Posted By Popular Demand!

A Rebel Without a Claus

I know it's August.

I know it is 75 degrees out.

I know there is still a month and a half of baseball to be played.

I know it's still fashionably acceptable to be wearing linen shirts and white pants.

I know all these thing. And I do embrace them.

But I just listened to a Christmas song*, intentionally and in its entirety.

Because I just needed it, that's why. I might listen to three more by days' end. Sorry, coworkers.

*Ironically, my selection was Johnny Mathis' version of "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas."

Drivel

Sometimes it's the little things.

Ever since we moved in, we've been living with this ceiling fan in the dining room. It's not a bad looking model, but it's still a ceiling fan, which confounds me as to why it was ever installed in a dining room.

"Gee hun, my soup is just too darned hot. Would you mind cranking on the ceiling fan for me?"

or

"(Groan) Ohhh! Look at this table! It's covered in dust!"

"But we're out of Pledge and paper towels and our guests will be here any minute!"

"Fear not, kitten. I know exactly what to do..."

Suffice to say, we never used the thing. Not even for light as it had some godawful energy-saving, ambiance-sucking fluorescent-looking bulb inside it. Lighting was a real challenge actually. Candles are nice, but sometimes you want a nice, soft glow without the romance, ya know? Sometimes you want a casual warmth as opposed to a seductive warmth and we could never find the right balance using the other lamps around the room.

Last night, it all became moot. Our lighting crisis was zapped to oblivion with the snap of a breaker. Thirty minutes of observed labor and awkward conversation later, and we had a brand new chandelier installed! But wait, that's not all. Are you ready for this? We also had the electrician install.......(drum roll).......a dimmer! A dimmer! My kingdom for a dimmer! Man oh man, I wanna tell you....

That chandelier really ties the room together. I just laid down and stared at it. Casual warmth up the wazoo! And really, slide it down a quarter inch more, light a couple peripheral candles and, boom, seductive warmth. Romanza bonanza.

I just wonder why it took us this long to see that the solution was so simple, as obvious as a riddle that kids get in two seconds when their parents rack their brains for hours. No matter, the new era is here now. The new Era of (Dining Room) Enlightenment.

----------------------------------------------

Then there's the shower caddy. Eureka! What a marvel of efficiency and practical design! I'm not talking about the shower caddy as a concept. That's old news, of course. I'm talking about the new one we just installed after the old one rusted out. I tell ya, nothing pleases me like outstanding organization in the shower and they really made a quantum leap forward with this model. I can see they did their homework. It's like they read my mind or could sense my frustration with the various shower elements hanging out all over the place like a big lady in a small bra. The shampoo is held tight against the wall, no longer free to fall forward, impeding the stream and spraying water everywhere! Never again will the slippery soap slide off its perch into the waters below! There is now a lip corralling it like with the pride of a sheppard.

Everything in its place, my friends. Everything in its place.

Hello? Hello? Is anybody there?

I have been sitting at my desk doing absolutely nothing for the last three hours. Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Wait, I did send a few business emails. So I got that going for me. For the last half hour or so, my boss's door has been closed and my two coworkers have disappeared. Save for the occasional remote cough or the snap of a stray binder closing, there is dead and utter silence. I am tempted to put my head down at my desk or blast some music, as much for my own enjoyment as to prove a point. Maybe I'll just scream. I am alive here! I wonder how many people across the world right now are sitting at their desks, staring at their monitors, and wondering, like me, if time has frozen still or if they have become invisible. I've got a big book order on the way. Perhaps I'll start reading in such times of despair. Maybe we should get a bird. At least then I would have someone to talk to. You know what would be great? If we had a bar downstairs in the lobby. In times like these, who could fault a sane man for stealing away for a quick beer and a few minutes of a ballgame. Great, I'm being driven to drink at work. This could be the beginning of the end. Ha! Like there is ever going to be an end!

(Fifteen minutes later)

After talking to my friend Christine for a few minutes, I feel a little better. Still, when the door closes behind me today, the radio is going up and my voice is going hoarse.

What's the deal with honey?

It comes in a little plastic bottle. The honey is contained inside the bottle, which is often shaped like a bear. The honey comes out of a little tiny hole on the top of the bottle. There is a lid that snaps closed over that little hole. Now it's a gewey substance so I can see how when you end your pour, how a little residue could be left around the honey hole. So then why is it that halfway through the bottle, the entire exterior of the bottle is covered in a film of honey? It gets all over your hands, it pools on the bottom of the cupboard. It's like juggling pine cones. You handle it for ten seconds and you're chasing sap all over your body for hours. How does this happen? How does the honey get all over the friggin' bottle? It's like it travels through the plastic by osmosis or something. I love honey. Love it. But this stickey situation (ding!) is cause to reconsider. I just don't get it.

Confessional or This Is How Secure in My Manhood I Am

--I cannot listen to Taylor Swift's "The Best Day" by myself without crying.

--I recently asked my wife if she could pick me up a pore-reducing mask.

--I also recently had an argument with my wife about how many pillows we need on our bed...and I was for adding more.

--I adore, even crave, lavender.

--A fraction of my motivation for working out lately, albeit a small one, has been to better fit a shirt I recently bought.


That's all I got for now, but that's probably a good thing, right? It's kind of like the opposite of the Dos Equis Guy commericals.

New Look, New Post!

I don't know what happened. The mindless haze of summer sun and fun? Sure, let's call it that. Let's just move forward, shall we?

And now the burden of having something to say...Okay, I got one...

I have been working virtually nonstop since I was 15 years old. Even when I was in college taking 18 units a semester, I worked a job at the very least 16 hours a week. You would think that by now I would be at peace with the concept of a job being a job, a necessary sacrifice of time and free will for the sake of stability in one's food, shelter, and wine. Yet lately it has been bothering me more than ever.

I have been having some great weekends. Lots of relaxing, reading, and enjoying outdoor movies with friends. You would think this release would appease me and make the work days in between more tolerable, but in fact it has had the opposite effect. The more I enjoy life on my terms, the less patience I have to waste it away on someone else's.

