"Mooooon riveeeer"

Four words I was not expecting to hear when I woke up this morning:

1) Lift

2) Your

3) Scrotum.

Lift

Your

4) Penis.

Yeah.....So I had an appointment with the dermatologist and I thought he would just be looking at the freckles I was concerned about. I wasn't prepared for such a thorough inspection. Strangely enough, this was much easier than peeing at a urinal with no divider. Good thing I showered. "Thank you, Doc. Ever serve time?"

We've been doing a big music exchange at work recently. I think I've imported 2-3 gigs worth of new music, so much that it was a little overwhelming. It wasn't until this last batch though that I really found stuff that not only appreciated but really loved, stuff that was addictive, infectious.

The Format - I guess I'd call it indie pop/rock. Kind of like a less self-conscious, less "cool guy" Vampire Weekend...and I don't really like Vampire Weekend. Also could describe them as a more conventional, more singalong-friendly version of The Shins. Which is fine by me because as much as I like The Shins, that's my main complaint is that I have no fucking clue what any of their songs are about. I danced a jig to this music.

Nick Drake - No description or link necessary, I'm sure. I'm very late to the party, but at least I showed up.

Mason Jennings - I had heard of this guy, but hadn't heard him because I got him confused with Shooter Jennings whom I had heard and didn't care for. Not the same guy, as it turns out. Anyway, I would call Mason Jennings fun folk rock with more than your average amount of percussion. It's singer-songwriter stuff but with a foot-tapping twist away from the usual soul-baring sad songs.

I know it's already July, but I am declaring this (not only this) the music of the summer.

Speaking of music....you know how I know I'm gay (not really)? I listen to Coldplay. Yep. After years of being utterly unaffected by the band despite liking so many of their similar-sounding colleagues (Keane, Athlete, Travis), Viva La Vida finally flipped the switch for me. I'm not saying I'm a fan now or that I retroactively all of a sudden love their previous stuff, but, what can I say, I like this new album.

Wanna guess how much it cost me to fill up my car yesterday? Would you believe $75? Seven-five. I've been fretting over the cost of a bike but at this rate it will pay for itself in a few short tanks. Finding a local bike shop is on my list of things to do. I was also reading about how the bike path I will take runs right behind the Mar Vista Gardens housing projects and how a couple riders were accosted and seriously injured a couple years ago. I'd like to avoid that so, hopefully, I can steer clear of any hooligans by entering the path further southwest. I did read though that UCLA bought these projects for student housing so let's get some wimpy-ass Bruins in there in place of the gang that's there now, asap.

Sartorial situation...Is it wrong to wear red, white, and blue on the 4th of July? Would I be the subject of great snickering and snide whispers? I'm not talking about wearing some godawful country-western American flag-patterned shirt, just the colors. We wear green on St. Patty's Day, don't we?

General statment: no one tells me anything anymore. I really don't get it.

Some might say it's too early for this, but with the recent weather, I think the timing couldn't be better...

The Top 5 Things I Love About Getting A Haircut

5. Reading magazines you might never read otherwise whilst waiting to be called.

4. The first cool rush as you walk outside afterwards, your scalp suddenly more exposed to the elements.

3. When they fold my ear down and do the careful edging with the clippers behind the ears.

2. Three words: Clippers. On. Neck.

1. The guilty pleasure (Am I supposed to enjoy this? I didn't just moan, did I?) of the hair wash scalp massage. Unfortunately, I haven't indulged in this level of haircut in a while.

Up, Up, And Away!

I saw premium gas yesterday priced at $5.30/gallon. Actually, it was $5.29 9/10, but I figured it would be safe to round up that extra 10th of a gallon. What is that about anyway?

My gas light was on today so I had to pull in. I hit 2.07 gallons and pulled out. I just couldn't bring myself to pay it. That 2 gallons of sheer necessity cost me 10 bucks. The needle barely moved.

Is 10.9 miles too far to ride my beachcruiser to work? How long would that take ya think? It might be something to think about. Just need a helmet is all. And a basket for my manpurse and lunch.

I think I might actually try this. Save money on gas AND gym membership.

