Factor that

I used to watch "The O'Reilly Factor" regular, if not religiously. I now haven't watched it in many months, and I don't miss it.

One thing that always put me off was the e-mail segment, where some approaches in presenting viewers' e-mails bordered on the dishonest. Most annoyingly, two nutbags with foaming, diametrically opposed complaints ("Bill, you're a card-carrying leftie!" vs. "Bill, you're a conservative kook!") about the show would be presented side-by-side, and then Bill would profess a mystified, head-shaking hopelessness about how both viewers "watched the same show," implying that people who wrote to complain were rabidly ignorant. He'd then dreamily conclude that hapless ol' Bill was just a regular, middle-of-the-road Joe who couldn't catch a fair break. This smarmy feint became quickly tired to everyone but Bill and his producers.

I wonder if they still do that. Not bad enough to start watching again, but I do wonder...

Open mike comedy pleas - posted

In a rare display of follow-through, I have posted several ads on local websites calling for amateur talent to contact me. The purpose: putting together an open mike comedy/spoken word event.

I've posted to craigslist.org, ourvalleysprings.com and MySpace in a cattle call for anyone (preferably stand-ups) who want the chance to perform in front of real live human beings.

There's a lot I don't have worked out, but I'm excited to take a fat swipe at it. Onward!

It's about damned time

Finally, a little shift in momentum. GM announced this week that they'll ease back on gas-guzzling trucks and SUV's, and try to crank out something that doesn't cost a fortune in fuel to drive for a fucking change.

I really had lost hope that anything at all would turn America's sloppy, unintelligent lust for oil away from its course. I knew as well as everyone else that it would take a real kick in the nuts before industrial and political will would start to turn that ship around. In the faceoff between the status quo and good sense, it appears that GM finally blinked, and thank your god for that. I honestly thought it would never happen.

I know it's not everything - it may not even be much. But I allow myself to believe that this is a first step in a process that is too long in starting; that of switching from the endless reliance on fossil fuels, and a move to more sensible, sustainable and contemporary fuel sources.

Customer service sucks

Having worked for years and years in support positions of one variety or another, I can safely say that spending your life in the direct service of others sucks the life right out of you.

Like any other job, its difficulty is magnified exponentially by the degree in which you try to excel. Nurses, technical support jockeys, retail clerks - all these jobs are pretty easy if you're the type to just coast along and make a concerted effort not to give a fuck about the quality of your work and the people it affects. Take it seriously though, and the job's demands will tap your soul like a vampire with a tapeworm.

Working to accommodate the needs of others takes skill, talent, planning and devotion. It's like being the cartilage in a knee, or the squishy rubber of a mountain bike tire, absorbing the impact and jolts and whiplash from every bump in the road, so as not to pass it on to the next guy.

Need something impossible, due to someone else's failure to plan their own life? No problem. Need something done in 5 minutes that usually takes 20? Hey, we'll give it a shot. Need a solution to a problem that isn't even in my field, much less my direct resposibility? You got it, champ. It takes a lot of guts to plant both your feet and shout with determination: "Sir, I am your squishy rubber!"

Not to say that other gigs aren't tough, but they're tough in a different way, I think. Overall, we're all in the business of helping or accommodating someone else, but those who deal face-to-face with those whom they serve know just how exhausting it is, compared to simply appeasing one, pointy-headed boss.

There should be a separate spa for those in the support industry. An oasis just for those who need it most. Hotel clerks, 911 operators, paramedics, teachers, but only the ones who demonstrate a willingness to do a decent job of it. A sanctuary, stocked with lots of booze and pot and hookers, no clocks and no phones but those that dial out. But most of all, they should all have comfortably-appointed soapboxes, constantly manned, where any visitor can plop down and bitch to their hearts content about the people and the predicaments they faced that week, and what geniuses they are for having braved the storm and found a solution to a problem they didn't cause. Because that's what those in the service industry need most: someone to unload on.

And the people on the other side of the soapbox, listening to all the haranguing of these special spa clients...? Heroin. All they want.

Simple gastronomical pleasures

Last night I stopped by the grocery store and picked up:

• Alouette Spinach and Artichoke spread
• Gorgonzola cheese, forget which brand
• Mar-Val's deli's French bread with sea salt sprinkled over top

I took that all home to a bottle of Gnarly Head wine and some crumbly crackers, both of which my wife had bought, and some leftover Gouda cheese.

Man, that was good.

The Alouette makes a spread that is suspiciously packaged as a Brie-like "spread," which is a misnomer bordering on dishonesty, but this spinach/artichoke stuff was very good. I could have eaten it all night; those who know me know that that's not an empty promise...

Drip, drop

Today is trudging by in exhaustingly slow, 10-minute intervals. Bleah.

Bro-man

I went and saw my brother today. It's been too long.

He's hanging tough under ridiculously difficult circumstances, and I'm at some loss for words to describe it all. I feel awful for what he's going through. I hope for the best on his behalf.

Me so happy

I am having a good day. Little bits and pieces of good things are floating downstream and into my fishy little pool, like injured, flailing insects to a fattened catfish. I am only too cheerful to snap them up.

I got my new toy. Although I have spent scarcely little time with it, it's here when I'm ready, and that is comforting.

I sold a very-modestly valuable item that I am pleased to be rid of, and I did it for an amount that both buyer and seller were instantly happy with. It will be gone tomorrow, and there's some paperwork to sort out. I expect it won't be a problem, but the twitchy, paranoid imp that lives in my head won't rest easy until it's all put to bed. Fuck him anyway, it'll be fine.

