Douche bag

I'm so bored with beer. I need a new intoxicant.

It's a little bracing to realize that I require an intoxicant, but once I made peace with it, I can move on to other things. Most things seem so damn dull. Maybe this is why people sky dive, mountain climb or marry ugly girls. They can't afford decent weed.

Come to think of it, I can't afford good weed either.

Maybe I just need to find something to cut through the callous, crack the shell. I would think one would find an interest or activity that is so absorbent that one would fear external intoxicants for their distracting effects. Not me. Love, hate, fear, pain... meh. French, camping, exercise, art... meh.

I probably need therapy of some kind, but even the several stabs at that - attempts to untie my cognitive knots - have availed me so little.

I read/see/hear about poor people - real poor people, like: "West African, can't-find-anything-to-eat" poor, not "can't-afford-a-new-video-game" poor - in the media, people who wish for years to have half the opportunities I have, the belongings I have, the life I have. I feel like a real jerk, whining in my pseudo-private techno-journal about the minuscule angst that rules my thoughts. What a douche bag.

Maybe what I need is the limitations that make these modest achievements and possessions seem so untouchable. Maybe that's what this past year has been about: loss, and the constant prospect of even more loss. It's probably a large part of the lesson I'm supposed to have learned. Instead, the most noble and insightful question I've come up with is a choice between beer and pot.

Yeah. Douche bag, for sure. I need to get my head right.

This post is not at all what I sat down to write, but I feel better having thought this "out loud," so I'm going to post it. It's odd, disjointed and probably not appropriate for public viewing, but it's also personal, and still seems like the right thing to leave "up." I think I'll go find something constructive to do.

Whether life or death, it's too good for them

My God.

I just got around to reading the news story whose headline has been on my screen for days, about a Washington couple who killed 6 people, including two small children. When I got to the part about the three-year old boy trying vainly to put batteries back in the phone to call for help... Jesus.

Terror, pity, shock, revulsion - there just aren't words for this. It's heartbreaking.

Our legal system simply isn't capable of applying a suitable punishment to these heartless dogs in human skin. I don't think we should take a chance on there being a Hell and sending them to it - we should carefully construct one, and condemn them to it to be certain a thorough job is done of it.

Those poor people...

Gym report

I'm happy to note that my discipline towards exercise, measured in visits to the gym we joined, is holding up pretty good overall. I went last night when I really didn't feel like it, had a solid workout, and left feeling satisfied about it.

It being the first workout after a few days' rest/neglect, I always have a little more drive than back-to-back workout days. The off days couldn't be helped. It's been an alternately busy and tiring week, requiring a lenient approach to formal workout days.

I am even more proud of my wife, who has historically taken a, shall-we-say lackadaisical approach to fitness. She noted that although her weight was on the fast track to Slimville, she wasn't feeling as strong and healthy as she wanted. She took it upon herself to do something about it, and then stuck with it. Not necessarily a holiday miracle, but given my own disjointed handling of problems vs. solutions, watching someone close to me take responsibility and control over a circumstance and see it through is really something noteworthy.

So there; I noted it...

But back to the important topic at hand: me.

As much as I'd like the abs of Adonis and pectorals of, well, anybody with better pecs than me, I think my overall goals are going to have to shift. I've never thought much of conditioning my lower body, largely because my body-image and idea of strength always assumed an upper-body stacked with beef, letting the lower half look after itself. Considering my medium- and long-term goals, though, I am rethinking this. Those goals:

1. I'd like to get out and hike/camp/fish next year. A lot.
2. I'd like to look not so much like the Michelin Man's pregnant mistress.
3. I'd like to have buttcheeks that didn't flap in a stiff breeze like two hairy windsocks.
4. I'd like to have both knees not hurt and threaten to give out so often; one of them is clearly defective from the factory, and I've just got to make do with what I have.

You add all that up, and it all points to legs. Aerobic workouts to lose weight, strength training to develop strength, muscle tone, bone density and joint health. By spring, I would dearly love to have legs like a mountain goat (hey, hooves and all, I don't care). I'd like to have gams like a mountain troll marathoner. I'd like to have strength, agility and endurance. I'd like to have an ass that my wife can slap without spreading ripples through my backfat up into my forehead.

It's tough, because I've always felt I wasn't built for speed. Or motion in general, for that matter. I've always felt deep in my brittle, flaky bones that running was a torture visited upon man by a cruel, pitiless creator, and that I should have as little part in it as humanly possible, to avenge the moral wrongness of it, if nothing else. Now it looks as though I'll be spending lots of time on treadmills, lunging, squatting (hideous in name and deed, if you ask me). Yechh.

Deep down (maybe not all that deep) inside me there is a pessimist, who has seen many efforts bear puny fruit. He truly doubts in his pathetic, cynical heart that all the effort in the world will bring me closer to the above goals. That little bastard needs a kick in the nuts, and it would do me a world of good.

But, I am encouraged by my wife. She took it upon herself to declare a goal and work fastidiously towards it. If she can do it, maybe I can, too. Ain't she great?

Things I don't understand - #1

Why is it that:

• the faucet in my shower has a six-inch span, from left to right, for hot-to-cold water, but
• the span that produces water that won't either blister your skin or induce hypothermia is at best three-quarters of an inch wide?

Merry Christmas, almost everyone

My family and I had a great Christmas - lots of gifts and love, no bad news. I'll take that any day.

My son got overstimulated by too many great gifts and a blood-sugar spike that would give a hummingbird heart palpitations (he had no breakfast and then >WHAM< a big chocolate Santa, straight to the bloodstream). This caused a condition that lasted several hours and inspired visions of belt-whippin's to dance in his Daddy's head.

Grandma stepped up and invited the little... DARLING... over to her house for much of the remainder of the day, and I got a closer look at all the wonderful things Wifey Claus brought me. One of them was a nifty telescope - as soon as I put it together, a thick layer of cloud cover moved in, and all attempts to ogle the moon were over before they started. I'm still looking forward to it.

I fought the law, and the law won

It's been over three years since I have been in a formalized education system. Living where I do (among other logistical considerations), it's tough to get my butt to a physical location at which I may absorb knowledge.

"Aha," I thought to myself: "I'll just sign up for one o' them-there Innernet courses, and study from afar, saving gas, travel time and other logistical considerations. I went so far as to sign up for an online course for introduction to the American Legal System. Having already taken the field trip portion of the class, I figured I'd back it up with the less-expensive, classroom version.

The cost of the course itself is $60; pretty reasonable, I think. Then, I went to buy the book. Ninety bucks minimum, for the used, scribbled-in, dilapidated version, and a few bucks more for the new one! I must be cheap (scratch that, I know I am), but that's a tad pricey for a single book! I even tried to cheat and get it at Amazon, but even the used versions there are $70+plus.

Fuuuuuck that! I'm gonna slither my way through a few used bookstores, and see what I can come up with. Textbooks are just too much!

Major score

A few weeks ago, a 1977 Terry travel trailer was bequeathed to me by someone who had moved on to bigger and better. The only catch: I had to arrange to remove it from its lot. My boss did me a big solid by getting his Jeep into a pretty hairy spot and dragged the thing to where my wife's "Brick Shithouse 250" could hook up and drag it away.

There were some other significant hitches along the way, but we finally got the thing home today. It's nearly as old as I am, and not nearly as broken down and worn.

I look forward to putting some miles and fun onto this thing next year. Just another reason I am a lucky guy.

Shoot the elephant

Since I haven't had more than two customers in the past year for LiberatedPachyderm.com's Virtual Tour service, I'm going to pull the plug. If you haven't seen it yet, look quick, because the host has its orders to yank that limping behemoth off the server soon.

I'm no longer troubled at the failure of this service to take off. I learned a few things, and I'm in a different place now (as is the Real Estate market) than I was when this got started. It helps that I have steady income again, and a new rainbow on the horizon to chase.

It's like they say: "when God closes a door, kick out a window or you're fucked." More about the window sometime soon.

Gym Rats

My wife and I are Valley Springs' newest Gym Rats. We joined the "fitness center" yesterday, and I had my first workout this morning. It was nearly deserted, which is fine with me. I did some light activity and scuttled off to work.

Knowing myself as I do, my biggest fear is sloughing off the workouts, and paying for a service I don't use, not to mention not getting healthier. My goal then is to go at least 3 times a week for the first several weeks, and adopt it as a habit, even if the workouts aren't strenuous.

I'm sick of being shaped like a pear - I want to be a banana, at least.

Having trouble today

Ech, I'm having trouble today. I can't get it in gear. I took on one ambition, and it failed miserably. That always slows me down.

Having trouble finding the next failure - I mean, project...

Thanksgaving

At the last minute, my wife and I decided to shuttle across town and enjoy a Thanksgiving dinner with her Mom. As always, she kicks ass in the kitchen, and many bellies were stretched to their breaking point.

Back at home, we enjoyed a quiet, relaxing evening. A great day.

John Bizarre is sick of your shit

John Bizarre is many things, but I posit that crazy isn't one of them.

Read his current and recent posts and you may disagree with me, but that's up to you. I suspect the truth is that he's convinced that the unthinkable is slowly but certainly unfolding before his eyes, and he can't keep quiet about it any longer. And it's amazing to watch.

I don't know if what he's pointing out is what is truly happening, but I know his advice (turn off the TV and start truly giving a shit) smacks of good advice. He has to understand the undeniable power of skeptical apathy and the lifelong stream of lies that cause it, but he rails against it just the same.