By the end of the summer, it might actually be cheaper to fly to San Francisco than to drive there, as long as you don't want to check any bags of course.

Have Yourself a Merry Littl--NEXT!

I listen to my ipod on shuffle all day. Several times a day, it will land on a Christmas song. I can't lie, I have to force myself to skip it. I am ready for the season already.

There Is Community In Los Angeles

I have to tell you, I had the greatest night last night.

It started with my dad calling me at work to ask if we had any hamburgers left over. Of course we did. Many hamburgers. We were to have a pot luck dinner, he and my stepmom, Nicole and I, and my neighbor from upstairs. Let's call her Sharon. No, perhaps we should call her Angel as she sells wine for a living. So Sharon/Angel brought over italian sausage and peppers and no fewer than seven bottles of wine, we brought our burgers, and my folks broke out the leftover potato salad and strawberries. It was a makeshift feast and wine tasting. As we cooked and drank and chatted and sat, Juan the Spanish architect poked his head in for a minute on his way to his apartment upstairs. He resisted briefly before stepping inside for a quick glass. Juan had just come from playing paddle tennis at Venice beach. As it turned out, he does play a little tennis (the racket kind) so he and I made a tentative pact to walk to the park up the street and play sometime. I haven't played in years, but I would love to get it going again. Nicole and I mentioned that we were considering Spain or Portugal for our honeymoon so he began telling us about the different regions of Spain, the architecture, and the wine. When dinner was ready to be eaten, Juan said goodnight and headed upstairs and we sat around the table and ate and talked. Sharon is a pretty interesting woman who's lived in more countries than I've ever visited. She talked to Nicole about a class she takes that's some hybrid blend of yoga, pilates, and ballet. I think they make take a class together. Towards the end of the night, as we began to have to find what little wine remained by lifting each of the many bottles littering the table, Juan stopped on his way out to loan us a book about wines in Spain. I thought that was the nicest thing. We had a desert of strawberries and ice cream and delivered a knockout blow to the wine. Nicole and my dad and I got into a spirited argument comparing sports to art which I undoubtedly won. We looked at the clock and we had been there for over four hours. We stumbled home and went to bed.

I said before that I had met more of my neighbors here than ever before. Last night was an experience in not only meeting, but getting to know my neighbors. It's a really good feeling and sadly novel. This city is such a vast, disconnected, impersonal place; it's a refreshing feeling to have a sense that my comfort zone--my home--extends past the walls of my apartment.

It was a really relaxing yet stimulating, interesting and fun night--and on a Monday no less. I think this is going to turn out to be a good move.

It's All Mine!

Just made my last car payment! Woo hoo! It's like getting a raise without getting bumped into a higher tax bracket! And I'll get the pink slip now! Finally, I can play for pinks!!

Still Here

Remember me? I used to write stuff on here way back when.

The packing, unpacking, painting, and moving is finally over with. Shelves hath been erected. The "house" has been sufficiently warmed. This is the first time I have had to really sit down and type something in probably a month. Bear with me.

--It's odd, I have met and spoken with more of my neighbors in the two weeks I've been at this new building than all of my other apartments combined. It's nice. In the laundry room, I noticed there is a shelf where everyone leaves their detergent, trusting that it will still be there the next time they do laundry. It's a simple thing, but I was really kind of touched by it. Nicole once had her detergent stolen at her old place, just within the thirty-minute wash cycle it was left unguarded.

--Do you believe that certain types of alcohol bring out specific parts of ourselves that other varieties may not? Nicole has a theory that whiskey makes men into assholes. I don't think I agree, but it's possible, I guess. For me, the game of poker does that best.

--I had a dream the other night in which I had a helluva nice conversation with Robert Redford. Nice guy. I was walking around the neighborhood I lived in as a kid and I saw this schizophrenic woman walking around the tennis courts (installed by my subconscious) asking the players if they liked her haircut. Anyway, I turned to go back another way and--boom--there was good ol' Sundance himself. We talked about where I went to school, what I wanted to do, my hobbies, etc. I feel bad, I did most of the talking. I will have to remedy that next time I run into him.