I cleaned up the house a bit, and I am happy to contribute to the good of the hive. I even completed a honey-do that has lingered overlong, and I suspect that my wife will be pleased, too.

I took a moment out of my busy day to take up a small, independent journalistic project. I collected vital data for a local news story. I am grateful for the opportunity to practice a little structured creativity, and will link to its result when it's done.

All of the above have a few things in common: they are good, positive occurrences that lead in a positive direction; they are all parts of an incomplete whole; they are all things which I am happy to have incomplete, but in-progress. It allows me to work on a continuing failing of mine: the lack of follow-through. As I was heard earlier today to exclaim: "When we struggle, that's when we grow."

I see you out there, Joe Silva! I know you're there. Tell your Mom I said "Hi," and I miss her.

How entitled?

I have a Computer Science degree. Does that make me a scientist?

I like to draw, write and shoot video, and I'm getting better at it by the same imperceptibly small and slow increments at which I practice at it. Can you call me an artist?

I've told jokes and gotten laughs on stage. Can I call myself a comedian?

I've given of myself to non-profit organizations. Am I a philanthropist?

I've hiked and fished and generally lain about the wilderness. I'm lousy at it, but I'm enthusiastic and improving. Am I fairly termed an outdoorsman?

I work independently for people who find that work valuable. Does that make me a businessman?

What's in a name? Surely, any communication carries with it a promise. "Your word is your bond." "A rose by any other name..." Should I promote myself with any or all of these titles, all technically true, some a paler shade of the truth than others? "Fake it 'til you make it?" If I do, am I a phony? Should I feel ashamed? Would others feel deceived, were they to know how much a title chafes against my own self-esteem, factual accuracy or no?

I ask because I see some people wear masks that don't quite fit, don't quite cover the smirks and winks that go along with them. For example, Bear Grylls's program, "Man vs. Wild" occasionally strains against the letter and intent of the truth. There are frequent and intense debates about just what manner of SAS soldier he was. I don't know the difference myself, but from reading the arguments, one type of SAS is on par with special forces/commandos, and the other is a less intimidating version, drawing comparisons to National Guardsmen or weekend warriors. Grylls himself never met a superlative he didn't like, exclaiming on every show that something was the fastest/meanest/favoritest/nastiest thing he'd ever done/seen/heard of. It gives the impression that everything he does is bigger, better, faster, badder than the thing before. It defies reality that that could be the case, but there you have it.

Is it even necessary? It may well take that kind of over the top, wild-eyed exclamation point-wielding to get a show off the drawing board, green-lit and on the air, but I can honestly say that I would watch the show even if he were a crossing guard who actually HAD tasted something worse than bloodworm grubs or whatever. It's just a good show featuring interesting outdoors techniques and spectacular views, and that's quite enough for me.

But I do wonder - since there are people who aren't interested in honesty, humility (not referring to Grylls now, although I expect he'd "never been more insulted" if I were) - do they deserve to be quasi-lied to in this fashion? If you can't be persuaded to get off your ass and pay attention to someone unless they've skydived naked and blindfolded behind enemy lines during a hurricane, do you deserve to be lied to? If that's the only way to get you motor running, should you really expect that everyone you meet or see on TV to be the most ultimate, extreme, balls-out, in-your-facest version of whatever they're doing? How exhausting. Can't I just be a fairly unassuming human being who's good at a few worthwhile things but still learning about others, and still be worth your time? Do I have to claim all things under the sun and suck all the oxygen out of a room before I'm taken seriously? It seems directly opposite of common sense.

I guess I'm not comfortable promising the moon. But doesn't that promise come with an implied wink anymore anyway?

In response to my own questions:

• Does that make me a scientist? I'll use the title, but only with generous humor.
• Can you call me an artist? Yes - I think the title of artist can be proudly claimed by anyone who seeks to create.
• Can I call myself a comedian? Shit, no. It takes more work than I've put into it, but I think I have gifts and skills that could have taken me somewhere with it, in another life.
• Am I a philanthropist? No, nothing so grand, but I wouldn't mind a title that says I've helped out now and then.
• Am I fairly termed an outdoorsman? Yes, but it's a close call. By next year I hope to be much more seasoned, wise and deserving.
• Does that make me a businessman? Yes, but only in a blue-collar, grounded sense of the word.

No more slimmin'

I invited my son to head to the pool with me. I mimicked his childlike mispronunciation of the word when I said: "Hey, wanna go slimmin' with me?" He exhuberantly replied: "Swimming? Yeah!"

Kinda bummed me out. Pretty soon, he won't describe pine tree leavings as "pine noodles," either.

Gollum lives

I've been ogling and coveting a new gizmo for a while now. Normally I quietly hug my knees and whisper: "my preciousssss..." under my breath until the feeling passes.

Not this time. I earned the money it costs. I went further and earned some extra cash and put it towards the household (which sorely needs it). I went even further still and performed tireless research to ensure I got the right product with the features I wanted (not easy), at the best price I could find (surprisingly easy). This ensures bang-for-the-buck confidence and minimizes disappointment. Buyer's remorse makes fools of us all, even with the best of intentions.

Soon, my precious will come to me, and I shall dance a little jig and revel in the euphoria that retail therapy brings.

Things I don't understand #4

Why does cooking have to be so complicated?