Everybody is full of shit, and we don't even twitch when candidate after candidate lies to our faces with a smile. It is now the natural order of things, and to suggest otherwise is now enough to label you a crackpot.

Well, get your crack outta my pot. Maybe he just makes enough sense. His rant against voting the same raggedy, binary, lesser-of-two-evils choices is convincing enough on its own to get me to shave my head and join the circus. If he makes much more sense, I'm voting for whatever rutabaga he tells me to. Even Ron Paul.

Nokia 6126 phone sucks ass

"Beep beep," gone.

That's the sound of the latest frustration with our new Nokia 6126 flip phones - codenamed: "Shitbag."

We signed up with AT&T for less-costly phone service, because we didn't need the services (nor the cost) we were enjoying with our old service. Shame on them for not allowing us to gracefully downgrade without chaining ourselves to a new, 2-year "agreement." As was necessary, we picked up two new phones because our old ones couldn't work under the new service. The Nokia flipphones were free in the bargain, and I still think we got boned.

Between the clunky Menu system, unintuitive interface all-'round, and sudden joys like aborted calls during apparent full-on coverage with all bars lit, the only thing I can count on this piece of excrement to do is make a satisfying noise when I throw it against the wall.

I waited to bitch about this because each new device has its own quirks, and some frustration is natural while the user gets up to speed. This thing continues to enrage though, even after a few weeks.

My wife is even contemplating (gasp!) no service at all, rather than endure this subtle and mild form of torture. I don't blame her - this thing sucks. Bleah.

...And it's all for me blog

It's with full awareness of the interim between my last blog entry and my current one that I sit in peace enter this latest post. Subjects upon which to blog swirl around in my head like wraiths, distinct but impossible to grasp and put in a bottle. I know it's been a while, and the main reason I'm jotting something down is so that I don't fall out of the habit completely.

In other words, this is likely to be among the least interesting blog entries I've ever written, but I need to stretch my fingers, so just give me a break.

The blissful mood with which I've blogged recently have eroded somewhat lately - nothing lasts forever - but I'm confident that this is a phase, and nothing more. I'm still very fortunate and have a lot going for me. Unfortunately, I've allowed fear and worry to rent out a one-bedroom apartment and single car garage in my head, and I have yet to evict these lousy tenants with their noisy parties in the wee hours of the night, and I just KNOW I'm going to regret not getting a deposit.

I'm looking at two days off with absolutely no plan at all as to what to do with them. This is not an ideal situation, as I usually give in to boredom and hoist some beer. This little bargain has been wearing out for years, but I have yet to find a suitable and satisfying replacement for this often-regrettable but by now ingrained behavior. Still looking, and once I find it, I'm incredibly ready to embrace that change. Bleah.

Mama's got a brand new bag

My wife has entered undiscovered territory this past week, starting a new job closer to home. I am very proud of her for applying, interviewing and taking a job, especially knowing how harrowing the whole miserable process can be. Luckily, they know quality when they see it, and snatched her up as quickly as they could.

It's closer to home and so far, low stress. Also, it's a reliable schedule, obliterating much of the guesswork involved in the last gig. It isn't all perfect, but a lot of it's good. I sure hated to see her worn to the bone with long shifts, brutal weather and marathon commutes. I really like seeing her fresher and with more time on her hands.

She may like it too, but I don't know - all that matters is that *I* feel better, right? Heh.

Dumbledore isn't a queer

So author J.K. Rowling announced that her wise wizard character, Dumbledore, is gay. Or, was gay - he's been dead a while, you know.

I have to say, I think she's mistaken.

I know, she's the author, she created the characters, and some (including Rowling herself) think that gives her the right to rewrite history, now that the money's been made and blatantly provocative statements have no chance of impacting the many millions she's raked in. That's all fine, but there's one problem:

It never happened. In all the Potter books (not one of which I've read, and I don't think that leaves me in the slim minority everyone else seems to identify), never once did Dumbledore open-mouth kiss another guy, roger one of the gargoyles or so much as visit a Pier 1 Imports browsing for faux-antique coffee tables. If it didn't happen in the books (or the movies, for that matter), it didn't happen.

I mean, why not declare: "Oh by the way, he was black. Three feet tall. A master at water polo"? Because it would be ridiculous, that's why. All that Harry, Dumbledore, The Dukes of Hazzard and Rocky and Bullwinkle ever will be is what they were during their respective runs in their chosen media. To go back after the fact, kick this old goat out of the casket, just to push him out of the closet, strikes me as an opportunistic stunt, not a brave step to legitimize homosexuality.

If she wanted old Dumbie to experience a gay life, she should have written that into the books that gave him said life. It reminds me of the Family Guy episode where Peter Griffin dreams up his own TV show where he has a black son. The imagined intro of "My Black Son" runs for 40 seconds or so, and tacks on the very end this afterthought: "Also he's a ninja."

Hey... a ninja. Yeah! "also, Dumbledore was a ninja!" Why not?

For two other views on this "Dumbledore is a homosexual" theme, see these links:

EW.com - Dumbledore: A Lovely Outing

Put Dumbledore Back in the Closet

Life is good

Yesterday was an awesome day off, just about perfect. Today is shaping up pretty goddamn fabulous as well.

I have so many things in my life to be thankful for. I started making a list today, and it never ended. I only stopped to go accomplish a few things, or else I'd still be writing.

I know this sounds blissed-out and kinda fruity, but it's true, and worth noting. The more I look for ways to achieve happiness, the more I see and hear that it starts with gratitude, being thankful for all the shitty shit you have now. Appreciate, don't take for granted.

It's such a small thing, it seems impossible that it can help you get your head right, but I believe that it's integral. Such a small thing, which makes sense that it would be the mote that snowballs, gathering mass and inertia, and before you know it, you're posting dreamily to your blog about how great you've got it.

More good things on the horizon. They will be much appreciated.

Life in the interims

Life is busy here lately, and I suppose it's a good thing. It's different from the recent, long term pattern, that's for sure. While it's possible to schedule the basic necessities, I find it's also possible to fit in just a little bit more of the things that need doing into the cracks of my life.

For example, my morning includes distinct time periods for feeding myself and the animals, preparing myself for work, and dropping my son off at his Grandma's. By my days off, the place looks a wreck, because housekeeping is of a secondary nature.

However, if I keep an eye out for the things that deserve my attention, I can often slip in a little good deed, useful effort or rewarding pursuit into the times in between the items on the agenda. I've washed dishes, called a friend and gotten a quick workout during times when I'd otherwise be taking the odd breath and daydreaming. I've certainly got nothing against a relaxed breath or the odd daydream, but I appreciate the amount of good an unscheduled endeavor can do.

Hell, I hadn't planned time for this blog entry, but here it is. Gotta go get my son...

Don't interrupt me

Just shut up.

Not forever. Not as a rule. Just as an occasional courtesy. Consider it a conversational exercise. Take those flapping, meaty lips of yours, those clicking teeth and your grunting throat, and make them still, just for a three-count.

Take a breath. Consider your next blurt, before you blurt it. Hey, while you're at it, take a real chance and listen to what I have to say for a change, you monopolizing boor.

By now it goes without saying that I don't like being interrupted. To tell the truth, I actually enjoy a conversation so energized that one conversant will excitedly interject something before the brainwaves lap against his mind's shore and obliterate the elusive thought written in mental sand. I dig that.

What I don't like is when I can't get an entire sentence out of my mouth before I am cut off, time after time, until I find myself at the end of a "conversation" without having completed a thought. It assumes I have nothing useful to contribute. It assumes your thoughts are the only ones that matter. It assumes I won't flick out my knuckles and rap you one in your relentlessly-vibrating throat, just to listen to the comparative silence between your ragged wheezing.

So, take a quiet breath. Smile and nod, even if I go on a bit. It's the polite thing to do. I'll shut up eventually, and it'll be your turn.

Big boy bed

My wife stopped at Wal-Mart the other night and whilst shopping for a few basic items, she couldn't resist buying some furniture. What fiendish grip is it that Wal-Mart has upon its patrons?

She brought home a traditional bed (that is, not a crib) for my son. It is a parent's way of saying: "I think you're old enough not to roll out and crack your head open in the middle of the night." He's very happy with it.

For a while at least, he goes to bed again of his own free will. Even more importantly, he can get up on his own, but he doesn't quite get that yet. Sometimes when he wakes, he'll lay in bed and whine about his predicament, rather than simply disembark the mattress and begin his day. Very old-school thinking, my boy. It's adorable to invite him to extricate himself from his self-imposed prison. Once free he's quite jolly, and if we're both home he comes to noodle around with us, before we all get up to begin the day.

Nightmarish

I can only imagine what paramedics see on a regular basis, but this has got to be one of the harder calls to live down. Can you imagine arriving on a scene like this:

"Paramedics found Gonzales lying unconscious on the bathroom floor and her newborn infant boy in the toilet."

Jesus.

Recordnet.com: Newborn mistakenly declared dead

It gets worse - the kid was declared dead at the scene, only to be found whimpering under his death shroud at the hospital. Also, he had crank and pot in his system, from the mother who "knew she was pregnant but didn't realize how far along the pregnancy was, she told police."

Pick three

I've had today off, a departure from my normal schedule to accommodate switching from Fri & Sat off to Sun & Mon off. OK by me.