--Nothing suits a hangover like an emotional morning of television. First, it was the Tim Russert tribute on "Meet the Press." So sad. When I began to take an interest in politics, Tim Russert as host of the show had a lot to do with it. He always seemed to me to be a fair-minded, genuine guy who clearly loved his job. After "Meet the Press," it was the 2-hour season finale of "House." They definitely saved the best for last. I've thought that this season was by far the weakest yet, but this last episode was exceptional.

Anyway, that's all I got right now. Ya don't wanna rush back into these things.

Yay, Oregon!

In recognition of Obama's ginormous victory in Oregon (as in Portland, Oregon), I dusted off the ol' college diploma last night. I had already been wearing flip flops all day in anticipation (closest thing I had to Birkenstocks). This morning, I treated myself to a triple-grande soy sugar-free mocha latte, cranked up the NPR and relished in my lack of hatred of Black people. When in Rome...

Of course, Hillary won by 35 points in Kentucky, but, not unlike many of the southern states, she was boosted to victory by good old fashioned racism. To look at that after typing it, my first reaction is that it seems ridiculous and bitter to say that, or least unfair. Then I remember the exit poll statistics and I realize it's very sadly true. Twenty-one percent of voters in the state admitted that race was a factor in their voting. Of that 21%, 9 out of 10 people voted for Clinton. And that 21% are just the people that admitted to voting based on race. Who knows what that number jumps to if you include the more closeted bigots and ignoramai (plural for "ignoramus"). I don't think it's a stretch to connect that to racism.

How sad is this? It's 2008 for the love of God. I guess it's not really shocking to see such blatant racism, but it is really disappointing.

Hillbilly Bob shouts from the back, "Hey, what about the overwhelming number of Blacks in South Carolina admittedly voting for Obama based on race? That's racism too! We're even!"

I think that's equally foolish, but a far cry from racism. There is a difference between voting against someone because they are Black and voting for them because they are Black. I know many people feel there is absolutely no difference between the two and that to say that constitutes "reverse racism," one of my least favorite phrases. To that, I would just say there is only no difference if we live in a vacuum. But we obviously don't live in a vaccum; we live on top of a landfill of hundreds of years of outright slavery and institutionalized oppression of African-Americans. To pretend that just because the institutionalized aspect of racism is officially gone (if somebody says "affirmative action," I smack them in the mouth), that racism as a whole is defeated is at the very least unrealistically optimistic if not naive and sheltered.

Okay, I've just spent the last ten minutes arguing with and lecturing to...myself. Yeah, time to get off the soapbox, I think. The Lakers won so why am I getting myself all worked up? Sorry about that.

Just one more thing though...I also find it despicable that Hillary seems to embrace the support of these people. I realize no politician is going to ask that votes in their favor be thrown out, but I was shocked (though I shouldn't have been) to see Clinton using voters' racism as an argument why the Black candidate shouldn't be the nominee. As if the ignoramai should be rewarded for their dim view! Great leadership, Hill! Unfuckinbelievable.

To be fair, I am going around the way a bit in interpreting her quote. She didn't refer to the racially-motivated voters exactly. No, she only referenced "hard-working white Americans who had not completed college." However, you can bet that Hillary knows that the voting records of both demographics are not aligned by coincidence.

Wouldn't it be great though, to see a candidate throw out votes based on racism? I doubt it's democratically be possible (unless you're a Florida Republican), but how refreshing would it be to see a candidate stand up and, with so much personally at stake for them, say "I don't want to win that way. A vote for me based on racism is not a vote I want in my box. Strike them from the record." Politics like that can only exist in movies, I guess.