I get the itch to work with food now and then, and nine-tenths of the time, I don't even bother, because recipes are so complicated and loaded down with obscure, little-used ingredients. Who wants to buy a bottle of paprika, use it once, and never touch it again until the contents are as fresh as a mummy's linen? I can't in good conscience waste expensive resources, so I'd end up using it inappropriately, just to get rid of it: "Hey, put some paprika on those muffins! Have some paprika with that ice cream. You know what goes good with beer? Paprika! Paprika, paprika, paprika!!"

You know what I can make? Mashed potatoes. Perfectly enjoyable, "fresh-from-scratch" mashed potatoes. Four ingredients, and one o' them is water, fer chrissakes. Go ahead, search for that on foodnetwork.net. You'll find bay leaves, kosher salt, nutmeg... Doesn't anybody understand that food should be, or at least start out, simple; maybe then build into some more sophisticated recipes?! Hm?

Oh, wait. Emeril's recipe does. Maybe I'll see what he's got over there... What's this: "white pepper? Heavy cream?" Ech. How about black pepper and milk?

A Thief's Quest

He arrives at the forbidding metal doors early, and creeps furtively inside. Patience is as important as skill as he sneaks warily from one point to another, and he keeps his mind focused and his reflexes sharp. More thief than hero, his latent fear is kept in check only because a business-like demeanor is key to his success.

A fly on the wall keeps watch, and thinks to itself: "Hey, he's pretty nimble, for a fat guy."

He climbs tenaciously to the terrace where his prize awaits and braces for a final, catlike snatch at victory, only to be shoved down again, unexpectedly. A setback. Disappointing, but not surprising. He has lurked these labyrinthine halls before, stricken dumb with wonder and awe at the number and severity of the pitfalls that await the uninitiated. Set back but undaunted, he climbs again, to face the soulless, animated carcass dully guarding his prize with an empty, dead gaze.

To say her limbs move perfunctorily would be a generous description, but her hollow mind and plodding movements are still more than enough to stymie his acquisition of the ultimate prize. With a soothing tone and meaningless, empty words, he coaxes the zombie queen into mechanically releasing his coveted scroll, containing mystic jargon and the magical seal necessary for the start of his true quest.

Thrilled at his triumph, he makes his hasty exit with the brisk efficiency of one who has plucked a dragon's egg while the beast slept, senses on full alert for the evil squeal that raises the alarm and dooms his heavy errand, so close to its zenith.

With a silent breath of relief, he gently settles the forbidding metal door closed behind him, much less intimidating now that it was at his back. His quasi-covert mission completed, his climbed aboard his wagon and stole away without a backward glance.

...

In other news, my trip to the DMV was good, overall.

I blog, and the whole world blogs with me

My brother has joined the ranks of digital scribes, and has his own blog. I am proud of him for taking the first steps towards Internet immortality. I know he's got some good posts in him. Just like me, sometimes he just needs to get out of his own way.

Plus, I can nag him about how long and how frequent his postings are. Everybody wins!

Volunteer video gig

I had the spare time and good fortune to donate my time and effort once again to the local Public Access Television Studio last Thursday night. I was a cameraman for a local human interest/interview show, called Kathy's Window on Calaveras. It was energizing and a little challenging.

It was energizing to perform a function in a new field that is valuable to someone. Honestly, the job was pretty easy for any sober Joe, but it needed done, and they appreciated me taking the time to do it. A very positive environment, I guess that's the point.

It was challenging just because it was new, and I did a good job.

I was also fortunate to speak with local television personality and political candidate, Kathy Mazzaferro. I have helped tape a few of her shows now (including an interview with this guy), and I am always impressed with her presence on-screen. With no apparent pre-show preparation, she takes the show's intro, exit and interviews smoothly from start to finish. I interviewed her myself after the final taping, and she shared with me her background and some information on how she is able to carry on the show, virtually wrinkle-free. I was surprised to learn that it involved very few juicy secrets and behind-the-scenes witchcraft - it mostly involved decades of voracious consumption of all events under the sun, and a genuine interest in any topic. As I asked her: "Well, how am I supposed to fake that??" At least I got her to laugh...

Personal space

Overheard at my house last night:

"Tell Daddy what you did at pre-school today."

"I poked da teacher..."

"...and where did you poke her?"

"In da boobie..."

At this point, things got dark, as my torso convulsed, I turned away and I covered my face with my hands to disguise the laughter that was ably muffled, but not entirely tamed. I am told that my son was instructed in no uncertain terms regarding personal space.

He is my son, that much is certain. And I love him very much.

Don't make me hurt you

Not off to a very good start today. I am coming off an imperfect weekend, and things are not exactly smooth this morning. I am working through it, but if pushed, I may resort to physical and psychological violence.

This is what I imagine PMS to feel like. I'd cutcha as soon as look atcha.

Dodged a bullet?

I was really worried that today would be a nail-biting, misanthropic adventure through Hell. It's actually working out to be fairly relaxed and pleasant. Nice!

Gift idea - digital camcorder

Another gadget I can live without but don't want to:

Samsung SC-D372 MiniDV Camcorder

Only $179 at Circuit City. Temptingly low price. I am very tempted to buy it myself, but I haven't done the requisite research yet. It's just so darn cheap, it makes me wanna buy it.

[Note after the fact: I bought this darn thing, too! I doubt anyone was preparing to get it for me, but if you were, don't! I've already got a very similar item.]