This week I feel like I'm beginning to bring my interests into focus, and it feels really good. I've narrowed them down to:

• French language & culture
• Sierra Nevada area wilderness
• Stand up comedy

That doesn't mean I have no other interests, but whittling it down to a top 3 is a relief. I've always had what seems like dozens of interests and pursuits dazzling and distracting me, to the point where I can't pin any one of them down, and it's truly maddening. It's taken me a while, but I feel good about pushing the others to the back of my mind. It's much like narrowing an entire party full of people down to a few close friends, and having the ability to devote time and attention to them. Rewarding, calming, a real relief.

I've neglected my French, and stand up comedy is but a gleam in my eye, but I can easily picture doing more with them. Cool.

Where the Hell have I been?

Has it really been this long since my last blog entry? Wow. That should indicate how hectic life has been lately. I've been doing lots of fun stuff that I should tell you about, but I haven't taken the time.

I went to Sourgrass in Stanislaus National Forest last weekend with my boy. It was a busy day for babysitting, but still a great time. He could have spent the entire day tossing leaves into the river and bidding them goodbye, and was actually mad when I tore him away.

I'm getting along famously with my wife, who is totally awesome and radical, according to the child of the 80's. We don't have a lot of time together, and when we do, we're pretty burned out, but we're still tight, and I wouldn't trade that for anything.

Eh, that's all I have (made) time for. Hope all is well with you. Peace on you.

i am a rich man

I got a new watch yesterday, my first in years. I am a clumsy oaf, and my tendency to shear the watch from the band frustrated me so much that i gave up on wristwatches. Plus, i'm rarely far from a pda or phone, lessening their perceived value.
i found their value when i started hiking on my lunch hour, &
needed to be back at a certain time. Now, i've got a watch so cheap, its maker doesn't have a website! The thing's almost disposable. Am i not a rich man?

Video Assistant

I got a voicemail last night asking if I'd like to help a local TV station and video producer record a little project. Since my free time is more precious now than ever before, I almost begged off. Instead, I called and agreed to do it.

I didn't know if I made the right decision until the words were out of my mouth, but
I immediately felt better, having said yes. Odd how you don't know always what's right until you've committed.

Crew call's at 4:30. Cool!

In the event of my demise...

Recently, my wife's aunt died. She'd had health problems for years, and rather than an altogether sad event, her passing was viewed as a release from the pain and stifling bonds she had endured.

Unfortunately, her death came at a time when the financial resources of those around her were at a low point. She had made some arrangements for her final resting place long before her passing, but the nothing near the total costs were conceived nor paid for. A plot was bought long ago, but nothing else. Sacrifices were made to accommodate her remains with dignity, but even at that, some concessions were necessary. In the end, we simply couldn't afford to properly heed even her simple wishes. I didn't know the woman well, but even so our inability to put her to rest in the manner she desired troubled me, and I know it was very upsetting to her loved ones.

Unfortunately, the company behind the resting place of her choosing wasn't interested in answering questions, only whether cash, check or credit card would be used. Vultures. What a racket it all seems to be, when a family of limited means is struck by loss and is caught over a barrel. Caught in a choice between thousands of dollars in unexpected debt or discarding your loved one's remains without dignity or respect for their wishes - it's a terrible choice to be made.

I ain't goin' out like that. In the event of my death, I want to be put to rest in the same fashion in which I hope to have lived: cheaply.

There's no shame in that. As I write this, I am reminded of my Dad's request for his own casket, discussed around the time of my Mom's death. He described his wishes in two simple, abrupt words: "Pine box."

My only rebuttal: "What the Hell's wrong with cardboard, Rockerfeller?"

I am lucky enough to have a few good people around me who will be stricken by my own end. Let that be enough misery for one day, and let my own arrangements be settled for less than the cost of a decent laptop, not a decent automobile. Let me be cremated over a campfire where hobos drink cheap liquor and get warm, but complain bitterly about the smell. Let me be buried in the Sierra Nevada mountains - someplace high up, with nice soft dirt, (none of the Calaveras rockscrabble of my own back yard) easy for the gravedigger to get into; why ruin his day? - someplace not too far from a dirt road, when the Ranger ain't lookin'. Let me be buried in a shallow hole, with my feet stickin' out so the skunks and wolves can gnaw off my toes, if only it prevents my family and friends from digging into their shallow pockets (or further) to take care of my empty husk.

Hey, while we're at it (and since I'm none too worried about the condition of my postmortem remains), I really should sign up to be an organ donor...

I don't think funeral services should cost more than a Mexican vacation. Since I bring it up, I don't think funeral services should cost more than a Mexican combo plate, but I guess I'll have to be realistic.

What I do want is for the event of my mortal release to be a mixture of happy and sad. I hope to be discussed, remembered, celebrated, criticized, gossiped over, slandered, memorialized and drank to. None of these things cost much at all - most cost nothing, save for the booze. I want to be the center of attention for the night, while I'm too dead to be embarrassed by the regard.

Now that I've made someone else's Moment of Truth all about me, my work here is done. I hope this writing serves to guide those left behind. I hope my send-off is meaningful, inexpensive and easy, in every manner possible. It seems selfish to me to do otherwise. And fuck the undertakers.

It's on this Saturday

Cro Cop. Jackson. Bisping vs. Hamill? The first unification title fight between Pride and UFC organizations? Free, on Spike?!

UFC 75 is on this Saturday. Gonna be good!

I ain't no Freddy Mercury

Since it's my wife's birthday weekend (most people get one day - she's claimed an entire weekend), she and I and Amy went to a Karaoke bar here in town, and tried having some fun.

It had been so long since I had been out, I forgot how to do it. I made a real tool of myself, searching high and low for the rack and cue ball at the pool table. I must have looked like a monkey with a toaster, barely comprehending the purpose and mechanics of the thing, hooting in frustration and screaming in celebration when I managed to get the quarters in and the balls racked. What a yokel.

And then, it happened. I didn't want it to happen, but I do take responsibility for it. Ultimately, the decision was mine alone, and I have to face up to that in the cold light of the morning.

I karaoked. My wife dared me, somehow managed to flirt me into it. I chose Queen's "Fat Bottomed Girls," and took the mike. I started out timidly, hearing my own tinny voice over the tinny sound system. A few syllables in, I resolved to sing it as loud and proud as I do in my car, and pressed on. With Amy and my woman looking on, I gutted it out, trying to figure out how badly I was doing by their facial expressions. Nobody wept, so I guess it couldn't have been that bad.

Get it while you can

I spent my weekend (now over) being pretty busy. Now that I'm occupied well over 40 hours per week, my free time has much more value, and I treat it accordingly.

I was a fair blur of activity Friday and Saturday, mostly climbing a mountain of housework, and some other things I had been eyeing all week. After barbecuing some chicken, I finally collapsed with my head in my wife's lap last night around 6pm (and no, I didn't leave that particular chore for last!). It was very pleasant.

I'm just sayin'

Know what i've never seen where i work? Black people.

hog heaven

Man, highway 4 between san andreas and arnold is just *saturated* with cops. Every day!
if you're headed this way, you better drive right.

denied.

The selection was made for the most recent position i applied for. I was not chosen. >sigh<

and on we go...

My new pal Perry

My neighborhood has an oddity. Besides me.

Every once in a while, I'll be conscious and outside early in the day. It happens less and less lately, especially when my wife's out of work, as we adopt the habit of staying up later and later. Occasionally, I'll catch a glimpse of an unknown fellow walking by. What's unusual is the gear strapped to his back.

He's got a metal-frame backpack, but with no pouch. Instead, it's got a heavy duty post, bearing about ninety pounds. Every time I see this guy trudge past in a solid, businesslike manner, I'm mildly fascinated (if it's possible to be mildly fascinated). I've made a mental note to catch up to him and ask him, essentially: "what's the deal with the backpack?"

Well, today was the day. I was noodling about in the driveway, and on he comes. I jogged up the driveway and matched his pace, and waited for him to remove his earplugs. I hoped I wouldn't startle him into using the short axehandle he carried, nor the not-so-short hunting knife that hung from his pack.

I struck up a conversation with him. Since I'm trying to post before I head to work, I'll simply blurt out the details I remember:

His name is Perry. He's recently hiked Half Dome. He walks about 28 miles a week, taking about 90 minutes or more per day. He has a job, but his morning walks don't eat into his daily schedule unduly. He used to weigh 300 pounds. I don't know what he his now, but I'd guess he's close to my 208, with a much higher muscle-to-flab ratio than me.

His exercise routine is flexible, mainly the weighted walking, but include a few days at the gym doing whatever strikes him. His exercise routine has enriched much more of his life than hiking outdoors, including family life and confidence for public speaking.

He invited me to stumble around next to him on another morning, if I have more questions. I do.

Gotta go to work.

a universal truth

If i'm doing 50 on a state highway in good weather, and i'm *still* diggin' you outta my grill, you're an asshole. Pull over & take a hard look at yourself in the rearview, 'cuz you're a dick and you need to get off my planet.

the ride home

I just want to do the fucking speed limit -is that so much to ask?

Hard to reach

For anyone out there who's been trying to get a hold of me, I apologize. My job keeps me away from home a lot (just about 12 hours from the time I walk out the door, to the time I walk back in it), and in the meantime, cell phone coverage is spotty at best, and usually non-existent.