I don't mean to sound immature or whiny. It's not like I pout about it or throw a tantrum. Really, it just inspires my bi-monthly What-am-doing-with-my-life, Is-this-really-the-best-I-can-do mini-crisis. You know, those periods where you reflect on all your failures and unfulfilled potential and wonder what you could have done differently. Sometimes I think maybe this is why you have children, to give life meaning and to stop the endless cycle of chasing your own elusive happiness. Then I remind myself that one should not decide to have children to solve one's problems, that they are not a prescription. Besides, if the simple pleasure of feeling the sun on my face is making work intolerable, what effect is the heart-leaping joy of fatherhood going to have? The most agonizing aspect of these times is that nothing positive comes from them. All the reflection and internal sulking changes nothing. I stare at the ocean, listen to early Jackson Browne, and pray for guidance. Eventually, my mind just wanders to problems less vexing. Still, short of landing a miracle new job that inspires a sense of pride and purpose, I don't see what there is I can really do about it. Nonetheless, I have to try. Here is what I have come up with, my 6-step plan for contentment:

Step 1: Head for Vegas*. Going on Friday.

Step 2: Start writing again. Something different this time. Something lighter. So what if no one likes it or, God forbid, buys it. That becomes evident later. The value is in the doing.

Step 3: Learn to play the guitar. I know I have claimed this one before, but I went to McCabe's last night and bought a book! I'll see how much I can teach myself and then go for lessons. If you're gonna sing the blues, at least give it some accompaniment, right? (rim shot)

Step 4: Keep exercising. I'm going on three good weeks and it always helps to feel physically good.

Step 5: Go back to the improv classes. Like working out, it was something I always tried to talk myself out of (because it was terrifying and a painful commute away), but was thrilled about after I had done it.

Step 6: As a fail safe, finally pick up Malcom Gladwell's Outliers: The Story of Success, or as it's less widely known, "You're A Loser, But It's Not Your Fault." On that note...

I stumbled on a program on NPR last weekend where they were debating the existence of free will as we know it. The segment I heard was an interview with a quantum physicist who, of course, was making the point that despite what we would like to believe or what seems to us to be true, that we actually have no conscious control over our actions. He cited this study where they hooked people up to these brain wave machines and told them to press this button at some point in the next three minutes, whenever they chose to do so. Conventional wisdom would have you expect the results to show the brain sending the signal to the fingers to press the button and then for the button to be pressed. However, they found that the brain sent a signal reacting to the action before it ever sent the signal to initiate the action. This study seemed to indicate the subjects' brains knew when the action was coming before the subject made the "choice" to act. Of course, we are talking about minute fractions of a second here and I am sure I am butchering this study in my recounting of it (couldn't find the program in a quick search). I'm not saying I am that easily convinced one way or the other, but I was certainly intrigued by the question.

So here I am, stuck in a rut. Maybe my plans to get out of it will only further entrench me in this wedge, like quick sand or a rip tide. Maybe it's out of my hands (and brain) to change anything anyway. Maybe the metaphor of the rollercoaster of life is true in its implication that the course is already set and we are merely along for the ride. Something tells me those quantum physicists smoke a lot of pot. Regardless, what's the harm in trying?

I was confronted with a license plate frame this morning that I think sums it all up as plainly and succinctly as only a license plate frame can. It said, "So what? Enough already."

And with that, back to work...



*This trip was already planned, but the timing works out well, doesn't it?

You Make The Call

If I am hanging out with two native Germans and one fellow American, and the two Germans choose to converse only in their first language, what's the ruling on that?

A) Good for them. They probably relish the opportunity to speak German and feel a little piece of home for a change.

B) For a minute, it's cool, but beyond that it's just rude. It's the most obvious and blatant means of making people feel totally excluded from a conversation. English is the language the fours of us all speak so how about we go with that, okay?

When am I?

It is high tea time here around the ol' officestead. Everyone had me pegged for chai today, but they were dead wrong. As I explained, I had chair yesterday and it was just too confusing for me to deal with. Chai is the tea of Fall, of sweaters and museums and complaining that it doesn't rain enough. Chair is no summer tea and as you well know, we are hardly to July. My autumnal heart was befuddled. I can't do that to myself again today.

Green all the way.

WORLD CUP MORNING!

What a beautiful morning.

Awakened, as usual, by the hungry cries of Mr. Frodo in plenty of time to get up and make coffee before the opening kick.

A bowl of Wheaties. Two cups of coffee. The morning paper chalk full of bitter pills of info on the Laker loss and the NCAA witchhunt.

A full game of World Cup soccer before even thinking about getting dressed for work.

Nice little Friday.

A (Larry) Bird In The Hand Beats Two In A (George) Bush

I am starting to realize I might not have room in my life for both sports and politics.

Okay, so that's overstating it a bit, but I will say that I have taken a hiatus from caring about anything political and it may be directly linked to the dearth of thrilling sports stories developing this week. You've got the Lakers and the Celtics in the NBA Finals, of course. That alone is enough to monopolize a fan's attention. Then you put the World Cup into the mix and the hours become nothing but a countdown until the next game. Just for good measure or perhaps to test my excitement threshold, let's toss in the Angels-Dodgers Freeway Series, amplified further still by a bet with Kissen raising the stakes (or steaks, as it were). The icing on the cake, the last touch of foreboding, which makes all this sporting action not just fun but actually important, is the impending NCAA ruling on the USC case.

There is a LOT of potential for celebration in these next couple weeks. We're talking actual jump-for-joy giddiness. On the flip side, of course, there is also potential for great heartbreak and disappointment. At this stage though, as the Lakers are only through Game 3, and the rest of the events have yet to begin, it's all nervous, elated anticipation.

I'm not sure why I started by relating this to politics, but the break has been nice and this sports bonanza has been a more than adequate replacement. Just between you and me, I didn't even vote yesterday. I'm not proud of it. I swear, I forgot. Besides, I had to come into work early so that I could leave early to make it home in time for the Lakers tipoff.



UPDATE (Thursday, 9:15 a.m.): Well that playful peppering of foreboding turned out to be more than I had anticipated. So what did I do last night when I learned of the imminent sanctions against USC? I watched "The Rachel Maddow Show." Not only do I have room for both, but it would seem they are a neccesary yin and yang.

THE DROUGHT IS OVER!!!!

Ended by a single rain drop:

According to my estimates, approximately 67% of my office is wearing sandals today. As recently as two years ago, sandals were something you could technically get away with if you wore them with pants, but you had to be prepared to hear one or two half-joking remarks from the powers that be. Now, apparently, we're Huntington Beach which is just fine by me. It's the summer of love! Woooooo! Let it flow!

STIGMA!!!!