Gift idea - handheld GPS unit

My birthday is a few ragged months away. For those of you looking for gift ideas, here's one:

Lowrance iFinder GO2 Handheld GPS Unit

I compared it to an eTrex unit (I avoid linking to it to avoid potential confusion) for a few dollars more, and this slightly cheaper unit is vastly superior, with more memory, higher display resolution, more routes and waypoints, bigger display and immensely better battery life. Just a better-looking unit.

This is something I'll buy for myself eventually, but is just spendy enough that I hesitate.

---

[Note after the fact: I bought this for myself after finding it for two-thirds the price linked above. I look forward to doodling with it!]

Social self reflection and the UFC

Oh, goody goody - my UFC fights are on tonight! But it does raise an issue. Allow me to share in the most long-winded manner I can manage. It is my way...

I grew up in a manner that was certainly some form of anti-social. I don't hate people (necessarily), but it was a long time before I learned what a good friend was. I thought I knew at the time, but I was tragically mistaken. Therefore, I kept company that was neither truly fun to be around, nor had my best interests at heart.

This background has resulted in a system of socializing and a view of relationships that could generously be called "quirky." I developed a stunted and odd view of how friendships work, and to this day it confuses me and those around me.

For one thing, I largely equate friendships and social events with drinking. This seems an obvious result of the fact that during my teen years, my acquaintances and I would rarely get together without getting some form of good and loaded, and when we did, the event was considered a failure without exception. Therefore, getting together nowadays without a drink in my hand seems unnatural. What the Hell do people do with themselves? Psh - talk?! You must be kidding. It's awkward, and makes my slightly nervous. It's like smoking after a meal, or peanut butter with jelly - one without the other is all right and everything, but certainly not ideal. I don't necessarily enjoy this condition, I just recognize it.

Another unusual trait is that I don't get lonely, at least in what I understand to be a traditional sense. I've never understood why solitary confinement is such a feared punishment in prison movies and other tales of hardship. I think that Tom Hanks in "Cast Away" was just as well off with his artificial friend Wilson as with just about everyone else in that film. By and large, Sartre had it right - Hell is other people.

Only in recent years has this stoic psychological dam begun to show signs of cracking. Having made what I still consider the right decision to move away from my hometown and acquaintances (as well as most of my wife's friends and family as well), it becomes more practically apparent how isolated we are, geographically as well as socially. My wife isn't as bizarre and fundamentally insane as I am, and I worry that she should be happier with more friends in her life, too.

In any event, this is brought to the fore by the fact that I would really like to invite a buddy over tonight to watch pairs of top-conditioned men beat the Hell out of each other, but the list of potential co-viewers is damned slim. Michelle and I have taken a sloppy slap or two at putting down roots and making friends in our new hometown, but the roots are few and shallow in the soil.

In any event, it's likely too late to invite anyone over, and the festivities are on a weeknight, confusing most peoples' schedules (nice going, UFC President Dana White!). Still, I could make a couple of phone calls, take a shot at it. The fact that I let a few logistical wrinkles stop me from trying just leads me to consider the above personality traits regarding my views on friendship.

What an odd life. Not bad, but odd.

UFC Fight Night comin' up

The UFC is premiering its latest season of The Ultimate Fighter with a bang. Tomorrow night, they're kicking off with a three-hour butt-kicking Fight Night extravaganza, followed by the reality show's premiere episode. It's gonna be several solid hours of butt-kickitude, punctuated only with the cracking of cold beers and a few commercials. Best of all, it's free on Spike TV. Nice!

When I was younger, I learned that a big part of being happy is simply having something to look forward to. I'm looking forward to this.

Time Magazine's Ron Paul article

Time Magazine published a great article about Ron Paul's candidacy and both his contrast to and effect upon the Republican Party.

My wife is awesome

My wife had a big challenge a few days ago. She was nervous, but she showed up with her game face on, and won the day.

I am very proud of her.

Take that, you sonofabitch

Some guy came in today and commenced to cussing me out, wholly unreasonably. It took about two and a half seconds, as the breeze from his ignorant maw fluttered my short-cropped hair, to realize he was off base and full of shit, so gave as good as I got, gave him his shit right back, and a little extra.

I'm sick of taking shit from jerks. Fuck 'em!

Let me take a minute...

Can I just say, my life is really, really friggin' great right now?!

First and foremost, I'm getting along with my wife to a degree that takes some effort to communicate just how happy we are together. I am so thrilled with her, and I have such enthusiasm for being with her. We get along almost without a scintilla of friction. I've tried the alternative, and believe me, tolerating a real bitch isn't any more fun than it sounds.

My son and I do well, and our relationship improves consistently. I'm still learning what makes him tick, and he couldn't give a shit less. I like that about him. Kids are pure, I'll give 'em that.

I hate to brag, but I feel that after the months, years of suffering with unhappiness, now that things are getting on a much better track, I have to acknowledge that. Things are rolling, and show many signs of getting better in the future.

I'd give thanks, but it would be gratitude owed to the same shiteating universal entity that was responsible for the slog through pain and despair I just referred to. So if there is an ultimate being out there calling the shots, let's just call it even, and leave it at that, huh?

My brother is ailin'.

My brother reports that his symptoms are worsening, which leads one to imagine frightening things. I really feel bad for his suffering, and dread the grimmer thoughts that knock a little louder at the door today.

He's been very brave about such a sobering health concern, and I'm proud of him. I didn't doubt his fortitude necessarily, but I am gently surprised at the stuff he's made of.