But, it keeps me busy, my mood is up, my interview for a more ideal gig went well enough on Tuesday, and I've got today off to catch up with some stuff around the homestead.

Life is good.

working life 1

Life is good. The new gig is enjoyable, but the commute & pay are not. The scenery is *gorgeous.*

On to bigger & better, though. I have an interview today for a closer, better-paying gig. I really want it.

Web browsing - not just for Celerons anymore

Whew. When I bought this moderately cheap laptop, I skimped a bit on the processor and memory.

The conventional wisdom was that if your computing needs were light (e-mail, web browsing, word processing, etc.), you could be quite happy with a lightweight machine. If your needs were heavier (3-D gaming, movie editing, sound editing, etc.), you'd need a phat Pentium with buckets of memory to be happy.

Eventually, the day came when my laptop would bog down under the simplest of tasks, like e-mail and two web browser windows. First, I figured the hard drive suffered from the clutter of having too many programs installed/uninstalled on a Windows OS. Then, I assumed it was the grinding mechanical failure of the hard drive itself, which I replaced.

With my new, uncluttered hard drive, I'd open two Firefox windows, and time would stretch inside-out. Paging down would occur in jumpy fits and starts; switching windows became an exercise in patience, not an eye-blink. I realized that almost any window I'd open in Firefox would pour sand into my computer's gears, and wouldn't relent until I closed it. Not Firefox! I can't go back to IE, I just can't!!

I furthered narrowed down the problem to Flash doo-hickeys in web pages. Rarely are Flash components simple anymore - they aim for fast downloads, moving the bottleneck from bandwidth to processor, and dragging my machine to a crawl.

It was good news, though. Finally, a manageable point in the process! I slipped over to Firefox's website, and downloaded an extension that disables Flash components. Nice! Now, an icon sits where a cycle-gobbling Flash app would normally sprawl its fat ass, and if you want to enact it, just click on it!

Huzzah! Now I can load several pages of text and images, just as God intended it, without slowing my laptop to a time-lapse photography version of a normal PC operation. I am functional again!

Don't spank it in the county jail

Giving you more of what you read blogs for, I'd like to point out some trivial but humorous news:

Man sentenced for spanking the monkey in county jail.

My nomination for quote of the week: "During jury selection, McHugh looked at 17 prospective jurors and asked how many among them had never masturbated. No hands were raised."

What a great news day...

Papa's got a brand-new bag

I have a job, starting tomorrow. The money's not the best I can do, and the commute is a drawback, but it's a gig.

I look forward to having a regular schedule, putting some money into the kitty and dusting some chaff into the unemployment coffers, as well as the other positives regular work involves.

I remain on the market for superior gigs. I am proud to say that I have been honest with the current employer about the job's drawbacks and my abiding availability. This honesty thing just might work out. Now, to figure out the best way to tell them I already have an interview for another gig next week.

Awkward...

I support Bear Grylls - link to other blog

See my new post on the brewing Bear Grylls/Man Vs. Wild brouhaha. It pricked open a pustule of thought that I have been nurturing for a while now. I'm happy with what I've written about it.

Ozzfest report - the People

Amy took my humble ass to Ozzfest, and we had a great time at what was largely a Speed Metal Carnival. So many strange things...

Amy made fast friends with Daniel and his brother Tim. We were lucky to meet Daniel and Tim, as they were clearly on loan from an opium den in Sacramento. Daniel was an outgoing, thin fellow who had his hair moussed into stumpy horns and he had a wary look about him, as if the guys with white coats would catch up to them any minute and return them to the Psych Ward. Tim (whom I have renamed "Mungo" due to his gargantuan size and past-head-trauma demeanor) was much more Zen about it, as if the white lab coat guys were an eventual certainty and there was no point in troubling his mind over it.

We briefly met a former Marine who early in the day had already drunk enough to put him in the condition (familiar to me) where the mind still operates, but only on about half of the available cylinders fire. Five seconds of observation confirmed that the speech and major motor functions were online, but memory and higher reasoning had cardboard signs hung upon them indicating "Closed for repairs."

This meeting wasn't significant in itself, but there'll more about Full Metal Basket Case in a bit...

We made our way to the lawn seating, and about halfway into the show, three Pakistani-looking folks showed up, doing the same shifting and grooving as everybody else. Before long though, they stood out. Two of the three were a couple, a young man and woman. The first thing they did to set themselves apart was that the woman mischievously poured an ounce of beer into her date's butt-crack. Cute, and naughty, we all observed. He jumped and wriggled and boogied away from the frigid, wet wedgy just like you'd expect, and I thought he was mature enough to have taken this good-natured prank in stride. I was mistaken.

Minutes later, I see him grab not one but two beers (I'm told one of them wasn't even his), and dump them over his girl's head, in a very third-grade, overkill effort to get his girl back. Apparently, the chill beer on his vertical smile had taken its toll on his ego, and he branded himself a small-minded child in an attempt to salvage it. The excess beer (do you know how much those things cost?!) ran off onto the prone tweeker in front of us, soaking into the guy's shirt, hat and blanket. Fudge-Paki apologized to Tweekie, but not to his own girlfriend... He then spent the next hour dancing and thrashing and budging closer and closer to us, until Amy was grudgingly forced to put a foot into each of my jeans pockets and watch the concert from full-mount. We eventually moved. What a douchebag!

On the way back from the bathroom, I passed by Full Metal Basket Case, embroiled in a very intense, accusatory conversation with an angry little Metal Minx. I'm not sure what she was pissed about, and I don't think he had a clue either, but the snippet of conversation I heard was thus: "You know when you were talking to my boyfriend?! Well, that wasn't my boyfriend!!" And then she grabbed him, palm-up, by the lower jaw, and shoved his face back as hard as her poor impulse-control would allow. FMBC reset his cranium, and as soon as his glassy eyes reset upon the vengeful vixen, his right hand shot out in a looping-but-terse trajectory and clapped that bitch square on the jaw with the sound of a fastball hitting a catcher's mitt. Security and some do-gooders closed in to cool things out, and I continued on to my lawn seat, reminding myself that you don't go around assaulting a half-in-the-bag Marine and expect some twisted form of chivalry to save you from getting your eyes crossed.

Not that I needed reminding, but hey, we all can use a refresher now and then.

That's it for most of the people-watching. Oh, did I mention some strange boobs were bared in the name of Girls-Gone-Wild-type sisterhood (the best kind of sisterhood)? That 12 hours after the show, I could still taste the cigarettes and pot? That Amy is a fucking trooper for getting me home to watch my kid, even though she was near death at 2am? No? Well, they were, I could, and she is.

Ozzfest '07. What a show.

Camping quickie wrap-up

Camping up Highway 4 was a lot of fun. Among many things, I:

• Hiked the Emigrant Trail back to Lake Alpine
• Hiked the Gann's Meadow trail back to nowhere in particular, camped for the night
  
• Hiked a trail near Sourgrass and skinny-dipped in the North Fork of the Stanislaus River
• Crapped in a hole (out of necessity, it wasn't on my "To Do" list)
• Met a guy who introduced me to his brand of beer (Thanks, Dave!)
  

I took lots of pictures, but haven't sorted or cropped any of them yet. However, I have put the bite on my Dad for the use of his fancy camera for the next trip...!

Grizzly Adams ... out!

I'm going camping!

After months of waiting to scratch my itch - after months of dreaming of pine needles and rocks and masturbating to Man Vs. Wild, the time is right and I'm going to spend a night camping.

True, the entire family (and then some) spent several days at Lake Camanche recently. It was good fun, but didn't quite satisfy my need. Hopefully an overnighter alone on a non-weekend night will do the trick.

I haven't got much of a plan, but I intend to spend Thursday night at Board's Crossing (because it's free and far enough away), and check out some hiking trails above it during daylight hours. Beyond that, who knows?

My back hurts

It's been a long week, fully permeated with moving heavy shit around. It seems like everyone I know has something that no longer belongs where it is. My father-in-law had over 100 bales of hay that needed loading and unloading. I had a quickie job interview that saved me from the loading, but the unloading waited for me and the others tricked into indentured servitude.

Not only did my father-in-law have a hundred bales, the next day, his friend had another hundred the next day! Let me tell you, if slaving for another makes you feel like a whore, just try being passed around to someone's pals!

Then, my wife's (and my) friend decided to move! Luckily, she only owns enough material goods to bulge the seams of a one-room apartment, so our one trip from origin to destination was a big chunk of the overall job. Unluckily, when we arrived at the destination, there was loads of painting, moving and other finish work to be done to prepare the new place for human habitation! Lovely!

Add that to the dozens of bales of hay that needed moving down the hill and over yonder here at home, and you've got a spine that makes your chiropractor wince and question your lifestyle.

On the other hand:

Even as jealously as I guard my time (think "Gollum" from Lord of the Rings), I don't regret it a bit. My father-in-law, his buddy and my wife's and my friend have never failed to be there when we needed them. It was gratifying to help out when the call came. Plus, it's not like I had to take off work or something.

I better get going - I hear my Dad may be moving soon...

Clerical job, feeling a bit down

I am applying for a Clerk gig today. One of these things has got to hit soon. I can't go on not working, not contributing to the household. Web design and other fantasies are just the shits, opportunities appear teasingly from the haze, and then evaporate.

It's frustrating - people tell me occasionally how bright they think I am. I'll admit, now & then, I agree. I'm grateful for the encouragement, but I have a lot of trouble achieving results to prove that praise valid. A full-time job, getting paid what I'm worth and achieving the occasional success would go a long way.