Do you ever have those times when there is a word on the tip of your tongue, but you have some sort of temporary mental block preventing you from remembering what it is and spitting it out?

I don't remember what the context was but, I had such a crisis about 2 months ago and today the word popped right back in there. The word was:

STIGMA.

There, now it is on public record and the next time I forget it, I know just where I can find it. Humor me.

Say what?

My boss was born and raised in Germany. He did not learn English until he moved to the U.S. By now his English is fantastic, but we do often discuss American sayings, what they mean, what the origin is, etc. We were also just discussing the realm of nuts. It is a little slow right now in case you couldn't tell. But anyway, it got me thinking...

I submit to you that the saying "greatest thing since sliced bread" should forever be changed to "greatest thing since shelled pistachios." Let me tell you why. How hard is it to slice bread really? As long as you have a serrated knife, it takes two seconds. Was sliced bread a wonderful invention and a huge leap forward for mankind (and ducks)? Of course. I'm just saying if we didn't have it, we could still get by just fine. But pistachios...

Pistachios are far and away the best tasting of all nuts. This point is not open for discussion. However, I will often shy away from the deliciousness of the pistachios because they are such a pain in the ass to get out of their shells. It's no coincidence that the best nut is also the highest maintenance nut. It's one of nature's classic jokes. So when they started selling the pre-shelled pistachios, that, to me, was the defining moment of greatness to which all others should be compared against. There was only two periods in time, Before Shelled Pistachios and After Shelled Pistachios, or B.S.P. and A.S.P. 'Twas the vortex, my friends.

The cooler with wheels, that was also a great invention. One might say it was the greatest thing since shelled pistachios.

Two Common Phrases That Are Long Overdue For Retirement

1) "Really?"

As in the SNL Weekend Update segment. As in, "Come on. Really? Really, Officer? You're gonna give me a ticket for jaywalking? Really?"

2) "I like where your head's at."

Thank You

Just wanted to say thank you to everyone for their good anniversary wishes. It's weird, cool thing these anniversaries. Kind of like having your birthdays on the same day. Anyway, I was really touched by all the texts we received over the weekend. Thank you for remembering and taking the time to wish us well. It was a beautiful weekend. Really could not have been better. Now I am back at work and feeling like shit (just tired, sick), but I'll post pictures later!

Where's a genie when you need one?

Can I just say that if I had a wish, it might be that I could just BE Will Ferrell? I feel like he is the living incarnation of the life I dreamed of.

Pants? Check. Shoes? Check. Starbucks cup in hand? Check.

There is a girl at work here who walks in every single day, without exception, carrying a grande or venti Starbucks cup. She's a very nice person and this is not really about her, but it got me thinking...

Not so much about the roughly $350 a year that adds up to, but rather, what does that cup really stand for, aside from the obvious caffeination. My theory is that some people rely on the Starbucks cup as a symbol of power or readiness. Think about it, a person carrying a Starbucks cup (grande or larger--don't even try to come up in here with your "tall" boy) has more visual cache than a person without one, or so the theory goes. I think these people are using it as a crutch, something to occupy their hands, subconsciously sensing this cup gives them an air of authority or general with-it-ness. It's like a clipboard, a walkie, or a headset in that way. And who knows, maybe they're right. Maybe it works.

**As I googled to find an image for this, I found many photos of Hollywood actresses with their Starbucks, talking on their cell phones. I guess a second theory might be that it's a way to look cool too.

Folk or Fight

Joni Mitchell in a recent LA Times interview:

"Bob is not authentic at all. He's a plagiarist, and his name and voice are fake. Everything about Bob is a deception. We are like night and day, he and I."

Them's fightin' words! This is the kind of bulletin board material that can only end in a face-to-face showdown! Can I promote this?

DYLAN-MITCHELL!
LIVE FROM THE MGM GRAND GARDEN ARENA!
JULY 23rd LAS VEGAS, NEVADA!
ACOUSTIC GUITAR LADDER MATCH!
TWO LEGENDARY FOLK SINGERS WILL ENTER THE RING! ONLY ONE WILL LEAVE!

DYLAN-MITCHELL - FOLK OR FIGHT!!!

Sweet Sweet Summer

Summer is here. We've seen flashes over the last few weeks, but it was always followed by rain or gail force winds. Maybe it's just that I am really feeling the mood, but I think this time it might be here to stay.

Last night, we drove down to Long Beach to see David Sedaris. Carpool lane was wiiiiiide open. We were cruising along like we were riding a monorail, eating sandwiches and listening to my new Diana Krall album. I've never really thought about jazz as summer beach music, but this really worked well. I was probably taking a visual from the tranquil shore scenes in the inside cover art, but there was a romantic elegance to the music that had me hearkening back to a peaceful afternoon in the Caribbean, sipping rum punch and watching the sun set. Before you roll your eyes, you should know that I wrote that last sentence in my best Ron Burgundy voice. We got down to LB in time to have a preshow glass of wine out on the terrace. The view was nothing spectacular, but I was reminded how good it feels to be outside on a warm summer night.

Last night was the opening act today's headliner. Sunny and warm, I drove down to the mall at lunch, windows down, blaring the feel-good music of The Samples. They're a 90s band from Colorado that play kind of unpolished, jam band music that reminds me of what Sting might sound like if he had a side project back in the day. Pottery Barn was all shells, nautical decor, and bright patio dining umbrellas. I felt like I was in the Hamptons. And I've never even been to the Hamptons. Walking into Williams-Sonoma was, as usual, like walking into someone's house at dinner time, smelling something incredible, and knowing you can't stay. Today they were roasting pork with some heavenly seasoned Chipotle marinade. Alas, it was not ready yet. Instead I drooled over the pineapple margarita mix and the Ad Hoc Chocolate Frosting (chocolate knows no season in my book).

I'm telling you, it was really really hard to come back to work. To rub margarita salt in my wounds, somebody pulled up to me at the first stoplight riding...a classic green Vespa. So now I am imagining puttering on my scooter through the cobblestone villages of Tuscany or Provence, shopping for local art and fresh bread, cheese, and wine for dinner. However, doing simple, repetitive math in a window-less, climate-controlled office is a close second.

Summer is out there, I tell you. It's waiting for me. I've got my deck shoes on and I am ready to go. And it's only Wednesday. At this rate, I'll be rolling into work on Friday wearing a grass skirt and a sombrero.

!Cinco De Mayo!

