!"

Why?! Why?! Why did they have to tell me this?!

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/34023406/ns/today-today_health/

Now I can never in good conscience get popcorn at a movie again! Did you hear what I just said? I can never get friggin' popcorn at a friggin' movie ever a-friggin'-gain! Not without feeling like I am about to blow up like Eddie Murphy in The Nutty Professor. What's next, a riveting expose about the nutritional value of ballpark hot dogs?** Why would they do this to me as we stand at the threshold of the holiday season, prime movie-going time? Are they trying to ruin my Christmas? With all the naysayers I am encountering lately, I am beginning to think there may be a secret, subversive strikeforce aimed at sabotaging my Christmas spirit. I wonder if Glen Beck knows about this. No matter, my spirit is impenetrable and undeniable. Bring it on, I say!

**I have been watching The Today Show every weekday morning for years. As much as I can't stand Meredith Viara (sp?), I do love the Anne Curry and the indomitably jolly Al Roker. I believe Matt Lauer was on my man-crush list when I posted that a while back. Anywho, the more I watch it, the more I realize how much of the show is devoted to the issue of peoples' weight or weight loss. If it's not a segment about how unhealthy our favorite foods are, it's a story about how someone lost 150 pounds. It's really The Today (You're fat!), Today (You're not) Show.

Targhz-A

Feels like a great day to go to Target. I shall do it over lunch. I need Fantastik, Christmas-colored candles, possibly more decor if the price is right, and a squeegee. That's what I am going in for anyway. Lord only knows what I will come out with.

I'm decorating this office for Christmas today, even if I have to fight my coworkers off in the process. The time has come. Since we're not going to be here much the week of Christmas, I think the decoration period should begin one week earlier so as to ensure the proper incubation period of our Christmas spirit. Speaking of Scrooges, has anyone seen the Jim Carrey "Christmas Carol" yet? I am pumped but there are a lot of movies to see so I don't want to go if it sucks or induces motion-sickness.

RUN, DON'T WALK!!!

So I get a coupon this morning in my inbox from my dear friends at Dick's (formerly Chick's, I shit you not) Sporting Goods.

LUNCH SALE!!! 4 HOURS ONLY!!!!

Wow, four hours only, I'm thinking it must be a helluva deal they are giving me, a deal so great they can not offer it any longer than those four precious hours for fear of going out of business. So I read on.

SAVE 20% ON ANY SINGLE ITEM*!!!!

Okay, so that's not exactly a price slasher, but hey, after tax it takes 10% off of something and, sure, I'd rather pay 90% than 100. So I'm interested. Then I scroll down and check where the asterisk leads me to the fine print:


*Excludes: Burton, EA Sports Active, Odyssey, championship merchandise, adidas golf, Adams Golf, Asics, Atec, Baby Jogger, Bowflex, Brooks, Carhartt, Callaway, Cleveland, Cobra Golf, Columbia, DeMarini, Easton, Ektelon, Fitness Quest, FootJoy, Gun Safes, Head, Horizon, Jugs, K2, Kettler, K-Swiss, Lobster, Louisville Slugger, MBS Mountainboards, MBT, Merrell, Miken Sports, Mission, Mizuno, Mongoose, Nextt Golf, Nike Pro, LIVESTRONG, Nike Hyperize, Nike AF1 and Jordan, Nike Golf, Oakley, Prince, Pro Feet, Puma, Rawlings, Razors, Rollerblade, Reebok EasyTone, Salomon, Schwinn, Skechers Shape Ups, Skycaddie, Sole, TaylorMade, The North Face, Thule, Titleist, Tour Edge, Trend Sports, Under Armour, and Worth, all electronics/optics, ellipticals, treadmills, home gyms, weights, benches, Yakima, select basketball systems, canoes, kayaks, boats, trolling motors, fish locators. Some additional exclusions may apply. See website for details.


Gee. Thanks, Dick.

Ya know, I was in the Christmas spirit anyway, but today I am feeling the overwhelming draw to be in my sweats, hanging out with family, sipping wine (or schnapps-laced chocolate), watching Christmas movies, listening to music, sitting by a fireplace and staring out to a white winter landscape. I'm physically and emotionally exhausted and all I want is to feel warm, and free to just be. The therapy of Christmas.

Eat The Rich

Actual quotes from born Yankee Mark Teixeira after last night's World Series clinching victory:

"To the rich go the spoils." (Not to the victors, mind you, but to the rich. But I guess he's right.)

"(George Steinbrenner) deserves to have the best team money can buy."

These are your Yankees.

Nothin much

--Today I witnessed the absolute worst office chorus "Happy Birthday" in the history of organized labor. It had a void of enthusiasm similar to the birthday cake scene from "Office Space," but without any of the coordination of voices. We had four different groups singing the same song at the same time, yet each group was 5 words off from the others. It sounded like we were playing a record backwards, "happy birthday, dear Michael" becoming "zz-iv-en-nee-sar Michael is dead tors-en-sloop-quax-en-fice..." And at least the characters in "Office Space" actually ate the cake, except Milton of course but that wasn't by choice. As soon as our pathetic rendition of the easiest song ever was over, half the gathering emptied out of there like someone had just farted on the cake. Really, really sad. The cake fit the rest of the effort too. The plastic lid came off it about 30 seconds before the guest of honor came over. There was a totally random and meaningless number of candles plopped on there. No need to avoid messing up the custom writing of "Happy Birthday, Michael" because there was nothing of the sort. And the poor guy is one of the longest tenured, nicest guys on the show. I can't wait for my birthday. It's gonna be 5 people huddled around a Nutri-Grain bar with a single match stuck in it. They probably won't even sing "Happy Birthday." They'll probably sing some generic, made-up birthday song like the TV shows that don't want to pay the royalties for the real McCoy. All the more reason to play hookie that day, I think.

--It occured to me over the weekend that the Yankees are really the Ed Hardy of baseball. Nauseatingly expensive, overpriced, superficial, tasteless, soulless, and yet incredibly popular. Wearing Ed Hardy really defines you as a person, though not the way those wearing it think it does. So does rooting for the Yankees*. I think Bill Simmons put it best when he said "rooting for the Yankees is like rooting for the house in blackjack."

*Amanda excluded from this thesis

Happy Halloween, My Friends...

I don't always drink beer, but when I do, I prefer Dos Equis. Stay thirsty, my friends.

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.