Right now, it's pretty meager, and I've got to start putting something in the tank. This is getting ridiculous.

How's my kid?

I haven't spoken to my daughter since she left. Father's Day and my birthday have passed without her attempting to contact me (aside from a text message from her mother's cell phone asking for something her mother wanted, allegedly from my daughter). I am not hurt by the lack of contact, but I am disappointed.

I know her head is in a place right now where she doesn't give a fig what's going on with me, and I accept that. I was pretty up in my own head at her age, although I think she's taken emotional unavailability to a drastic new level. Where the teenage me had built an emotional moat and wished someone would cross it, she's built an island fortress, complete with surface-to-air missiles and chemical warheads and declared war on all who would trespass, but hey, you say potato, I say po-tah-to.

All I'm saying is that I think I can grasp the idea that hurt causes people to flinch away, and enough hurt over time can cause a flinch that looks more like an Iron Man Triathelete Competition. I haven't called her for a few reasons: one, because my inner child is bruised by her withdrawal. Also, because I really don't think she wants to hear from me, and the socially awkward exchanges are too much, including the ham-handed and obligatory "I love you and miss you's" that are passed so woodenly that you'd think Pinocchio's zombie corpse was on the line. I figure, why put her through that? Hell, why put me through that?

On the other hand: "Wow, nice example, Dad." If I can't stick it out once in a while and make a mildly difficult effort, what good am I? It's like that old saying: "When the going gets tough, the tough get inaccessible and apathetic." I can do a little better than that, I guess.

Still, an e-mail or a phone call would have been nice. My inner child is never too far from my outer asshole, and the two are in constant communication. Throw the kid a bone.

Ignore the pearls, swine, and root your way along

I made a phone call to a potential web client earlier this week, following up on a sales presentation days earlier where I presented two totally decent designs and two very low prices, $350 & $500. It was the first time in a while I was non-plused.

I was mildly stunned because I was expecting some questions from a client who wasn't very web- or tech-savvy. I was expecting some haggling. What I got was: "We're not interested because it looks a little pricey, and we don't think it will do us much good." It still amazes me; since I have either already explained these things to this negative person and can't go any further without being myself (read: "rude"), I'll vent here.

First, "pricey?" Half-a-grand or less for some top notch designs, plenty of pages to support a Ma-n-Pa business and some fancy back-end widgets to pave the way for easy client contact is such a gift of services it should be considered theft! This client should have greedily written a check and snickered all the way back to his/her dank little office, congratulating herself at his/her business acumen at having some money-hungry web noodge over a barrel!
I only quoted such a low cost (about half what the service was worth) because I have the unfortunate compound of excess time and a dearth of money. This cost and these services were definitely stacked in his/her favor, but s/he didn't see it. Should s/he ever stumble over a bargain like this again, I hope that she grabs it by the balls and runs like Hell.

Second, the value: the designs were templates from very gifted sources, had colors that matched his/her business's design scheme, and offered plenty of room for this business to market its regionally-based services and products. They looked great, and would represent her professionally and positively. One included Flash animation, Webforms for the easiest of contact, and an e-mail list builder, allowing the client to easily reach out to interested parties for pennies. There is virtually no web presence in this region for the clients' competition. As it is now, clients Web-searching for this profession will go to Lodi or Stockton for this need, or go with word-of-mouth recommendations of better-known local businesses, having no idea an alternative exists! Bah!

All of this rushed through my head in the space of 0.75 seconds, and it was all I could do to stammer out: "er, ooookay, thanks a bunch...!" and keep my car on the road. Having expurgated this mental soot onto digital paper, something occurs to me. If I can drain the venom off this message, I can send the remainder to the client in a final effort to change his/her mind. Couldn't hurt...

Bulking up

I continue to pack on the weight. I made 211.5 today. I have started running and walking recently, but God knows I had better start turning down junk food and embracing exercise more fervently. I'm not going back to 235. I'm just not. Hell, I don't wanna see 212 again.

Interview

I have an interview today for a computer gig in Stockton. I hope it turns into something, but I am not convinced it's a match. Sometimes, though, life surprises you...

It's about time

Last week, my wife and I fulfilled a promise I made to myself when we moved in here. We pressure-washed and treated the weather-beaten deck off the backside of our house. It looks much better.

John Bizarre's website updated, with video projects

I am thrilled to see that comedian and director John Bizarre has updated his website with content for his latest video projects. His promises of news on that front have been pretty dusty, but I can relate to the slow grinding of a project's gears.

So check out his videos, his Bio, and his always-entertaining Notebook. Go John!

And catch him next time he's in the region. He'll be in Fairfield and Reno, NV, in October. Make plans now, it'll be here before you know it!

Call SVU, I've been raped

I ran an errand last night, taking two PDF files on a USB drive to a local shipping/printing spot in the nearest strip mall. I've been there several times before, and the people were friendly enough. They weren't very tech-savvy though, and I've always had to walk them through the connection of my USB drive to print the documents it held, making the Three Stooges look like the Color Guard at Arlington National Cemetery.

I was nearly late for an appointment, taking almost twenty minutes to print two documents. It was lot like Goldilocks and the Three Retards: "This computer doesn't have USB. Oh, this other computer isn't hooked up to the printer. Oh, this (still other) computer is fine, but Adobe Reader needs updates. Oh wait, the first computer does have USB! Silly me!"

I took my color docs to the cash register, and found that I was charged not only for the extra page the printed (that I didn't want), but also charged three bucks for the "download!" I realize there was a helluva lot of effort involved, but that's isn't exactly my fault. One would think if you're going to charge someone for a service, you'd be a little better at providing said service. On the other hand, it did make me feel a lot better about my reasonably priced web design services.

A few extra bucks wasn't worth arguing over, especially when time's a-wastin', but I left feeling ripped off, and I'm not in a hurry to go back.

I've got enough mystery in my life as it is

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: If you're going to leave a voicemail/answering machine message for someone, indicate what the whole call is about. Following is one of the messages on my machine lately.

"Hi Tom, it's , just had a few questions for you. Call me back..."

I'm not calling that guy back. I don't mean to be selfish, but what's in it for me? I have a terrible habit of living my life primarily by fear, and until I kick it, I'm not calling back on this type of message. What if it leads to bad news? I'm not contributing to that situation at all. What if something's outta whack? Why so cryptic, unless he's trying to catch me with my guard down? Just because I'm paranoid, it doesn't mean they're not out to get me. Good luck getting a hold of me, pal.

Plus, it's lazy, inefficient and inconsiderate. Can't you just mention the questions, or type of questions, in your message? If you leave me the questions, maybe I can call you back with answers, having had a chance to review them, research them, and put some useful information together. That way, if I miss you and have to leave another message, I can just deposit your response in your voicemail, and leave playing tag to the kids in the street.

Hm? Am I on to something, or what? You bet your ass I am. Next time, leave a real, whole message, or don't bother leaving anything at all. My life has enough mystery and blind alleys already.

I am camping, listening to music on an mp3 player my wife bought me for my birthday that is absolutely frickin' *magic*. She is awesome, and I have never been happier than when i'm with her. Envy me for my marital bliss.

Hooray for me

It's my birthday today! What to say, what to say... Well, several things.

I'm almost better off without holidays altogether. I don't deal with them well, and I may never learn to. For example, I spent the entire morning on Father's Day peeling the silver lining off of every cloud within reach and discarding it, and focusing on every negative I could find. Wonderful gifts from my wife? Bah- I just realized how badly she made out on Mother's Day when I didn't treat her half as well. Having loved ones over later? Bullshit - so much work to do!

Eck - Paula would be appalled. It got better when I was able to tell my wife about it - just speaking it out loud to her helped me get it out of my head.

The rest of the day went pretty well - my Dad, Denise and Michelle's Dad came over, and we put together a pile of food. I had a great time, I think they did, too.

I really struggle every year with the idea of a birthday party. Usually, this is because of low self-esteem and my own terrible habit of doubting whether I "deserve" the fuss of a birthday party. This year, we decided not to have one, mainly because we're broke. We're so broke that when we say we're broke, we give the word two syllables and a lusty inflection: "buh-roke!" Not only are parties expensive, but we live far enough away that it feels like such an imposition getting several-to-a-few-dozen people up here, we're almost better off not asking. See the low self-esteem portion a few sentences back.

Anyhow, no party this year, and that's okay with me. At least I think it is. Some years, I declare that no trouble should be undertaken, and the next day I regret it bitterly, and wonder how I could have foolishly let the opportunity slip by. I am a nut, and impossible to live with. My wife deserves canonization.

Birthdays are also a time for reflection.

Reflection one: I don't feel 36, but boy, do I look it. I don't mind gray hair at all - what little significance it holds in my mind is actually a positive, similar to a badge of courage. I've earned every silvery one of these damned things, they're my right as a world-weary basket case and don't you dare take them from me. I'm fatter than I want to be, though, and if I were to consider a birthday a milestone, I would like the next one to see me 20 pounds slimmer. I just don't feel like me with this life-preserver of flab around the middle. I've earned it, just as rightly as the gray hair, but emotionally, I reject it.