New Music Monday

You've probably already heard of these guys as they have gotten some popularity from various TV shows I don't watch (Grey's Anatomy, The Riches, Gossip Girl, How I Met Your Mother, etc.), and movies by Nicole Holofcener (they thank her in the liner notes). But what the hell, I love 'em. I would describe their music as quietly infectious pop-folk. Quietly infectious in that it's not catchy in the repetitive, simplistic way that beats you over the head and gets you singing along despite hating the song. It's the kind where you might catch yourself humming a melody, not even sure where you might have picked it up. Pop-folk in that it's got the sound and instrumentation of folk music without the depressive, bleak, sacrificial inaccessibility that your deep singer/songwriters often have. They do sing with a little sadness it seems, but it's a sweet, resigned sadness. It shouldn't matter, but another thing I love about this group is their story. The Weepies are Deb Talan and Steve Tannen, both solo musicians until they met at one of Steve's shows and became friends before partnering to form The Weepies, falling in love somewhere along the way. They are now married with child and three beautiful albums. It's like Once, except neither was a Hoover-fixer-sucker-guy and they actually ended up together. This is the cover from their latest album, but they're all great.

If you can't read the picture (I can't), the album is Late Last Night by Robby Hecht, a singer-songwriter out of Nashville by way of Wisconsin. This was one of those artists and albums that I had never heard a whisper about, just picked up a pair of headphones at a Fingerprints listening station and made a great discovery. Well, great personal musical discovery that is. He already had an album and a representative to get him on the player so it's not like I stumbled upon the guy strumming on a riverbank or anything. The music is similar to The Weepies' in that it's a sort of mellow, relaxing, acoustic folk with a discernible heart and engrossing warmth to it. I have heard Robby Hecht compared to Amos Lee and I think I would agree that he has the same soulful voice and sentimental disposition (musically speaking of course as I don't know him personally). It could just be the newness of the cd I'm experiencing, but Hecht's melodies seem to resonate a little more with me than do Lee's, in general. They are more lullaby-like and I am a sucker for such a thing. My favorite such song on the album is Freight Train Lady (see link above). It wasn't the first song I heard, but it's the one that clinched the purchase for me. It chokes me up, I tell ya, it chokes me up!

Movin' On

Moving is such a strange experience. No matter how many times I go through it, it still sneaks up on me.

Once I find a new place and start making plans in my head for what's gonna go where and what color this room and that room is going to be, the excitement for a new era of my life can really take over. The first steps towards that next phase, however, almost always mean looking to the past. Tonight I pulled down some boxes that I don't think I've gone through in two or three moves and I found cards, letters, and pictures from old friends, old school papers, awards, and student IDs. I came across this one little album that had all high school pictures in it...Good God, we were tan! All of us! You'd think we attended school on a cruise ship in the tropics! I was quite fascinated by the many different ways I wore my hair in that 4-year blur. Why didn't anybody tell me to cut it? Beyond hair, it was funny how different I looked over all from year to year in that short span. I guess that could be indicative of me being a kid and not fully knowing who I was yet. Which is not to say that I know now, but a picture of me taken today might show me wearing the same clothes and hairstyle as I did four years ago, albeit with the occasional weight fluctuation.

It always makes me smile to go back and find all this old stuff, but why is nostalgia always tinged with the slightest sense of sadness too? That's what I'm saying, it's such an odd sense to feel both the anxiousness for your new life and the loyal affection for "the good ol' days" simultaneously. I guess overall it's a fun thing. I just wish I could have remembered where all this shit was those times when I felt lost, like I didn't really know who I was or where I was going. I could have been reminded so easily, at least about the former. The latter will always, to some degree, be a mystery...which is a good thing.

Then there's the simple physicality of moving, of course. The hand-broom of good friends sweeping up of your life from one place, the dustpan known as UHaul carrying it a matter of miles to be dumped in a new place, spread around again. There's an uncomfortable level of residence pergatory involved in this way too. As pictures are taken from the walls and boxes begin to stack around me, I can feel my sense of home dissolving around me. I don't care where you're moving to, until you actually get in there, there's nothing more lonely than coming home to an array of boxes, hearing your every step echo the emptiness around you.

On the flip side, when I finally do lock the door on the former abode one final time, set that last box down in the new place, and crack open a cool beer (or wine...or champagne...anything with alcohol really), man oh man is that sweet relief.

Twenty-four days to go!

Guess Who's Coming To Dinner

Moving in next door to the folks! With the prime location, ample space, below-market rent, and back area for Darth Grillious, we couldn't pass it up. Moving in May 31st! Who wants to help paint before then? Details on housewarming party to come...

FIRED UP, READY TO GO!