He's been described by others in our unusual clan as "stoic," a description I can't disagree with. It's not a word I would have chosen though, as it implies an aloofness or avoidance of the gravity involved, and my brother hasn't been blind to the stakes. He's been straightforward.

I admire his courage.

"Shooter" shot

My wife and I saw the feature-film "Shooter," or at least most of it, in the theater soon after it was released. We had managed our time badly that day, and realized that we'd have to skip the final third of the movie if we were to pick up our son from the child-minder by the promised deadline. Anyone with kids knows that a babysitter's bond is something you don't fool with, ever.

Anyhoo, we enjoyed the movie for the portion we saw, and it took me until last month to rent the DVD and finish it off. I was better off leaving the final act to my imagination.

We left the theater before the movie's script completely gave up on its efforts to make sense. Plus, the run and gun portions of the movie didn't require much from Mark Wahlberg that I hadn't seen before. I really want to like him, but I didn't get him in this role. His performance seemed two-dimensional to me, lacking depth. I wished he could have made more of his scenes and lines, including his quirky justification for wreaking havoc and vengeance upon the evil-doers: "I don't think you understand - they killed my dog." I really wanted to like and enjoy that line, but I didn't buy it. Bummer.

I was very puzzled to apparently be the only person in the world not to have enjoyed his work in this movie. Every single review fawned over his fine performance, the action parts of which I enjoyed, but the quieter moments I found coldly unconvincing. One reviewer even compared Wahlberg's performance to Matt Damon's in The Bourne Identity, and tore acutely away from my own account, considering as I do Damon's job on that series and something akin to miraculously fitting.

I'm still keeping a hopeful eye out for more or Mark W.'s work in the future, but I didn't love this film for much more than its slam-bang appeal. Which ain't all bad, certainly.

The Muse

I've come by some worthwhile ideas, and I carry them around. It's like carrying water in your hands. I keep most of it, but if I don't dump them in a more reliable vessel soon, I unavoidably lose a little to spillage. Ideas are the most mercurial of things - innumerable are the times when I've had a valuable inkling, only to lose it to a distraction or derailed train of thought. Wise is the man who jots down ideas at every opportunity. Pretentious is the writer who unnecessarily writes complex subject constructions.

I am fortunate, as throughout my life I am afloat in a sea of notions and perspectives. The muse, a source of an artist's inspiration, is constantly whispering in my ear, or at least sending me mental junk mail, for which I am grateful. If I were to make something tangible of one-fifth of the ideas that occur to me, I would be something to see indeed. Paradoxically, with my blessing I am also cursed with pessimism and low self-esteem, traits that quickly and brutally quash creation. So if I can squeeze out any product at all from the lightning that strikes my brain, I feel exceptionally lucky.

All this navel-gazing serves to substantiate this: I fantasize that the muse really exists, and that if I don't act in some way to create or commemorate the messages she sends me, she will punish me with a paucity of ideas in the future.

The above paragraph sounds laughable and ludicrous to the skeptical pessimism within me. Fanciful to the point of ridicule. Muses, spirits and gods that I've made up in my head. The very idea!

Did I mention that the skeptical pessimist is proving a less and less valuable companion on this journey I'm on? He truly is...

Getting something done

Every year since we moved in, I take in the view of my home and property, increasingly disappointed at its appearance, powerless to act on it. I don't know where or how to start. I've got all the hardware I need, but damned little of the skills. I don't know anything about landscaping, planting, pruning or irrigation, and I'm as likely as not to do more harm than good. I've never been what you call "handy."

I'm not excessively vain, but I feel pangs of embarrassment when having guests over, due to the place's rough, sloppy presentation. This cannot stand.

This year, I'm working on it. I know that each area looks like Hell. Although I still don't know what to do or where to begin, I'm not sitting on my hump and moping about it impotently.

To my wife's great concern, I've pruned our fruit trees, beating back many months of neglect. I've done away with piles of of disembodied tree limbs, stacking them neatly away to dry into excellent kindling. I've weedeated many a flapping shrub to a more fire-safe condition.

I'd really like to get the place looking sharp. We're not there yet, but it's a lot neater today than yesterday, and I'll take even simple improvements over none at all, any day.

Every long, painful and ridiculous journey starts with a single, tentative step. Here's hoping it leads somewhere good.

Coming up on a year here

Yesterday, I took a look at my blog posts from last year. It seems like it's been more than a year since I moved these writings to Blogspot, but there you go. That's one of the reasons I blog, to keep minutiae like this straight.

Another thing that struck me was my stated desire to blog once per day, even if it wasn't terribly interesting. Obivously I haven't done that; honestly, I forgot about that oath almost as soon as I wrote it. Still, it sounds like a good idea. You get more "on paper" than you might think, even just posting seemingly random stuff.

Like this, for instance.

New daycare for my little buddy

My son started his new daycare/preschool this week, and it's going pretty well. They're a little strict, but only a little, and it's not a bad thing. They're a little out of my way for drop-offs, and way out of Michelle's way for pickups, but overall, a real improvement.

Dumbass detector

It's been a long, interesting thirty-six years on this planet. Although I don't know a lot, I've learned this: One earmark of a real tool is that they pronounce "salsa" with a "z" sound.

"Sahl-zuh."

I've known a comparative few who say it that way, and let's just say they have certain personality traits in common. It's not necessarily a sure-fire indicator that you're a water-headed jerk, but it's certainly a red flag.

Might wanna watch that; it ain't right, it ain't natural, and I'm onto you.