Reflection two: Is this all there is to my accomplishments? When I was little, say, elementary school age, I watched as all these grown-ups, 16 to 60 years old flitted from one objective to the next, determined in their paths. They looked so focused in their objectives, so certain. Now, I realize they were simply busy, and that one should not mistake action for certainty, commotion for creation. These people had simply stacked up enough to do that they didn't leave time to sit around and doubt (or think).

I know this now, but it's too late - by the time I was twelve, I had it firmly programmed in me that by the time I was twenty five (certainly thirty!) that I would have all this shit worked out, make a pile of money, and all there would be left to do was boss little people like myself around and make them go to school when they didn't want to. Now, I'm thirty-six, barely have a handle on anything. Some people never figure things out, become the least bit enlightened, or fit anything near the mold I thought I saw when I was eleven. Some of them can smell it on the wind that there is more out there, and hate their ignorance like I do, and some are as happy as pigs in shit never getting past the simplest existence. Which of the two groups has it right? The randomness of life on this planet is thrilling and terrifying.

Whew - that was some serious mental spelunking, I better take a break. Lucky for me, my wife allowed/encouraged me to open many of my birthday gifts early, so I've got just a pile of wonderful toys and books to play with, read and rub all over my body in a rush of material wealth.

If you need me, I'll be in the pile...

Prices that suck comedy cock

I tip my hat to Vino Piazza for supporting and promoting stand-up comedy in this little area, including "Men who kick comedy butt."

I tip a single finger to them for charging 25 bucks a head for admission to these events, plus a $5 deposit for a wine glass. Wine glass deposit?? Just serve the goddamn drinks! Every other venue manages to deal with flatware logistics without having to take such extraordinary measures! What's next, frisking patrons on the way out for forks and ketchup bottles?

They would have had two more attendees for their Saturday show except for these brazen prices. Pepperbellys in Fairfield is a dedicated comedy venue, is closer to the astronomically-priced Bay Area, and they charge less for nights featuring genuinely nationally-known comedians. Shit, they had Orny Adams for $15 a show, and Dana Fucking Carvey for $20!

With my birthday coming up, I would love to find a good comedy gig to splurge on, but this just isn't it. This area needs more comedy options, bringing quality up, and prices down.

Why God thinks I'm hilarious

If it's not clear, the title of this blog refers to my life's little tribulations, and my certainty that God laughs his ass off as one of the ants in his ant farm struggles, flails and does wild combat with forces no one else sees or understands. I know this because God tosses odd little things in my path just to see what I'll do. Some examples:

• The DUI program I signed up for is run by a guy whose last name is "Boire," the French word for "to drink."
• Collecting the one egg our 40-odd chickens produce per day, I slipped it into my pocket for later dropoff. It broke in my pocket during my morning chores before I could unload it. This is the second time so far.
• Getting dressed the day we took my daughter to the airport for the big goodbye, I seriously considered wearing the "World's Greatest Dad" T-shirt she bought for me a few years ago. I didn't do it, but I shoulda.

It just keeps gettin' funnier...

Nice...

Today, my wife stopped, looked at me and for no specific reason said: "Hey! I love you..." With a little smile that was genuine and coy.

Man, that was nice. I'm filing that memory away for posterity.

Airports always affect me this way

We're in line at the airport. All i can think about is putting a Paris ticket on the credit card.

Back to Utah, an imperfect familial milestone

Today is the day my daughter flies back to Utah to live with her mother again, as Fate intended it.

I haven't blogged much about it because of the negative feelings that have seeped into the whole arrangement. There are senses of failure, regret and loss that make it unpleasant to ponder, especially in print for everybody to ponder with me. My Dad and my brother (why do we capitalize the word "Dad" and not "brother"? Am I doing it wrong?) and my good friend Joe are very against it, and I don't blame them. I'm not thrilled about it myself. Unfortunately, they're human just like me, and as limited as I am in their ability to come up with a better plan, and so we roll with the plan we have now: back to Utah.

I said I'm not thrilled about it, and I'm not. That doesn't mean it's not the right thing to do. It just means it's not a perfect solution. There are signs that it's the right thing to do, if such signs are to be found at all:

• No other option made itself known, and believe me, we were lookin'
  
• Once the decision was made, the relief of said decision-making process was immediate
  
• No resistance to the idea was raised, from any of the quarters that could have arrested the process (her Mom, my daughter, etc.)

In other words, if one were looking for signs, as in: "Hey Universe, if this isn't right, let me know by fucking it up like all the other plans you determine aren't 'meant to be,'" then this absence of impedance could clearly be construed as God's rubber stamp of approval.

I have to admit to the relief of closure about the whole thing that borders on exultation. The last year hasn't been a picnic, familially speaking, and the last six months even less so. I am very much looking forward to the drive back from the airport, and the simplicity, privacy, certainty and freedom promised thereafter.

I have to remind myself that we can take pride in the fact that we took a chance, brought her out, and did the best we could for as long as we could. That's not nothing. I don't know that it's fair to paint ourselves heroically over it, but it's worth remembering. I tend to forget positives like that, and focus on the negative, searching for something to feel bad about. What a lousy habit that has become. Gotta ditch it.

And so we'll trudge forward today with the unpleasant business at hand, resolute with the sense that it's the best imperfect step we can take. It's still a bummer.

Clam idiot

When one embraces dormancy with canines, one can rouse with Ctenocephalides canis. One must practice care.

If you're wondering, it's not my own predicament upon which I muse.

New website design

I almost forgot to mention - I updated my website, TomBickle.com. Slip on by, and let me know what you think of the new design...

Don't expect a kiss afterwards

My wife lay in the bed with me last night, winding down from a busy day. Suddenly, a colorless gas drifted in from the foot of the bed. My wife, who has always had a more sensitive sniffer than I, detected the onslaught first:

"Uck! Oh, God babe - did you fart?"

"No, it must've been the dog, I ... holy God...!"

"Ew, that's sick, dude!"

"Quick, shit in my mouth, it's the only hope of concealing the smell!"

We survived the odiferous attack, and I awoke to the dog panting at the bedroom door. She is usually a paragon of patience (and really, her appointment schedule is typically light), so I got the message and let her out. It was surprising that even though she felt an internal cramping that we can all identify with, once outside she still took the time to circle Ground Zero a few times before stopping to relieve herself. I guess protocol is important.

Less of her to love

My wife is down 57 pounds from her recent high. She's looking great, and the sex is better all the time (not that there was anything to complain about, you know...).

Coffee is a spiteful but useful friend

This morning my son slept in, and I relished the peace until almost 8 a.m. The result was that I was too afraid to start my usual pot of coffee until two hours later than normal. What a difference from my normal routine!

I didn't get a withdrawal headache, but I did languish in a decaffeinated stupor, and the morning slid idly by. While I normally get a lot done by 9:30am, today I barely managed to get off my ass by then.

On the other hand, I am making up for it now. My buddy and I went for a nice walk up the road, at the end of which you get a teasing glimpse of the Calaveras River. We picked up three plastic grocery bags of trash along the way, something I have been urged to do by the voices in my head for the last several trips up that way. Maybe now they'll be quiet, or at least find something else to nag me about.

I've done some housework, necessitated by a weekend that was too busy for housework, but more fun than I had anticipated. Donald and his wife visited, and Amy came over. It was nice to have company for a change.

Art Teacher Retires, Former Student Shrugs

I knew this guy.

I had Mr. Rodriguez as an art teacher during my time at Calla High School. He had a sleepy demeanor and loose classroom rules that students appreciated. There enough stiff pricks at that school that any teacher who didn't goose-step through the place looking for a way to stick it to some unsuspecting stoner gets an immediate bump in karma points from me. On the other hand, since his classroom shared a wall with the school's main john, he was known to commando through the door and try to catch a punk with a ciggie in his lips. Karma negated...

His and my relationship was of such little substance that it can barely be called such. He wasn't a bad guy, I can say that. I was interested in art and tried to tweeze some techniques out of him, but I didn't learn much. No real fault of his, I haven't learned much since, either, and what I have picked has been slow going. Sometimes, things just don't click.

There were a few folks on staff at the school that had a significant and beneficial impact on me there, he just wasn't one of them. I'm sure he touched some students in a deep and positive manner, just not me. Then again, as much as I hated my entire pre-college scholastic experience, it is more than a lukewarm statement to say that his was not a contribution that added to that hate. I'm content to settle for that.

So, he's hanging up the smock. Good for him.

Don't do it, Daffy!

I went out to feed our chickens and ducks this morning, and found one of them trying to hang himself. He had his head caught in a loop of the bailing string that holds open the automatic feeder. I eased him out of it and let him go, but he must have been in it a while. He started to waddle off in a very crooked line, obviously disoriented. I picked him up and held him for a couple minutes, letting him breathe and get some blood into his brain. He seemed all right after that.

I would have snapped a picture, but I left my phone in the house! Darn it!

Saving the world, one duck at a time...

Memorial Day, not Labor Day

Our Memorial Day weekend was not the three-day relaxfest the more-optimistic among us might have envisioned.

Saturday, we spent a very pleasant 45 minutes barbecuing with Ken & Judie before lugging materials and digging post-holes to help construct a chicken pen.

Sunday, we moved a cord or two of firewood for Mary, giving her back the concrete porch that it had covered, and cut up some logs that were too big to burn in the fireplace.

Saturday and Sunday were both spent helping people who never hesitated to help us when we needed it, so I'm not complaining. Well, maybe just a little, but it's only because I'm petty and have a lousy perspective. That's all.