Most asinine thing you will hear today, most likely several times:

"I'm not Mexican."

OOooooohhh so you believe that we should only celebrate the holidays that apply directly to us rather than celebrating the many cultures and people of this world. Hey, if you want to live that way, you go right ahead. Personally, I relish the opportunity to celebrate anything. I'm a celebrator. You don't need to be Irish to celebrate St. Patrick's Day. You can be a Roman Catholic and still find beauty in Chanukah. You can be Republican and still go green for Arbor Day*. When in Rome, I say!

!FELIZ CINCO DE MAYO, MIS AMIGOS!

*While already celebrated by several states, Republican President Richard Nixon proclaimed the last Friday in April to be National Arbor Day. We just missed it! Damn it!

Music Mania!!!!!

Lot of action lately.

I got my first review up on T-Bone's music blog. I spent about two hours last weekend digging for new music and finding some unbelievable stuff, like Joshua James.

Saturday night we went to see Stephen Kellogg (awesome) open for Needtobreathe (very disappointing). As usual, I made an ass of myself gushing over Mr. Kellogg at the merch table. "Your music cuts straight to my heart" was bad. I think I hit rock bottom with "I like to go running. I know a lot of people like to run to hip hop but your music really gets me going." Yes, I really said that. Did I mean everything I said? Yes, I did, so I shouldn't feel THAT bad, but still.....embarassing. This is what I do, which is why, seven times out of ten when presented with the opportunity to say thank you to an artist whose work has touched my life, I will opt not to. Anyway, he signed my poster "Thank you for the kind words," which is great, of course, as it will remind me of those words every time I see it. Sigh.

Then on Sunday was that Amoeba Garage Sale. It was intense. I met Bernie and T-Bone there and when we finally walked out, we realized we had been down there for two solid hours. I think I blacked out at one point. Still, it was worth it. CDs and vinyl for a buck each. And we're not talking Color Me Badd here. There was some great stuff in there. I don't even recall everything I brought home but here is a small sample:

Oscar Peterson Trio
Top Gun soundtrack (yeah, I said it)
Miles Davis & Gil Evans
Billy Joel
Glen Campbell
Diana Krall
Duke Ellington
Benny Goodman
Ben Kweller
The Samples
Jackson Browne
Steve Martin

Did I mention I found the Willie Nelson, Don Williams, and Ron Sexsmith I needed at Fingerprints last weekend? I haven't even looked at the flash drive filled with tunes that Bernie gave me. I'm neck deep, I tell ya, neck deep! Put your dancin' shoes on 'cause we're pushing straight on through 'til morning!

As if this were not enough, the James Taylor/Carole King album comes out tomorrow. Does this entry age the shit out of me even beyond the years I've actually lived? Probably. But hey, good music is good music. I'll come back with some indie emo-rock tomorrow.

What's for dinner

Every weekend I seem to eat worse than the last. This weekend included, burgers (2 times), fries, beer, chips, pizza, more beer, and a quesadilla. Oh yeah, and burgers a third time (forgot about the late night McDonald's). Dear Lord. I do so well Monday through Thursday and then the wheels come off the wagon...and the wagon carenes into a vat of grease.

There are no words....

There's really not any need for commentary on this. If you're with me, it speaks for itself. If there's anything I can say, let it just be that I wish there was a way to wrap up everything about this concept, this video, and all its participants....to wrap them up inside a tortilla of TMZ and Perez Hilton and set the whole fucking thing on fire.

Bloop bloop bloop bloop

Have I mentioned that my entire office has the same text message alert tone? I swear it's the sound effect to an old Nintendo game, I just can't place it. Ah well, I get plenty of chances to identify it. About 500 chances a day to be specific.

It's Over

You know what, I am done with peas. No more peas in my life. They are just too damned small. They're difficult to negotiate onto your fork and the small amount you are able to accumulate for a bite is still too small to give you any kind of real, full flavor. Give me some broccolli, some asparagus, even lima beans, but, please, peas no more.

Still Here, Mixed Bag Tuesday

--I sat on the couch for about two hours Saturday listening to new (to me anyway) music on Itunes. I've said it before, but I'll say it again, Genius is genius! I compiled a list longer than my....well, it was long*. Come to find out my timing could not have been better as Amoeba is having their first ever garage sale! Hooha! It's gonna take a lot of discipline not to blow Frodo and Sophie's college fund come Sunday morning.

--Speaking of music, my buddy T-Bone has started a music blog and invited me to participate. Here's the link. It's basically new album and conert reviews. My first review should be up there shortly. As you can see, T-Bone is fairly prolific so I would imagine he'll be writing the bulk of the stuff. He did a great report on this year's Coachella Festival.

--Speaking of music and record stores, I was down in Long Beach Sunday and, of course, I stopped in Fingerprints. Who should I happen to run into there, but my cousin Ryan. It was really weird because as I was parking, I remembered that he lived down there now and I had a feeling I was going to see him. I went over and hung out with he and his girlfriend at their place and then we all met Cruiser and Jen at Joe Jost's for schooners, specials, billiards, and such jukebox classics as "Night Moves" and "Winds of Change." We had a grand ol' time. It was really cool because Ryan and I had been practically inseperable as kids, but only seen each other every other Christmas or so in our adult years. After Sunday, I have a good feeling that that is going to change. Family becoming friends to boot! Who knew?

--Does anyone else watch "Damages?" Man, what a friggin' great show. This season really blew me away, especially that season finale.

--Still playing tennis, though not as regularly as I'd like. I felt like I was making real progress and then came an unexpected two-week hiatus. Last night I was a mess. Very frustrating. From now on, if Juan can't play, I'm going to the court to hit against the wall by myself.

Well, that's all I got at the moment. Ya gotta ease back into these things.

Tiger Tales

Let me start by saying that celebrity humor, for once, has been a source of great relief for me.