Note the start time. Not 8:00, not 8:30...8:01, folks.

--Iron Man, baby, Iron Man! Wooooooo! Tonight is your night, bro...It occurs to me that I haven't been to a movie in a damn long time, which is weird because I love going to the movies. Well, I can think of no finer film to go back with than this year's first summer blockbuster. Popcorn will be had. Maybe an Icee. Maybe there's something new that I don't even know about.

--What's the best job you ever had? I was thinking this week that I think my two favorite jobs were working at Borders and the Alumni/Special Events office in college. And neither paid very much. I guess that shouldn't be surprising. Part of their appeal, I'm sure, had to do with the time in my life I worked those jobs, when my checks went to clothes, music, booze, and gas rather than student loans, rent, gas (at a completely different level obviously). But it's not that simple either. Before it ever got to the discretionary spending, I enjoyed the work itself. What a concept! I need to figure out how to get back to that somehow. I wonder if Starbucks is hiring.

--Looking at an apartment today. Two bedroom, one bath, nice unit, good parking, great location, below market price...and also right next door to my dad and stepmom. No shared walls, mind you, but still. I'm not sure how I feel about the idea. I'm conflicted. The benefits: father-son comraderie, shared barbecues, beers, the like...always someone there to feed the cats, sign for packages, borrow a cup of flour. I don't think I need to list the potential negatives. I just don't know, ya know. I suppose it's hard for anybody to weigh in since the situation is determined by everyone's unique relationship with their parents. Tough call.

To be continued...

The Last Straw

That's it. That's the last straw. --Milton

I'm blowin' town, folks. Va mousse. Adios. Gone daddy gone, the love is most certainly gone. The desire to close up shop in LA and head north for P-town has been building over time, but today I received the little kick in the ass that I needed to really be sure. And it happened in the oddest of ways in the most unlikeliest of places.

So I'm at the Trader Joe's. Just walked in with my two bright red Trader Joe's reusable shopping bags. I select the perfect bunch of bananas, place them in my cart on top of the bags and proceed to the cucumbers. Now I had made the mistake a day earlier of buying zucchini instead of cucumber so I was going to be very careful to make sure I didn't confuse the two again. I marveled at the size of the thing and knew I could never be fooled again. Both are phallic vegetables I should find emasculating for their sheer size, but the cucumber is still in a league of its own. But I digress. Now I'm over by the carrots, and after a brief inner debate, I decided to go with them. I turn around to toss the little orange buggers in with their fellow produce pals, but am startled to find that my cart has vanished! But I don't panic. I frequently misplace my shopping cart the Joe's as it's always necessary to find a spot for it off to the side, on the banks of the rapid river of people. I look all around the produce section, but it's nowhere to be found. No cart, no bags, no organic fruits and vegetables. So I wait. Surely, no one would steal a person's cart for the sake of a couple reusable grocery bags, right? An innocent mistake must gave been made and the responsible-but-not-guilty party will return soon, blushing but with no permanent damage done. You would fuckin' think so, wouldn't you. After a minute or so of standing there with nothing to show for myself but a bag of baby carrots (a much more fitting phallus as it turned out), I decide it's time for some street justice. No justice, no peace! I take a hard-looking lap around the store but find no viable suspects. Clearly, I'm dealing with a professional sack burglar. But I still don't really believe it. This could not be happening. Who does this? Who steals a person's shopping cart in the time it takes them to walk to a shelf and ponder the pairing of shrimp and carrots(probably not a natural fit, but I'm into carrots lately)? Seriously? I walk outside, looking to get some air if not some perspective. I mentally retrace my steps and actions to make sure I'm not going to be laughing at myself in a few minutes. It's such a cheap, despicable, petty crime against humanity that I can't fathom that it's actually happening. I walk back in, having done the emotional equivalent of rubbing my eyes after seeing a ghost. No relief to come, my friends. Nothing but the plain, shitty truth.

Someone stole my motherfucking environmentally-conscious shopping bags right out from under my nose (Cue a joke about liberals from Adam or a hippy joke from Conrad).