The Iceman Goeth

Wow - amazing night last night, not that I saw it myself. I read on UFC's website that Chuck "The Iceman" Liddell fell to Quinton "Rampage" Jackson last night on the Pay-per-View event that I didn't have the time or money to view.

Amazing. Chuck Liddell puts the "bad" in bad-ass, and yet Rampage took it to him. I eagerly await the recounting of the fight in the news media, which is as yet absent this morning. I also await the trickling down of the fight to free TV (I love the UFC on SpikeTV).

Liddell/Jackson was just one in a long line of upsets last night, at least in my mind, and I imagine it was a worthy evening for Pay-per-Viewers. Chris "The Crippler" Leben, a UFC hero of mine, lost a decision. It was his third loss in four fights and not representative of his power and ability. Ivan Salaverry, nearly superhuman in the fights of his that I've seen, lost a TKO in the first round. Sean Salmon, who I saw perform impressively in the past against Rashad Evans until what I consider a lucky kick to the head separated him from his senses, lost in the first round last night as well.

Conventional wisdom and expectation were on hiatus last night, as almost every fighter I would have confidently picked as a winner lost, and lost quickly. Some outcomes that were not surprising included a successful Karo "The Heat" Parisyan. I just got done watching his tremendous fight against Diego Sanchez in a rerun on SpikeTV - although Karo could not find a way to beat Diego and ultimately lost this past fight, he fought tenaciously, with the heart of a warrior. Just an animal, and I am not amazed at all to see him doing well.

I must remember to send flowers to my nephew Chad, whose MySpace page sports some eye-popping media and an "Iceman" Liddell makeover. I am sure he is more stunned this morning than I am.

i love wildlife, but this is ridiculous

Going to my father-in-law's this morning, we didn't get a mile from the house before having to stopping for both a deer and a peacock, and seeing another deer. I can't believe anyone has trouble selling houses up here.

Homegrown therapy

Despite the title, this post is not about smoking pot. It's about the things that I can pursue that keep me happy, like:

• French studies - see yesterday's posts.
• Discount therapy - formerly known as retail therapy, discount therapy is a more accurate moniker, because few things please me more than getting something for nearly nothing. Today, my buddy and I ambled on over to a moving sale within ambling distance, and picked up a gaggle of second-hand items, including a camp lantern, a socket set and a metal cart. It's funny - moral issues aside, I'm still happier buying these things for a song than I would be actually stealing them outright.
• Music - No explanation necessary. Yesterday it was John Mellencamp day. I checked out his website, and realized it has been a helluva a long time since I bought one of his albums. The reason is that his music got more and more sad, regretful and dreary (much like this blog, you might say), lamenting the plight of the poor and others. His message just resonated less and less with me. I stuck it out for a few albums, but it never picked up. Maybe I'll ask for a recent release for my birthday (the 1998 release, "John Mellencamp" looks pretty tasty - you know, if you're thinkin' about it. Or, the latest, "Freedom's Road"). It's coming up you know, June 19th, same as Garfield!
  

Et plus encore...!

Hey, I'm really getting carried away with this merde...

But it is good to see that France24.com, the French version of CNN, is still plugging away. What I like best is that you can get French news in English, because although I read better than I speak or listen, I still don't read as well as I'd like to.

Allons-y!

Plus de francais

More French stuff:

TV5monde.org (TV 5 World) has long offered online media to help us learn French. I see that they now offer a very dedicated-looking product called apprendre.tv. I haven't browsed it much yet, but it looks nifty.

Le francais retourne

My self-imposed French studies have been abjectly neglected for many months. I picked up the book again today, and picked up where I left off. I still enjoy it. Gotta get back on track, if I'm going to go back to Paris, or impress the winemaker outside of town; both of which I would very much like to do!

So far, so good

I had a job interview Monday morning, went really well! I was loose - I made a conscious effort not to get penned into that space in my head where I have to say everything perfectly and have all the smooth answers. The result was that I was likeably obnoxious, and passed this portion of the process. Now, on to the background check! Wish me luck...

It was worth a shot

Well, it's done. Sunday, we sat my daughter down and had a talk, and told her we've arranged for her to go back to Utah with her mother, where she came from almost two years ago. I'm disappointed that it's come to this, but it's where we're at.

After these two years, we have failed to bond, failed to become anything other than her and us. Our relationship has never progressed past the point of concierge and houseguest. You'd think I would dig it, since concierge is a French word and all, but for some reason it isn't panning out that way.

Also troubling is my daughter's lack of response to the whole event. Her entire reply to my mini-speech explaining why we're going this route: "Okay." I invited her to share her thoughts and feelings, now or later, and I got the Snake Eyes. The shields went up, just like they always have when we have a discussion like this. I feel it's a big part of why we can't grow beyond our current, less-than-ideal circumstance.

While I am always wishing for more communication, I am relieved that there wasn't wailing and protests. I really wasn't looking forward to the sit-down, and I over-prepared for the event. I needn't have worried - it went like all our discussions go: I talk, she listens, no questions, no participation, no interaction. How dull, how lifeless.

I know she has benefited from her time here with us: she's earned good grades, lost weight to become a healthier, active person. She's made friends, boyfriends and been active in 4-H, although it never really captured her imagination like I hoped.

I tried to foster communication, form bonds, make a friend of my kid, but my imperfect efforts didn't take. This was the best chance we had at becoming closer family members during her teenage years. I feel like another good chance won't come around again for years, if ever. It's been like pushing a rope, and there's only so much one can do. An opportunity missed, to be sure.

Manteca Bulletin: still inferior, but in a whole new way

Kudos to the Manteca Bulletin for updating the lame design of its old online presence to the slightly less-lame new look.

Razzes to the Manteca Bulletin online newspaper for feeling it necessary to offer a "How to Navigate Our New Site" link. "Click the links at top and side to go somewhere. Click the headline, read the story." That shit should be intuitive, and pretty much is for anyone who's ever read a web page. Duh...

Let's hope the new and improved website includes a full-time proofreader, because even worse than the old design was the regular and simple grammatical and spelling errors.

Hope

I awoke today looking for some point, some reason. Over a period of years, my idea of a raison d'etre has slipped from having something to look forward to every day, to having some sort of goal towards which I can trudge for a sense of satisfaction, to where I am occasionally now: I just hope for one slippery thing to hang onto to get me from day to day. Sitting at home has never been the languid paradise I pictured, especially when money is tight, and one wants to contribute more.

I didn't get here overnight, and I won't get out of this quagmire overnight either. I know good things are just on the horizon, I just have to get that idea into my bones again, get on that roll.

This morning, the needle of my compass gave me the finger, and told me to go figure it out myself. I puttered around the house, made some minor phone calls, stumbled through some housework like The Mummy on methadone, trying to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Life = hope, and one of the worst things to do is to become still and allow the current to take me down. I'd rather dog-paddle than sink.

I just got done lifting some weights, trying to get some endorphins pumping - even my endocrine system has abandoned me! Oh well - I suppose one more workout on the calendar will pay off in a medium-term way, even if I've bottomed out for instant gratification.

The one sin I'd really like to avoid is being bummed in front of my wife. She hates my stupors more than I do, and they weigh her down. Me, I've learned to deal with my own stagnancy, like a pig wallowing in shit, but I can't bear to take her into the pit with me. This alone is reason enough to escape the shadows.

This post didn't want to be so sullen - I really meant to jot down something about shaking off the doldrums and finding meaning, regardless of all I can find to moan about. Sometimes the words line up how you want 'em to, and sometimes, they cut their own path. Meh - whattayagonnado?

Success, failure, rage and wasted DVD's

The last day or two have been pretty good, whether it shows or not. I have been cleaning things up, fixing things, and it gives my soul an erection for two reasons: the homestead looks better as a result (aligning more closely with what I consider to be the correct state of being), and I live for a feeling of accomplishment.

Today, all that came to and end, and despite my best, and I mean my best efforts, the day has hit the wall as far as accomplishment is concerned. I am frustrated at every effort. I am trying not to take it personally, as one of my biggest disappointments was that Nero Express 3 wouldn't burn a DVD for me, but would happily destroy blank DVD after blank DVD in the attempt, chewing them up and spitting them out like a digital wood-chipper. It is comforting to me that it's not my failing that the damned program is boning the dog, it's the program that can't seal the deal. Even so, it is painfully disappointing that I can't complete a simple task, for which I apparently have the hardware, software and skill. That it won't occur makes me feel as if I am an orphan of reality, for whom the laws that I have come to live by have suddenly been repealed. The sun has taken the day off, and the morning sky is carelessly, even spitefully, dark.

It's more than DVD burning. I am learning not to be stubborn when things don't go my way, but it's tough. For the first 25 years of my life, it has seemed a virtue to put my head down, grit my teeth and plug away all the harder when results aren't what you require. Tenacity was the watchword, but I am learning there is more to determination than obstinacy, but I am slow to learn, slow even to realize things aren't working and it's time to slow down and pay attention long enough to take a lesson.

So today, I am shutting down the machinery early in the cycle of crashing into the wall of unsuccess. Put the (figurative) knife down, and back away, before I do something I can't undo: break material goods, hurt someone's feelings, etc.

And so, deeply I breathe, slowly I move, and carefully I speak, before I bite off a head or lash out.

Little by little

Adding to the maintenance momentum, I cleaned out our neglected spa. It needed it, and now awaits the day we fix whatever minor breakdown ails it. It's not much, but light a candle, don't curse the darkness, and all that...