Since The Masters started on Tuesday, I was really surprised and dismayed by the reception Tiger Woods seemed to be getting from the local fans as well as the media. He was quoted as saying how moved he was by the support he got from the fans out on the course, how great everybody was, etc. etc. Apparently the "get in the hole!" sheep were all too willing to start baa-ing for their favorite shepherd once again. And the media coverage seemed to slant the story as a comeback tale, neglecting to rehash any of the most unsavory details of his scandal. It's not that I think they should. We all know by now what the story is and we don't necessarily need to hear it reiterated for what factually amounts to a sports report. It's just that I am entertained by their choice not to do it since it has really become S.O.P. for most celebrity scandals. For example, if South Carolina Gov. Mark Sanford were to donate $1 million to a local food bank, the coverage would still go something like:

"South Carolina Mark Sanford was in Columbia this morning to present a local food bank with a personal donation in the amount of one million dollars. Officials say the donation is the largest single donation they've ever received and will feed thousands of otherwise hungry and malnourished South Carolinans for as long as one year. Sanford has come under fire recently for committing adultery, disappearing to South America without notice to meet his mistress, and for using state funds to aid him in his affair."

So to see reporters, FEMALE reporters mind you, simply say how Tiger Woods was back on the golf course looking to repair his image and, hey, he shot a 4-under to boot and leave it at that was a little disheartening.

Now don't misunderstand me yet, because I sense you are about to. I am not getting on a high-horse and saying that Tiger Woods' personal life is any of my business or that he should not be allowed to go back to work because he committed adultery. I don't care what celebrities do in their personal lives. I truly don't. Obviously, cheating on your wife is a horrible thing and I don't want to make light of it, but Tiger's marriage is simply none of my damn business. So this is not about me judging him for the cheating. Who cares.

I will, however, be happy to pass a little bit of judgment based on the nature of his affairs, specifically the shit he allegedly said in his many text conversations with these mistresses. Have you read this stuff? Here is a link. Warning: it's extremely graphic. After reading this, I don't feel guilty for saying that it's a fucked up person that says these things to a woman, even one he's having a torrid affair with. This is not just dirty talk that pushes the envelope in the name of sexual excitement. This is sick, sick shit. This is someone who has some issues. I was wondering to myself, how could a person read these texts (which to my knowledge have not been disputed as false) and still head out to the course and say "Go Tiger! Go get 'em buddy!" I'm not saying they should go out there and heckle him or ridicule him. Personally, I wouldn't say anything at all. But, really, "Go Tiger"?

And then the Nike commercial came out. And then the Nike commercial parodies starting popping up. The humor and wit of these parodies and the enjoyment people seem to be getting out of them make me think the "Go Tiger" sheep are a minority and that there are still plenty of people out there that aren't sweeping his transgressions under their mental carpet.


P.S. As I type this, I forsee a huge hypocrisy flag being waved in my face. It's purple and gold in color and bears the name "Bryant" in white letters. To that I say, you definitely have a point. Kobe has never been my favorite Laker, but since the Colorado affair, I have rooted for him on the basketball court. I'd like to think that if these same texts had come from Kobe's phone, that I would not be able to root for him either. After all, like I said, it's not Tiger's cheating that turns me off to the point of not being able to seperate sports from personal life, it's the content of the texts, plain and simple. I believe if Kobe had said such things (to our public knowledge), that I would not be able to root for him. But you what, it's still fair to call me a hypocrite here. I can't say for sure that there is no trace of that in what I am saying.

The Top 9 Ballparks I'd Love to See

Name: Miller Park

Location: Milwaukee, WI

Home of: The Brewers

Attraction: It just looks awesome, doesn't it? Of course, there's also the slide in left center where the mascot slides down following a Brewers' home run. There's the sausage race during the 7th inning stretch (I believe?). In more recent lore, Bill Brasky has told tales of the 9-9-9 Club Challenge at the park, 9 bratwurst, 9 beers in 9 innings. You better hope the bats are hot the day you try that one. It just seems like a nice, fun park with quirks and perks.

Probability of actually visiting: 9% (it's in Wisconsin, ya see)

Name: PNC Park
Location: Pittsburgh, PA

Home of: Pirates

Attraction: I think this is the coolest looking park in baseball. I love the cityscape in the background with the team-colored bridges. It also had an intimacy to it. Look at it, it's a big league park with only two levels! This is actually makes me want to go to Pittsburgh.

Probability of actually visiting: 0.00 %

Name: Wrigley Field

Location: Chicago, I-L

Home of: Cubs, Da broad shoulders

Attraction: Are you kidding me? It's one of the last parks left that actually have some real history! The Ivy! The "friendly confines" moniker! The sign out front! Old Style Beer! The rooftop seats! This is the only park where I'd feel the need to see 2 games there, one inside and one from the rooftops across the street. Not only that, but the surrounding area of Wrigleyville with its many bars and pubs (The Cubby Bear!) filled for hours before and after every game make for an all-day experience that's even bigger than the game itself.
Probability of actually visiting: 83.4%

Name: AT&T Park (as of press time)

Location: San Francisco, CA

Home of: The Giants

Attraction: It's a baseball field on the friggin' ocean. McCovey Cove has to be the coolest single ballpark feature in all of baseball (yeah Fenway, I said it!). Who can forget Barry Bonds crushing homers into the drink, kayakers out there with nets pulling balls out of the water. Say what you will about what may have been helping him do it, but you can't deny it was memorable. I gotta see this place.

Probability of actually visiting: 81%

Name: Coors Field

Location: Denver, CO

Home of: The Rockies

Attraction: The vertical-ness of it. That towering grandstand in centerfield always looks appealed to me. I think it suites the Mile-High City. Add to that the pine trees, the thin air making for many a HR, and the young and talented Rockies and I am sold. Of course, the many bars and restaurants in the upscale LoDo around the park is also intriguing.

Probability of actually visiting: Wayne? Val? 98%?

Name: Doubleday Field

Location: Cooperstown, NY

Home of: The Hall of Fame Game

Attraction: It's near the Hall of Fame. I actually don't really need to see the field at all, I just really reeeeeally want to visit the H.O.F. and this is my way of expressing it.

Probability of actually visiting: I'd like to think 93.5%

Name: The New Yankee Stadium

Location: The Bronx, NY

Home of: The Yankees, a-holes

Attraction: The sheer magnitude of the place. This is the Rome of baseball stadiums and actually cost more than the entire kingdom of Rome to create, costs adjusted for inflation, of course. I hate the Yankees nearly as much as any team, but I am above-all-else a baseball fan and I feel it is my duty to see the new stadium. Then take a scalding hot shower.

Probability of actually visiting: 81.6%

Name: Busch Stadium (new)

Location: St. Louis, MO

Home of: The Cardinals

Attraction: A really beatiful new park in what I hear is one of the best baseball cities in America. In my albeit limited experience with Cardinals fans, I've been very impressed. Who knew baseball fans could be as passionate and involved as any in the game, yet still nice, reasonable human beings. I gotta go to their home to see it and believe it. Also, Albert Pujols plays here.