Buy Danish

Muslims are boycotting Danish products in the wake of another round of printed cartoons featuring Muhammad wearing a bomb-shaped turban.

I'd like to apply my efforts to an anti-boycott, and recommend the fervent buying of Danish products, in response. Fortunately, there's a website devoted to this cause, BuyDanish.dk. How convenient!

Who knew playing with Lego was a political statement?

Stupid people piss me off

I regularly come into contact with people with whom I must get along, but who have an ignorance about them that obstructs not only their life, but also the lives of people around them.

Regularly tripping over, and picking up after, the same potato-headed goofball again and again wears a guy down. It really grates on me to have to smile and nod and suffer the same noodle-head ad infinitum.

I had to get that out - thanks for listening.

John Bizarre makes a helluva point

The Fourth Amendment of the Constitution is under attack, and John Bizarre is raising the alarm. Aside from his paranoia and martyr complex, he makes some fine points, worthy of reckoning and attention. It's not the last word on the subject, but it makes for some damn fine food for thought.

I don't think it's quite worth abandoning the country for, but it's certainly worth consideration.

One thing I'd point out - if John's trying to put together a coalition (he raves about being the only one fighting the fight - I'd advise him to go a little lighter on the sole survivor angle), he's not trying very hard. I don't even know how to contact him, were I to pledge my pen and sword in allegiance. Which I'm ready to do, by the way.

John, if you're out there, contact me - at least you'll have someone to water your stallion before you charge off at the windmills.

That's not meant to sound as gay as it does...

Even I thought this was funny

Les Stroud has advised me and thousands of others on the safest way to break a piece of wood. I watched, listened and understood, logically, the reasons for the technique. It involves levering a branch between two fixed points and bending it until it breaks. It's wiser and safer than other methods for various reasons. Not the least of those reasons is the surprising amount of energy built up just before the branch breaks. When you're bending the branch in your hands, applying force just with your arms and wrists, the release of that force can be unpredictable.

Like I said, I understood, intellectually, the wisdom of this advice. At work yesterday, I came to understand it in a more pragmatic way.

Twisting and bending a thumb-thick branch in my hands (for reasons uninteresting for the purposes of this blog), I brought the stick to its breaking point, and simultaneously pictured Les Stroud in my mind, cracking a limb between two trees. The next moment, the stick snapped, releasing its collected force at its outer ends. One of those ends was unwittingly and unerringly aimed with brutal mathematical precision at the head of my innocent, unsuspecting dick.

With an audible thwack, I learned with a deeper, pragmatic and intensely memorable
appreciation the lesson which I had already been aware. The sensation of pain was sharp and immediate, and still, I laughed out loud. God thinks I'm hilarious.

I won't soon forget this learning experience. I share it with you now as Les shared it with me, and I hope you don't have to learn the hard way.

Things I don't understand #3

Why is it that the local grocery mart hasn't carried a single French wine in the entirety of the handful of years we've lived here? Amazing! They carry mostly Californian wines, which is understandable, but also some Australian wines and other importeds.

But not to carry even one French product? That's like carrying fine watches, but nothing from Switzerland. Like stocking Tequila, but nothing from Mexico. Like copping meth, but nothing from the Central Valley.

I finally got off my ass and out of my car, and approached one of the muckety-mucks at the store. I recommended a lower-cost vin francais that I had enjoyed in my most-recent burg. Weeks later, I got the call, and my favorite wine of old was on the shelf. Hurray! They managed to bump up the price a few bucks, but it's still cheaper than shipping from BevMo.

I feel good

Today was idyllic - warm, beautiful, clear, calm. Blue skies, fluffy clouds, calm, pleasant air. Even in the elevationally-challenged valley, the views and overall outdoors ambiance was intoxicatingly picturesque. The stuff oil paintings are made of, soothing much more than the eye, I assure you of that.

I had an unexpected free day today, and I spent it with my wife. She continues to illuminate and improve my life, and is awesome in general. We saw the movie: "Fool's Gold," which was better than the reviews made it out to be (although I doubt you'll see any Oscar nods from this particular film). My wife picked it, and it was fun.

Take that, Ebert!

Cliff has a tumor

My brother Cliff has a tumor in his brain stem. It's a little fella, but appears to be the source of all the pain and odd sensations in his extremities lately.

He's in San Francisco now for testing, and while his pain spikes when they don't keep on top of his meds, he seems satisfied with the current schedule and types of medications they've got him on; pain management without utter, drooling disconnect from reality.

Some reports indicate grim possibilities, others hint at "dodged-a-bullet" near misses. I don't know how worried to be right now. We had a cousin that died just last year, younger than either of us, from brain cancer. Nobody knows yet if this is the same thing or wildly different. He may or may not get a biopsy early next week, and know more.

His direct line at the hospital is: 415-514-5159. His cell works too, but isn't as reliable, at 209-271-4364. Give him a ring.

Gorgeous Days

Yesterday and today were just beautiful days. Sunny, clear, warm - a welcome departure from the preceding month of gray drizzle and cold winds.

I went for a jog yesterday and today, enjoying the warmth and sun (and, disgustingly, blasting the crud from my lungs, which are still recovering from last week's cold). I feel stronger for it.

It's not all sunshine and warmth in my life and especially for those around me, but as awkward as it can be, it reminds me all the more to appreciate the good.

White stuff on your tongue

One thing (among many) that pornography has ruined for me: catching snowflakes on your tongue. Amid a particularly productive snowstorm last week, I decided to enjoin the classically innocent pastime of catching snowflakes on my tongue.

