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.

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[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?