Probability of actually visiting: Sadly, 19%

Name: Field of Dreams Movie Site

Location: Dubuque, IA

Home of: the "Field of Dreams" movie site

Attraction: If you love baseball like I do, if you love movies like I do, if you love the idea of something magical and surprising still being possible, then you will understand why this field is like holy ground. Not to mention, it requires a comparable pilgrimmage to get there. Sure, it's just a movie set. But I think a lot of men would understand when I say that this particular movie is as close to my heart as any work of art in any medium. There is a sacredness in that connection, like a favorite song that you feel is your song. What would you do there? a non-believer may ask. To tell you the truth, I don't really know. I imagine I would walk out and into the corn. I'd probably sit in the bleachers and stare for a while. I'm sure I'd recite the Terrence Mann speech from the film. I think the draw for this place is just as it was described in the movie, a place where people can catch a glimpse of the past. I'd even go a step further and say I imagine it to be a place to find a purity of sorts. People will come, Ray. People will most definitely come.

Probability of actually visiting: 100% (what do you have if not hope?)

Play it again, Sam

Some people don't understand how I (or others) can watch a movie over and over throughout the years. They see it once, they move on, and they can't see any benefit to witnessing a story for which they already know the ending. Last weekend I watched "Before Sunrise" for the I don't know how many-th time and I was reminded why I will always revisit the movies I love.

I hadn't seen it in quite a while. Ever since "Before Sunset" came out, I had sort of gravitated toward that one. I guess I was more compelled by two people seasoned by age, dealing with what might have been than by the romanticism of their one youthful night ten years before. I knew from the opening scene that the revisit was long overdue.

One obvious reason I'll watch a movie again is that I usually catch something new. Maybe it's not that I don't remember seeing it before, it's just that it might stand out to me more the next time around. For example, in "Before Sunrise," there's a scene where Jesse and Celine are sitting at an outdoor cafe talking, when they are approached by a gypsy woman, a fortune teller. The actual palm reading is nothing special (not this time anyway), just your average "you are becoming a woman," etc., but after the gypsy woman has been paid and begins walking away, she gives them a little bonus message, if you will, as she walks away. She says:

"You need to resign yourself to the awkwardness of life. Only if you find peace in yourself will you find true connection with others."

I was 17 the first time I saw this movie. Coming from this kooky gypsy character, I probably paid it the same cynical attention that the young Jesse character does at that time, if I paid it much attention at all. But this time, probably my 19th time seeing the movie, I was so taken by it, I paused the movie and wrote it down. You need to resign yourself to the awkwardness of life...I am still chewing on this one, trying to figure out what it means to me. I like it.

As I go completely off the hippy reservation, let me just say that movies are not like wine. They are completed works, sealed, delivered, and unchanging. Like with any artistic work in any medium, however, the beauty of the art is not just in the color of the paints, the clever wordplay, or the emotional charge of the performance. The beauty is also in how we react to the art, what it does to us, how it affects the way we view ourselves and life in general. We, of course, are always, constantly changing so it makes sense that movies, like any art, mean different things to us at different times in our lives. If I had seen "Before Sunset" as a 17-year-old kid, I probably would have hated it. I would have thought it was a pointless wallow in a poor, cynical choice of a second act in the story of Jesse and Celine. But as an inescapably somewhat jaded adult, it hit home like an earthquake in the middle of the night.

I guess my point is actually really simple. The movies don't change, but we do and so, while we might still know how they end, our evolving perspectives can change what the movie really means to us. And that's what we truly love about movies, isn't it? Not their plots, not their effects, not even their acting. I just think we just love the way they make us feel. I loved "Before Sunrise" at 17 and I love it just as much at 31. It's a beautiful film about the purity and precociousness of young love that exists in the magical realm between realism and romanticism, where you can't say for sure what is real and what is too good to be true.

As I was looking for a picture to post with this entry, I stumbled on another blog where the author(?) was saying if you didn't see this film for the first time when you were 17-22, you missed your chance, that if you were to see it for the first time outside of that window, you would see these characters talking about life and its possibilities and groan at them to grow up already.

God, I hope that isn't true. I get what he or she means, that if we were to listen to our 18-yr-old selves talking about what we found so fascinating back then, we would want to slap ourselves. Believe me, I definitely get that. But I would hope that even if a first time viewer were not exactly bowled over by a discussion about the logistics of reincarnation, that, even in spite of that, they could not miss the heart of the film, which, to me, is two people finding themselves in each other.

False Alarm

Ya know, I have heard more jokes about April Fool's Day today than actual April Fool's Day jokes. I guess people just want to put forth the effort.

Going to The Show

Well my day just got made.

I went to the bank and as the teller was processing my transaction, we started your usual small talk. Almost Friday, etc, etc. I told him today was Friday for me, that I was off tomorrow to head out to Spring Training in Arizona. To which he replied...

"Which team do you play for?"

The Office Catwalk

Why can a man not wear a navy blazer without being compared to a captain, a sailor, or a prep school student?

Sure, I get that those three do wear navy blazers, but they're hardly the only ones. It's as standard an article as khakis, jeans, or t-shirts. It's a classic and yet it appears to be maligned or at least given undue special attention.

Our office is casual dress. You can't really wear shorts but you can wear t-shirts and flip flops. Still, is it so wrong to show a little style? I walked in this morning and within 3 minutes, I got comments from 3 people, the first going into a rant about how I looked like I was going sailing or to prep school. I gave her my most sarcastic "thank you" and yet she could not help herself as she continued to lay it on and promised to be back later for more. Then my boss comes out and asks me if I have a business meeting or an interview, then notices my un-ironed shirt and says I look like I'm going to a fashion show. The real topper came next when another coworker came by, took one look at me, and said I looked very "fluffy." Dear Lord, you would think I was wearing a fucking boa. Every morning, if it's not my outfit, it's my hair (OH MY GOD, IT'S GETTING LONG!!! HE LOOKS DIFFERENT IN SOME WAY!!! LET'S GET HIM!!!). Everybody's gotta weigh in.

Cotton, CASUAL navy blazer, khakis, white CASUAL, wrinkled button-down, grey t-shirt, brown slip-on shoes. What the crap, folks? This is still an office, isn't it?