I got wood

I snuck outside and planted a fencepost yesterday, on my back lot, smack in the middle of the most unruly, poorly-planned fencing this side of the Sanford & Son junkyard. It is my hope that this fencepost will be as a seed, planted in the ugliest center of hickdom, growing a gate and a more-civilised looking fence, spanning the portion of the lot that now features some beaten-down construction fencing, stinking up the neighborhood with visual pollution.

It felt good to do something around here, to beat back the forces of entropy that threaten to swallow the place whole. It is also my hope to continue the trend, and de-uglify the place some more.

Bliss

Five beers and an unhurried conversation with my wife - I am totally fulfilled. I am a lucky man.

I think I hear my son waking up... back to reality.

Septic Stress

We went to sleep last night listening to an odd warbling sound outside our window. It was like frogs, which are common here, but constant, a frog that never takes a breath. Not common.

With my ability to talk myself into anything, I assured myself that it was a chorus of frogs, and lulled myself to sleep. Waking to the same chirping song, I realized it was our septic alarm. Now, I'm concerned. We just had the septic guy out for a look, and it cost $125. I don't even know what to check, and you can't just let shit like this go. I don't know whom to consult. I went to check the cap on the sand filter (whose alarm was going off), and I can't even open the thing to begin to contemplate its mysteries, because some sadistic bastard has skulked away with the allen wrench set that usually sits in my toolbox.

So, you add up:

• broken technology I can't fathom
• unknown but certain costs on a budget that surpassed the red zone long ago
• lost items that shouldn't oughtta be lost

... and you have ample ingredients for a rage-tinged panic attack on Tommy's part.

Antidote? Talk about it, and quickly, before it takes root and floods the rest of the morning with unreasonable desperation and fear of the unknown. Luckily, my wife caught me kicking my way through the house, and I was able to unload on her in the space of forty seconds and two sentences all of the above concerns, and I immediately felt better.

The septic tank is still fucked to whatever degree it's fucked, but I am scheduled to spend the next 6 hours attached at the hip with my wife and daughter, and this narrowly-averted shitty mood is just what we don't need.

Get a job

I am working my way back towards gainful employment. Once a little snag with my driving privilege clears up, I'll be fully on the make for a paying gig.

Hopefully, I will be able to form a healthier relationship with my next employer than my last, but that's up to me. Last time 'round, I so closely associated the job with survival that I got to a place where every single bump in the road went straight to my central nervous system, and stress was manufactured by the metric ton. I simply could not let things go. I shudder to recall that state of being. Yeck. Having not had a regular job for what, 18 months now, I realize that there's no threat from one single job, manager or workplace worth twisting your nuts up in a bunch for. If I can practice this realization, I just might be free to enjoy myself at the next gig. And when Tommy's having fun, it's really something...

Which leads me to my next point

There's something else - since I am back to looking for a new job, I am faced with the internal conundrum of choosing jobs that look like shit, but might pay a little better, or jobs that interest me. Hell, most days I'd be happy for a shot at either one individually. It ties into self-confidence in the same way the above paragraphs tie into a sense of survival. My self-worth, for some reason, hovers just above the toilet when scanning employment ads, making any good-paying job seem beyond what I deserve. This is also not a healthy state of mind, and I need to move past it. Let's have some affirmations, shall we?

You're a good person, and you deserve good things. Great things, even. Insist upon them.
Money follows happiness - find a job you might like, and riches will follow.

Continuing education?

Just for the Hell of it, here are available online classes at San Joaquin Delta College next semester:

• ART 001B Art History: Europe from the Fifteenth to the Twentieth Century
• BIM 043 Records Management in Public Agencies
• BUS 008 Introduction to The American Legal System
• BUS 020 Introduction to Business
• BUS 026 Economics of Business
• BUS 037 Human Behavior in Organizations
• BUS 060 Small Business Management
• BUS 067 Introduction to Personal Finance
• BUS 094B Essential Topics for Small Business
• CSA 035 Multimedia Presentations
• ENG 044D Creative Writing: Play and Screen Writing
• ENG 044B Creative Writing: Style
• MUSIC 004 Exploring Music

I hope to choose one or two from the mix. Who knows what life will look like by mid-August?

Got my new hard drive

I got my new laptop hard drive. Now, it's just a matter of the heady task of installing the new drive, and hoping that a) all goes well, and b) it restores this old clunker to its former glory.

"Speaking of Art," Impending Debut

I recently mentioned a video project that is reaching culmination. The video project itself is a done deal, but the first time I cut it to a VCD and DVD for review, it didn't seem to burn right, and the resultant videos were jagged and choppy, respectively.

I am re-exporting the work to another format and re-burning the DVD as I blog this. Hopefully I'll have chased out the last bug on this project, and begin to obsess on the next. Not to mention, I'll be able to hand it over for run for cable distribution, and show it off a bit!

Hiker dies on wilderness-survival adventure

Survival hike or death march?

New Jersey man Dave Buschow died of thirst in a Utah desert while on a survival hike run by Boulder Outdoor Survival School, or "BOSS." With emergency water supplies available, and a natural water source just yards from where he succumbed to thirst, it's a very sad tale all 'round.

The dead man's family blames the company, the company blames the man's preparation techniques. Total bummer.

New French prez on the way

Recent debates between French Presidential candidates remind me that the torch is about to be passed over there. My money is on Sarkozy, the son of a Hungarian immigrant. I predict his victory, and he's my pick to, for his moderate-to-right leanings, and great head of hair.

He also stands out from his opponent by being reputed as a U.S.-friendly choice, certainly the more-friendly choice to the U.S. I don't know if that's a good or bad thing, but an uptick in U.S.-French relations wouldn't hurt my feelings.

More life litter

I have eased back on beer and binge eating for a few days, and the bathroom scale has rewarded me in kind. Moderate efforts, moderate results.

This morning I find myself continuing the blahs that overshadowed yesterday. I am deep into my second cup of coffee, trying to jump-start the flow of energy. So far, nothing. Maybe some music will help...

Lifestyle detritus

If you dug out the pants-pocket of my life, this post would be among the lint:

• I topped 210 pounds today. Not cool.
• Yesterday was fast-paced and rewarding - I dumped the boy off with his Grandmomma, allowing me a moment to think and several hours to work. I got keyed up on coffee and got some shit worth doing, done.
• Today, the polar opposite. Not all bad, but all thoughts and actions entrenched in ever-solidifying cement. Had the boy all day, and I've had constipation of the mind. Didn't get much done, outside of some reg-a-lar housework. Fed up and burnt out with everybody in the house, those non-communicative, zombie-eyed, shout-my-life's-blood-at-them-and- get-nothing-but-snake-eyes-in-return band of cardboard cutouts.

Shit, gotta run.

Nosing around in the dark

I am beginning to suspect that my problem is not psychological, or even emotional, but spiritual. Sounds odd to say, as I am not a broom-smoking, flower-licking hippie type. I am probably one of the least-spiritual people I know - some might say that's the problem, but I'm not sure.

I do know that my spiritual adviser, Paula Phipps, has had some very reasonable advice, lending perspective to otherwise befuddling and maddening circumstances. Plus, I've been trying to read a book on manifestation, and it's making more and more sense as well.

Finally, as lousy as my own instincts have been for years, I have made a few helpful realizations on my own lately, which have also helped to smooth my ride.

Life is certainly not easy, but it's been a little easier. And that ain't nothin'...

I need a new kink

Man, I am so bored with life. What a pathetic statement that is - bored people are boring people - but it's true, so why hide from it?

I feel numb and disinterested. Nothing drives my mania lately, leaving me to wander and drift. I need something to invade my mind, fully engulf it with unreasonable desire, push me to spend ridiculous amounts of time involved in its demanding pursuit every day. A pitiless lover, sadistic, needy and cruel, wanting nothing from her subjugate so much as simply: more.

The only thing I do everyday now is drink beer and chase my ass in this circular, existential stupidity. Ridiculous, indeed!

I am not depressed, like I was not so long ago. For that, I'm extremely grateful. Not so long ago, I was almost completely disabled, paralyzed by formless despair. Now, I simply recognize that something is missing. It was brought into sharper focus yesterday when I spent an absolutely sublime afternoon spending time with musicians and other interesting people. Watching Levi Huffman and his friends drill away on their instruments, weaving long, winding tunes, it nailed to the inside of my skull proof of where ongoing pursuit of a goal, relentlessly scratching an itch inside your head, can take you. It's been a long time since a passion took up residence in my dome, but I remember what it was like. I miss it. I yearn for the condition where a dominating force provides energy and desire that seem both internal and external at the same time. A special form of madness, putting the pedal down somewhere in my psyche.

Bored. Disinterested. Numb. No pain, no brain. I want to cut through the callous, peel away the shell. Feel. Want. Burn. Get some gas in the tank, spike it with some nitrous oxide.

So... what? I have my health, most of my marbles, all my fingers and toes. I am very fortunate in the array of choice I have before me, even just the ones my tunnel vision allows me to see: website design (yeah, I don't think so), digital video, guitar... The list goes on and is generous. Hell, I'd settle for the abject pursuit of greed, if I could fall into it and get some traction. At least making some money would ease the pinch in our financial state.

I think I'll put an invisible "Vacancy" sign on my forehead, try to take in a new resident up in the ol' noggin.