I've had it with this dump! (We got no food, we got no jobs, our pets' heads are fallin' off!!) I am so sick and tired of this congested, petty, soul-sickened city. I gotta get out before I go postal. Of course, it begs the question, What, you don't think this could have happened to you in Portland? The answer is no, I really don't.

I quit.

P.S. Personal neuroses about these reusable grocery bags. I always feel awkward about cross-branding with them. My bags are (excuse me, were) from Trader Joe's, but sometimes I need something from Whole Foods or Ralph's. I know it's ridiculous to feel awkward about taking bags from one store for use in another. It's all for the same good cause, right? It's not like the checkers own stock in the company (do they?) or are entrenched in a bitter rivalry with the other stores. I know all this, but yet it still feels weird to me, like grocery bag bigamy. Oh well, I guess the good news is I don't have to deal with that turmoil at the moment.

Gimme a break, I never do this...

Lookatem!

Out to Lunch

I'm a brown-bagger by nature. It saves money, sure, but really I think I prefer bringing my lunch from home because it saves me from having to make the agonizing decision about where to go out for lunch and the nutritional value of what I might order when I get there. To most, this is not a difficult decision, if it's a decision at all. Some amble out to their car and see where it takes them, Taco Bell, Whole Foods, what have you. I have never been blessed with the gift of such frivolity. Also, I don't like to lose too much time on the commute to and from a lunch spot. I find that time better spent reading crap on the internet I haven't been able to really look at yet that day (fantasy baseball). Good God, I am a fucking dork if there ever was one. For these reasons, my lunch hour, most of the time, is spent right here at my desk.

However, as the bitter Southern California winter turns to the blooming of spring(a net change of 7 degrees), I've found it less tolerable to sit under fluorescent lights for 8 or more hours of a beautiful, warm day without feeling the sun on my skin for even a brief spell. If I walk out at six as the sun is on its way out, I feel I've lost the day almost as much as if I had slept through it. Another negative is that as things get busier here at work, the chances of actually getting to enjoy my lunch with any degree of leisure or peace declines by the day. Into the wild, I say!

Today marks Day Four of my new lunch routine. The building adjacent to mine has a two metal picnic tables with umbrellas out front and, oddly enough, no one ever seems to use them so I have been taking my lunch down the stairs, out the front door, and across the narrowest path of our parking lot to sit in front of the Raytheon building. I angle myself in such a way as to absorb as much of the sunshine as possible and I eat and read. Call it my own personal Finer Things Club. I can't imagine a better book for such an occasion than the inaugural selection. A Year in Provence by Peter Mayle. It's quite the escapist pleasure. However, if you catch me bringing a lavender sac he to lunch, feel free to slap the shit out of me. I'll be asking for it.

The funny thing is how much of an escape my little trip is even before I've opened the book. These two picnic tables are no more than 100 feet from the front door of our building, which sees considerable traffic, especially at lunch. There is a wall separating the two parking lots of my building and Raytheon, but it's a mere three feet short. Yet, despite being barely at the limit of lip-reading distance from my building, no one ever seems to notice me as they come and go. That little bush-lined wall may as well be ten feet high for the amount of separation and anonymity it grants me. Another parking lot, another world. And thank God for that.

A Bettin' Man

--In an effort to make this blog interesting, I have decided to "make it interesting." I have issued a bet, a challenge if you will, to Joe to take me on, blog-for-blog. Don't Mind Me vs. The Year of Joe in a retirement match! Loser deletes his blog and does not create a new one. How will the winner of this bet be determined you ask? Why fantasy baseball, of course! You see, Joe was making some bold statements about how incredible his pitching staff was and how he would bet on his staff against any other in our league. So really he's the one who initiated the bet, I'm just stepping up to the plate with the stakes. He hasn't replied yet but I've never known Two-and-O Joe to run from a fight. A topless woman, yes, but never a fight.