I "Love" It!

I played tennis last night. I hadn't played in over a year and actually longer than that since I was sickly hungover the last time I played. My neighbor, Juan, and I dusted off the old rackets and hit the hard court to see how much of our game we could still muster, hoping for a decent rally and no injuries. Sadly, this scenario describes the last five times I have played tennis over the last seven or so years. I only get as far as the first game back before the next 9-month layoff.

It's always a mixed bag. I'm excited to be playing again, but frustrated that I can't play anywhere near the level I feel I should. The footwork and positioning are gone. Every third shot is off balance and probably pretty funny to look at from the sidelines. Worst of all, even when I find myself in position to win a point, my hand-eye coordination fails me and I can't even execute a simple volley. Facing a steady diet of weak 2nd serves placed on a tee, I swipe them long time after time, not because I'm trying to kill them, but because I have no consistent strroke. And they're like knuckleballs, they just sit there. But this time there is hope. Juan and I made a deal to play regularly, twice a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I am returning to tennis, my friends!

I am really happy about this. I hope it works out. It gets me back to my roots, it's fun, and it gives me a great workout. I run about 3-4 days a week and do my resistance band training thing, but after an hour and a half of tennis last night, I could barely walk around I was so sore and exhausted. This morning, Nicole got up and went to the gym early and, for the first time, I didn't wake up, didn't hear a thing. It's different muscle groups, I'm tellin' ya.

I figure I can do my normal workout of running and band-age on Monday, Wednesday, Friday and sleep in and play tennis on Tuesday/Thursday. I like it and I think I can stick to it. Plus, this gives me an excuse to buy athletic gear, a personal joy for me and most any man.

"Service!"

JUSTICE IS MINE!!!!

3/17/2010

Dear Mr Kumpart,

I am very sorry to hear about the problem you had with your luggage.

Thank you for writing to us about it.

I understand how stressful and frustrating it is when you haven’t got your bags.

After review of your claim, I have arranged for another check in the amount of $948.10 to be sent to you in full settlement of your baggage claim. This amount reflects the amount you are claiming minus the $200 already sent to you. I have also added the cost of posting your claim to us.

Once again please accept our apologies for the inconvenience. I hope this will not deter you from travelling with British Airways in the future.


Sincerely,

Joseph Kerrigan

British Airways Customer Relations


Sweet justice!!

I am so incredibly relieved. This really makes my St. Patty's Day. To the pub, I say! To the pub! If you're doing the math and thinking this latest check is not actually covering the full balance, that's my fault. I looked at my claim again and it wasn't $1,300, it was $1,142. So this next check will fully resolve this issue for me, both in my checkbook and in my heart.

And to my dear friends who decided I was in the wrong, I would like to extend to you my sincerest Spaceballs Salute.

British Airways: Screwing Over Their Customers With A Smile.

Many of you have already heard my tale of woe, but as the scandal continues to evolve, I need to do a little rooftop shouting or my head will explode. Let's take it from the top shall we?

Big Barcelona trip. Couldn't be more excited. Always wanted to go, didn't know what I would get to. Until! I found a great fare with British Airways and all the other pieces fell into place after accordingly. So I land in Barcelona around 22:00 local time. My luggage does not. I go to the counter, I fill out my paperwork, they give me a number to call and nothing else. No ETA, no temporary toothbrush, no cheap, airline socks.

So I give this phone number a try. Repeatedly. While the representatives on the other end of the line are very friendly, there are not altogether useful. They are not able to tell me when my baggage will arrive, only that it hasn't arrived yet, which I could already deduce by the smell of the clothes that had been on my person far longer than The Gap ever intended. What am I supposed to do? I ask them. "British Airways will reimburse you for the clothes and toiletries you need to buy until your baggage arrives, just save your receipts," the woman tells me. I feel I should repeat that promise for emphasis:

"BRITISH AIRWAYS WILL REIMBURSE YOU FOR THE CLOTHES AND TOILETRIES YOU NEED TO BUY UNTIL YOUR BAGGAGE ARRIVES..."

Well that's a relief, I think. At least there's the consolation that I won't have to find out the hard way how tough Spain's vagrancy statutes are because the police mistake me for a homeless man who hasn't showered in 2 months. There's just the small task of the shopping. Now at this point a person who loves to shop, possibly a woman, would think "Jackpot! Shopping spree on British Airways dime! Which way to the Prada store?" Not me. While I do enjoy shopping, it's only when I have no reservations about whether I can afford it that I will actually allow myself to live it up. Despite the verbal vow of the unnamed British Airways representative, I didn't trust the situation. It felt like a trap. Unfortunately, if I wanted to wear clothes during my vacation, I had little choice but to go buy them.

You might be thinking, You were on vacation in Europe. You were going to be buying clothes anyway. Absolutely true, I would have. However, I would have bought one or two items as they struck my fancy throughout the natural progression of the trip. We would have gone about our sightseeing and if a shop next door happened to display a shirt that called my name, sure I probably would have picked it up. There's a big difference between casual shopping and necessity shopping. I lost an entire day, my friends. Underwear, undershirts, button-downs, t-shirts, a pair of casual paints, a pair of dress pants, socks, a belt, deodorant, soap, and on and on. Think about literally every single thing you would need to buy to achieve the mere basic status of being able to walk down the street. Now factor in that you're dealing with European sizes so you have to try on every single piece. Oh and it's also January so you're going to need layers. Also, you're going to an event that requires you dress up a little so now you're into dress shoes, shirts, and a tie. It's not about finding stuff you like, it's about finding stuff that simply, suitably covers your ass. It's going to take all damn day, and that's if you're not picky about style. Is this still sounding fun to anyone? As I felt the bill escalating, I actually began to feel sympathy for British Airways so I honestly wasted even more time trying to find the cheapest options possible. I can tell this story is running a bit long so let me skip ahead and tell you why I say "wasted"...

The f_ckers stiffed me.

Yep. I wish I were kidding. I came home and, being the upstanding accountant that I am, I put together an impeccable presentation of my receipts. For those of you familiar with the wonderful world of petty cash, this was a real thing of beauty, the kind you laminate and hang on the wall as an example of how to do it. The total was in the neighborhood of $1,300 USD. At first glance, sure, I can see how that would seem really high. Remember though, we're talking about every stitch of clothing you would need for five days of sightseeing in a foreign land. Undies, pants, shirts, socks, belt, shoes (explanation above). AND you're purchasing it all in Euros, but since it's on your credit card, the actual financial responsibility comes to you in US Dollars so you've got inflation due to the exchange rate. I think you'll agree that it's actually pretty conservative. If you don't contact me on the side and I'll go over it with you one receipt at a time and you'll understand. But I digress...