Standing with my head back, eyes closed and tongue out as far as it would go, I couldn't help feeling... well, creepy and awkward. Some things you can't "un-know." Such is life, so be it.

Web links, gift ideas

A few web items catch my eye this week:

• Valley Springs has a new Martial Arts center: Lohsen Martial Arts. They feature Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, just like my heroes on "thuh teevee," at the UFC. What a great sport. Maybe I can get a few lessons for my birthday...
  
  That preceding paragraph was a hint, in case you're wondering...
  
  They could also benefit from a new website design, about which I've already made first contact. Hmm - perhaps a trade is in order...!
  
• Also, I found a neat website to get ornamental, outdoor, tree-humping jewelry. I'm partial to the "Cairn Opener Sandblasted," myself, but I'm only just beginning my window shopping.

Conversation: a symbiotic relationship

The world is full of know-it-alls, dime-store connoisseurs who have never done what you're thinking of doing, but they know more about it than you. They know because they've seen something on T.V., read it in a magazine, or had a friend who had an Uncle who worked at a company that did that type of thing. "...I think he was the janitor, but hey, he worked there, man..."

Adding to the tedium is their unwillingness to entertain other points of view, even for the sporting aspect of it. Even if they're unconvinceable, it would be good manners and good fun to consider an alternative viewpoint.

But oh, no - their third-hand pseudo-knowledge is much more valuable, potent and important than your conjecture and the anecdotes you may have collected, carried and offered to share. So shut up, breathe deeply and listen politely until you can make up an excuse to escape the vortex of hot air.

You didn't have anything to contribute anyway, did you?

Gym report

I was feeling really good last week about going to the gym. I hadn't gone in weeks, but I had some excellent excuses. Almost as good as achievement, is justification.

I feel yucky

My son brought home a gift for me last week: bacteria! The gift that keeps on giving!

I felt a twinge last night in my chest - odd, as this type of thing usually starts in my sinus. Anyway, I now feel increased sensitivity to temperature extremes in my extremities, and coughing is my new hobby.

Then again, there are those out there who have it much worse, so my despair is definitely in perspective.

More of the same

Every time I bring up my blog page, I feel a pang of self-disappointment in that I don't write often enough. Then I begin writing, and the stuff I write just sucks. That's when I realize (one of the reasons) why I don't blog as much as I used to; it's because I don't blog as well as I used to. Sometimes, it just doesn't flow. Is there any paler feeling than when you go to the well that has served you so well for so long, and it's dry? Bleah!

I suspect it's largely because I don't do many exciting things lately, and -- worst of all -- I've temporarily lost the ability to find the humor, wonder and conflict in everyday events. The same weird shit is out there; I've just got to tune into it.

Also, taking up more-exciting/fulfilling endeavors would help a lot. As it is, I work, watch TV, take care of the house and family. Those are great for starters, but there's an element missing.

I gotta get off my ass. Soon, soon.

Finally, it doesn't help that I'm out of practice. Perhaps some blog-based throat-clearing is in order. Brace yourself as I jot some mildly-interesting-even-to-me junk just to get my fingers and frontal lobe flexible again...

Joe Rogan: occasional genius

When I sat down to write my last post, I nearly continued the winey-drama of the previous one, about how I need more time to myself, and can't conecntrate. I couldn't face blogging more bitching and angst, so I wrote some shit about how I need a new car instead.

I went on about my business, and not much later I came across Joe Rogan's blog archive, containing these sage words, summing up the contents of my head much better than I could:

Remember back when you were a kid, and you thought there were actually people that knew what this thing we call "life" was really all about? Remember when you thought there really were "grown ups?"

Then, all of a sudden one day you become a "grown up" yourself and the terrifying revelation occurs to you that there really are no "grown ups," just kids that got old and had kids of their own, and no one really knows what the fuck is going on.

Well said.

Snow on the mountains means trouble in paradise

I am seriously considering (if weakly pursuing) trading my two-wheel drive babe-magnet in for a more rugged, two-fisted, 4x4, snow-crunching mountain machine. Unfortunately, I don't need the babes my car magnetizes, and the last five miles of my drive to work is often blanketed in snow, rendering it nearly useless. Getting me 95% of the way to work isn't nearly as successful as it sounds.

I can borrow my wife's truck, but this puts her out, and for some reason I let that make me feel bad. Plus, swapping vehicles back and forth is a pain, and maximizes the possibility that one of us will forget something vital (like keys or a wallet) in the swapped carriage.

Although the weatherman no longer dictates my wife's workweek, he is severely impacting mine. The jerk. It's getting so that every snowstorm causes tension in my life, like an old fart who can feel the impending rain in his bones.

So, I'm considering a different vehicle. We're looking hard at some used Jeeps, with good reputations for reliability that won't put us further in debt. Other vehicles may make the short list, but Jeeps have good buzz. My boss thinks I should get a Subaru. I'm not one for vanity, but a Subaru just sounds like a geekmobile, and not in a good way. This from a guy who's proudly driven a Honda!

No, I think we'll get something in which I can hold my head (and my ass) up high, and that will haul me over the occasional rough terrain come summer. I invite you to share your reviews of rugged vehicles you've owned, if you have any such reviews.

I Can't Hear Myself Think

I need time to myself sometimes. I don't just like it, want it or appreciate it. I need it. It's just a part of who I am.