--On that note, I know this is a little late (though not too late), but here it is, my 2nd annual major league baseball picks:

AL West: Angels
AL Central: Tigers
AL East: Blue Jays (CRAZY!)
AL Wild Card: Indians

NL West: Diamondbacks
NL Central: Brewers
NL East: Mets
NL Wild Card: Rockies

ALDS: Angels over Indians, Tigers over Blue Jays
NLDS: Rockies over Brewers, Mets over Diamondbacks

ALCS: Tigers over Angels
NLCS: Mets over Rockies

World Series: Mets over Tigers

2008 World Champion New York Mets! Write it down.

--Couple other bets going on as well....On a daily level, a coworker has bet me that I can't go the entire day without speaking in some sort of voice or accent that is not my own. This will be tough because once I get working and I'm focused on something because it's an unconscious thing for me. The Russian accent just comes out on its own. Personally, I think it makes for a boring day just talking and acting normal, but, hey, I love a challenge.

--The other bet is on a larger scale. Last night my dad was telling me how once I got married, I would inevitably gain weight. I told him I will do no such thing and that we should put it to a bet. So on my 1.5 year anniversary, we will compare my weight and body fat percentage against the same measurements taken on or around my wedding day. This could be the easiest bet I've ever entered into. In order to keep it interesting, I might issue a side challenge to myself to lower the b.f. percentage by a few points. The only thing we need to figure out are the stakes. Any suggestions?

--Ya know what I feel like doing today? Watching great sitcoms like Cheers, Seinfeld, and Spin City. All day long. There would be pizza involved too. Then, at night, I'd take in a baseball game.

But, alas, pushing paper under fluorescent lights will have to do.

--Someday I will fly First Class. Not as some status symbol of wealth or sophistication, just as an escape from that person that I always seem to get seated behind. I'm talking about the person who fully reclines their seat from the first to last allowable instant of the flight, and, as if it weren't enough to lay themselves in my lap, rams their body against the seat as if it were malfunctioning and was actually supposed to fully recline so that they can sleep as if they were in a bed. Who cares if it means I have to become an involuntary contortionist to carry out such luxurious leisures as reading a book or sipping water. One of these days, I'm going to hit back, slamming my weight into the back of that fucking seat like a football player pushing a tackling sled. Okay, I probably won't.

--Is there anything more rude or disrespectful than piling a man's missed work not in his inbox, but on his damn chair? I think not. I can't wait for M. to go out of town for a couple of days. Her chair and desk are going to look like a fucking landfill when she gets back. There should be a rule against this, but there's not. At least an unwritten rule anyway.

--Isn't it interesting how elections always seem to inject certain buzzwords into our common dialogue, often for no clear reason? I don't think I heard the word "surrogate" more than twice in my life until this election began. Now I hear it more than "vote."

"...you belong somewhere you feel free."

The Song of the Day is "Wildflowers" by Tom Petty.

I'm going with this one because, like many TP songs, it feels like a travelin' song and that's what's on my mind today. I love that feeling I get all week leading up to a trip, regardless of the destination (this time South Dakota). It's not just the anticipation itself, it's the way it permeates into all the little things that you need to do before going out of town. Who's gonna cat sit? How am I going to get to the airport? Packing--I love to pack. All these things that resemble ordinary everyday chores are injected with a sense of urgency and excitement. I'm going places, baby! Litrally. Cap it all off with my great love for airports. The newsstands with their floor-to-ceiling magazines, the generic, diluted versions of Starbucks and Mickey D's, and the "Home Turf" sports bars that are home only to transitory souls in search of a cold beer and a ballgame. The peoplemovers that make you feel like gliding at double speed. Someday when it's late or early enough that there's no people in my way, I'm gonna try running on one of these things at a full sprint. I love it all, I tell ya. I can't wait.

RAAAAAAAAAAAARRR!

The song of the day is "The Way I Am" by Eminem.

Reason being...I've got a real short fuse today. I went ape shit once already over someone's annoying ringtone. I'm not trying to be a tough guy or anything. I'm just so fuckin' tired I have no patience or tolerance. I tried medicating with a triple grande latte (skinny hazelnut to be exact) and it didn't do a damn thing. It affected me about as much as a pistol shot hurt King Kong. I am in that stage of exhaustion where you need sleep so badly that you'd swear you were sleeping and that what you know is reality feels more like a dream. I need a cold shower or a slap in the face.

Happy Thursday!