Fast forward about three weeks. I get an e-mail from the good folks at British Airways, a Ms. Roberta Lance to be precise. On my best day, I could not adequately capture the beautifully simplistic cruelty of her e-mail so I will paste it below:

Dear Mr. Kumpart,

We go to great lengths to look after our customers' belongings at British Airways, and this certainly includes getting every single piece of luggage to the right place at the right time. This is small comfort, I know, after the situation we put you in following your own flight.

And of course you needed some essentials to tide you over. The figure you gave us does seem disproportionately high given the time you were without your bag, so I cannot agree to pay the entire amount. However, I am happy to offer you $200 and I'm arranging to send you a check for this amount.

I hope that this will not come as too much of a disappointment and that you'll be joining us again on a British Airways flight again soon.

Sincerely,

Roberta Lance
British Airways Regional Baggage Service

Where to begin, right? Well, I started by e-mailing the smug folks at jolly old British Airways. Not replying directly to Ms. Lance, of course, NO! This is a corporation, you can't do that. You can fill out the e-mail form on their website and hope that it actually reaches someone. So I did. I told them I would like someone to call me to discuss how my claim was "disproportionately high" to being virtually naked for five days in the dead of winter. I invited Ms. Lance to advise me as to how I should have clothed myself for five days on what would have amounted to 135 Euro (generously). That's 27 Euro per day, folks. I wanted someone to explain to me how that was possible, short of Wal-Mart opening a flagship store in downtown Barcelona. Maybe they could create a game show out of it. "How to dress on 27 Euro a Day with British Airways." I should register that title...Anyway, I explained as well in my e-mail that I was conservative in my spending, how I audit reimbursements for a living so I wasn't trying to scam anybody, etc etc.

No response.

I began to grow impatient so I sent another e-mail. I hit all the main points again...(Paraphrasing) I bought only the clothes I needed to get by for the FIVE DAYS I went without my bag**. I didn't want these clothes and should not have needed these clothes but for the errors of British Airways. Why should I be responsible for these costs? I did nothing wrong. I packed well and paid my fare. A hundred and thirty-five Euro as an offer of reimbursement is a slap in the face and what's more, it's completely, insultingly arbitrary. If my claim seems high, here's an idea, turn the page! There's a spreadsheet! If you're going to dispute my claim, how about using some supporting sentences after your thesis statement? How about referring me to the magical store where you can clothe yourself from head to toe for 27 Eur a day? I really think this lady looked at the top sheet, scratched her head and went "Hmmm, that seems like a lot. Two hundred is a nice round number. Next!" We're just talking about my clothes, which I'd be happy to send to British Airways by the way. What about the cost of my many cell phone calls to British Airways that afforded me no information other than to say "your bag is still not on its way, we don't know when it will be on its way, and British Airways will reimburse you for the clothes and toiletries you need until it arrives"? Let me ask you this, British Airways, what is my time worth? How much money is "proportionate" to the entire day I lost frantically shopping for clothes I didn't want and shouldn't have needed? How much should I get for the time I lost waiting for my bag when the final delivery of it was four hours late on top of the five days already running? All I am asking for is what is fair and what was promised me. I am not excited to lose any more money paying for attorneys fees to fight this in the legal system, but I am compelled above all else to be treated fairly.

No response. My joke of a check did arrive in the meantime though. It's sitting on my table where it will remain indefinitely. By depositing that mockery of a reimbursement, I feel I would be implying my approval of it.

This morning I decided to call British Airways. Even if I had to wait on hold for an hour and go through six different people, I was determined to speak to a presumably logical human being. Eventually, I did reach someone, in the reservations department. She informed me, by way of cutting me off before I could finish any one sentence by the way, that 1) it may take up to 3 weeks to receive a response to an e-mail, 2) it was not possible to speak with anyone on the phone regarding the matter, that customer service could only be reached by e-mail or fax, and 3) that there was no human name should could give me to address a written letter to, only the general customer service mailbox. Again, this exchanges is so baffling to me, I feel I have to type it bigger, bolder, and in brighter colors in the hopes that this will mystically transform it into something that isn't completely, utterly, and, if you'll pardon the pun, royally f_cked up.

IT WAS NOT POSSIBLE TO SPEAK TO THE BRITISH AIRWAYS CUSTOMER SERVICE DEPARTMENT.

It begs a question, doesn't it? If there is no existing name of a supervisor and it is not possible to speak to the customer service department, what proof is there that it actually exists at all? I'm not kidding.

So that's where it stands, me shaking my fist at a seemingly infinitely tall, long, and cold wall. I know this won't end well. I know I'll be paying off every red cent of that debt even as every check will burn an ever-deepening hole in my pride and soul. I get that this just the name of the game in the battle of big company vs. little guy. Chances are my e-mails won't even be read all the way through, much less taken seriously. I do understand that the language they speak is the universal language of money. All I can hope is that all the other people that they have screwed and will undoubtedly continue to screw join me in my boycott until the point where they look at their quarterlies and ask themselves the same question I am asking them now, "Where did my money go?"

How long will it be before they reply, if they are gracious enough to reply at all? How long should I wait before pursuing legal avenues? Can a single individual even sue a giant corporation these days? Is it possible or do you have to be part of a class action suit? How much would it cost me to fight for what's right? How much is justice, fairness, and basic decency worth? It's more questions than I can answer, but there is one I can sum up with absolutely certainty.

Will I be "joining them on a British Airways flight again soon?" Not even if the world were exploding and they had the last flight to heaven.

**Among the great void of logic and reason that was Ms. Lance's e-mail, there is one strain that stands out to me as particularly interesting. At no point was I ever given an estimate as to how long it would take before they could get me my bag. They weren't able to tell me anything in that respect until the morning it actually arrived in Barcelona. How was I supposed to know what amount of money was proportionate or "disproportionately high" for the time I was without my bag if I had no idea how long I would be without my bag? Would they have me treat my basic clothing like a croissant and a coffee, shuffling down to the local store each morning to buy my morning underwear and pants? At this point, I can't put anything past them.

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.