My personal life (which is the only life I live that matters at all) has been dominated of late by a creeping oppression - that of noise pollution, bordering upon self-specific torture. It's a subtle form of psychological warfare that is particularly effective on me.

Unfortunately, it's also a part of who I am that I don't insist upon periods of solitude. I give away blocks of time that would be better spent in solitary pursuits, as far as my mental health is concerned. And hey, let me be honest: these chunks of time that I "give away" aren't necessarily some golden, blissful, heartwarmingly familial moments. I am well beyond the point where I suffer silently or happily, trying to watch a television show that I can't hear, or maintain a train of thought that is periodically but reliably disrupted like a television broadcast with a cheap Chinese vacuum cleaner running nearby.

An example: I received a much appreciated gift, a DVD, for Christmas that I immediately wanted to watch. I couldn't wait to see this show. Today, a full month later, I got to watch it unmolested. I've tried several times to sit down, take a deep breath and watch 90 measly minutes of private, quiet, televised entertainment, and it took me a whole month to set aside that kind of time.

Clearly I don't brook irritation well like I used to; I'm no longer that tough. God help me, I'm petty and reactionary, and I seethe and mope and glare and become more volatile. I wait until I'm completely fed up before I decide to abandon the situation, and storm off - what a little kid I am. Who but a child does that?

Yeesh...

I'm still looking for a solution to this predicament, that correct course of action that pleases everybody. I know from experience that such solutions exist, if you have the right brand of wisdom. Unfortunately, such breakthroughs usually come to me externally. Either they appear as a sudden epiphany, or as someone else's suggestion. Rarely am I able to achieve the clarity needed to think myself out from between a rock and a domestic hard place.

Once I find it, I feel it will untie the knot I have found in my personal life, making peace with both my family (I love my family) responsibilities and my own desires for peace, time and creativity. The sooner the better, because I want to be a good person to my family, and to myself.

We friends again?

As so often happens, I found a way through my frustrating dilemma just as my weapons were loaded and unsheathed.

It's fixed, and I feel better. I need to find something easier to do that doesn't involve stupid electric boxes...

I keel you

Echh - inadequate sleep (due to too much wine; "too much" being two whole glasses - how frigging old am I??), a slow internet connection and difficulty implementing what is advertised as a 5-second web utility have conspired to put me on the brink socially unacceptable behavior.

What the fuck are you looking at?

A Royal Bitch?

France's former first lady, Cecilia Sarkozy (now going by the divorced name Cecilia Ciganer) is quoted recently in a book mercilessly slamming her ex, President Nicolas Sarkozy. According to news accounts, she is said to have ascribed to him such with such unflattering phrases as: "womanizer," "stingy" and "a man who loves no one, not even his children." Such caustic backbiting reflects more on the mudslinger than the target, in my opinion.

But was it meant to be aired in public? Apparently not, according to the lawsuit brought by the vitriolic vampire, saying that the journalist who put the conversation out for all to see betrayed private conversation.

It's troubling, no matter how you slice it.

France 24 goes all-French

Forbes.com reports that French President Nicolas Sarkozy will put the kibosh on French News channel France24's English version, whose website I have visited intermittently since it launched in December of 2006. I'll miss it all the more since we've been too poor to enjoy the TV5 channel from our satellite provider.

Good news, though - according to the report:

Sarkozy said a new channel, France Monde (France World), would be created 'as fast as possible, at any rate this year', grouping the resources of the existing networks Radio France Internationale, TV5 television, and France 24."

Operation France encore - étage un

My nefarious plot has begun, and a landmark in its progress has been set.

Tonight, my wife responded to the following, pivotal question:

"Would you want to go to France with me again, if money wasn't the issue?"

My heart sang as her answer trod through the shadows of teeth, gum and freckle:

"Yes..."

...

Oh, it's on now... I believe that I can make this happen.

If you want a postcard from France, place your order now, because this new year is all about some "can-do" shit.

I've tried pessimism, and it's got me bupkis. Let try some optimism for a change. I've heard good things...

Things I don't understand - #2

Why bust on MC Hammer they way they do in the media? I don't understand that.

For those of you who don't recall, MC Hammer was a pop/rap star in the 1990's - had some hits, made a ton of money and then went bankrupt, and now lives around Tracy, CA.

Now, he's starting up a YouTube.com-type niche website called DanceJam.com, planning to collect and share dance moves all around the planet. Good idea, bad idea, who knows? Reading in The Record newspaper today (I'd link to the blurb, but I don't see it online, only saw it in print), there's an article reporting this event, but every other sentence is taking a potshot at the once-was Hammer or setting up such a barb. It snarks at how he's 'taking time away from doing nothing' to take up his new endeavor. Ouch!

Why pick on Hammer? He was one of the most positive pop figures of his time, exhorting his audience to use their brains, stay away from dope and make money by earning it. Now that he's back in the papers, they still take every opportunity to swing at the balloon-panted media pinata.

Sure, he made his money and lost it. I don't know how he lost it, I've never done the research. Honestly, I was never a fan. As a teenager, I heard: "...can't touch this..." until I developed a facial tick. But I certainly never saw him convicted, arrested, Hell, even accused of anything deserving such constant derision; but every time his name's in the paper, they take another whack. They whoop on him so bad, I'm pretty sure Ike Turner's last words were: "Damn, take it easy on a brother."

As I recall, one of Hammer's albums was named: "Please Hammer, Don't Hurt 'em." Sounds like fair advice for the other side as well.

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?