Did Everything Come Out Okay?

I’m back from PA hell. That’s “Production Assistant” hell, not Pennsylvania hell. Pennsylvania’s actually quite nice. I haven’t been there for years. But if the Amish like it, you know it’s good.

So, in lieu of anything else to post about, I thought that I would share a little bit more of the cross country trip that Tanya and I returned from about a month ago.

When you drive across the country, you get very familiar with certain aspects of freeway life. You learn which gas station chains have the best bathrooms. You learn that places that sell fireworks need gigantic billboards because, well, how else are you supposed to find fireworks? (As a rule, the billboard size is directly proportionate to the size of the fireworks stand; the ratio is 5:1, 5 feet of billboard for every 1 actual square foot of fireworks stand)

Truck stops and rest areas become very important on a cross country trip. There are a few similarities between the two. Both generally have a lot of trucks parked at them. Both have bathrooms. And both are crawling with prostitutes. But rest areas are much nicer to look at. I enjoy Yosemite Sam and bare breasted women, don’t get me wrong, but there is something a bit more serene about a rest area.

Nowadays rest areas aren’t the same rat infested, biohazards that they used to be when I was a kid. Some of them are downright pleasant. When I was young, rest areas were not much more than a port-a-potty housed in a wooden shed with a lovely view of the freeway and a smell that could make a river worm turn up its nose (river worms are used to treat sewage by the way. Vermicomposters will find that last joke funny at least).

Tanya and I stopped at a few rest areas on our trek. Not as many as you might think since we usually just popped into McDonalds when we needed to heed the call of nature. Rest areas don’t sell Double Quarter Pounders. But, like I said, we stopped at a few.

Most of them were your typical new concrete and block type places. Sturdy and clean…ish. Texas actually had some very nice rest areas. With tile mosaics adorning the walls inside. Places you could feel slightly classy pooping in.

But I saw something new in New Mexico. Here’s the rest area. Pretty normal.


It’s located near some kind of historical site, so there’s the obligatory plaque to make the spot seem more important than it actually is. This plaque does a nice job of that.


But there was one thing that set this particular rest area apart. This was on the outside of the rest area bathrooms.



Good for them! Hey, New Mexico cares about your rest area experience. And they make you feel regal by allowing you to refer to yourself in the survey as "we." Very classy.

Then I saw this and I knew that New Mexico really cares about your rest area experience.





Fun Fact: When I was a kid and we were at a rest area, I would stand out by the freeway and get semi trucks to honk as they sped by. Rest areas became much nosier places when I was in town.

The “kid me” would really bug the living hell out of the “adult me.”

Boring

That’s what it’s going to be around this blog for the next few days. I’ve gotten another job with HGTV so I’ll be working this week. I’ll try to get a post or two up, but I can’t promise anything.

In the meantime, I’ll just put up some pictures of the trip that Tanya and I just got back from a couple weeks ago. I would post about something topical but really, what’s the point? There’s really nothing worth blogging about right now anyway. Sure, there are the wars in the Middle East, but they’re depressing. And there’s Mel Gibson, but that’s too easy. I mean when the best possible defense you can offer up is “hey, you have to remember, when that cop pulled me over I was really drunk!” Then you know you’re trapped in a PR nightmare.

So, you get to look at pictures. Lucky, lucky you.

Here’s my nephew Dylan. He’s my brother’s son and is built like a masonry poophut. If he doesn’t want you to open a door, damnit, you’re not opening a door.


This is my gentler, albeit slightly more possessive, other nephew Asher with his sister Lily (my sister’s kids). We buried Lily in the sand and then tried to convince Asher to give her a kiss.


100,000 hours later, he did. Kids are fun. They’re tiny miracles. Until you’ve experienced the glory of children, you’ll never know the pure nirvana that can be obtained from standing in the hot sun on hotter sand with a camera, just waiting for the kid to get over the fact that sometimes sand is “sinky.” It’s like the finger of God has parted the clouds…to flick your ear really hard.


Here’s a picture of a lighthouse. It’s the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse to be specific. It used to be closer to the ocean but not too long ago, because of beach erosion, they put the entire thing on a huge trailer and hauled it a few hundred yards to its current location. Wow, aren’t you interested in that fact!


Here’s a picture of the outside of the Clinton Presidential Library in Little Rock, Arkansas. It’s like an anti-President Bush haven. It was a vacation within a vacation.


Tanya took the opportunity to be president for a little while. She sat in Clinton’s cabinet meeting chair. I’m sure it wasn’t really his chair, but rather a replica of his chair. But it was remarkably lifelike. I mean, you could almost swear that it was an actual chair!


Actually, this picture got me to thinking about what it would be like if Tanya were president. I think the world would be a much better place. We wouldn’t be embroiled in a hopeless war in the Middle East and all of America’s bedroom floors would be completely free of stinky guy clothes.

And here’s a picture of Tanya playing with some petrified wood. Insert your own “big wood” joke here. I’m too classy.


I should include some “exciting” pictures. So here they are. Exciting!

It’s a hamster attack! Me with Tanya’s niece’s hamster “Junior.” It’s a good thing that hamsters can’t understand English. It’s never a good thing to be a hamster named Junior. The only thing worse is to be a hamster with a more dubious suffix like “the 3rd” or “the 4th.”


And here’s the Lone Ranger’s costume. It was at the Clinton Presidential Library. Why shouldn’t the Lone Ranger’s costume be at the Clinton Library?!





Fun Fact: I’m grateful, humbled and only slightly annoyed at all the comments, emails and cards I got for my birthday. Thank you. You’re the best.

That’s a fact.

33

Yeah, it’s my birthday today. I’m feeling a bit old. But you know what they say; 33 is the new 23!

They do say that right?

Right?!

For the benefit of future historians who find this blog looking for a picture of me at 33, I’ve decided to include a photograph of myself.


See how young I look? And I didn’t doctor that photo one bit either. My skin! It’s so supple. And I look like I’ve even lost a few pounds.

Maybe getting older isn’t so bad. So far my organs still work and there’s not one hint of dementia.

Happy 25th birthday to me!


Fun Fact: There are about 4 birthdays that I can’t remember at all. I’ve tried, but it’s no use. It would be cool if I could blame alcohol. Then I would seem like a real partier. I’m going to assume that alcohol isn’t to blame for my birthday amnesia. Unless my parents were giving alcohol to their toddler!

Mom? Dad? You wouldn’t do that, right? Right?


Also, you may remember that I thought it was 33rd birthday last year. Determined never to make that mistake again, I’ve researched my birthday this year. Turns out that I am indeed turning 33.

Damn.

Sweep This!

My hand is planted firmly on my crotch.

They’ve done it to me again! Or, I’ve done it to myself?

I blame my car.

My father has generously given me a new car. But I still have my old car which means that, when you add Tanya’s car to the equation, we just have one car too many. We’ve got lovely two car tandem parking (which if you’re not from a city where there’s an overcrowding problem means that we have to park one of our cars behind the other). Since my old car doesn’t actually run anymore, it gets a permanent place in the driveway which leaves another car to fend for itself, forced to circle the streets like an angry hobo just looking for an open doorway in which to spend the night.

Well, my car overslept this morning. It stayed in its cozy little cubby, tucked into the same spot it’s spent the entire previous week.

That’s when it was molested by some jerk in a white hybrid car with “Los Angeles Parking Enforcement” written on the side. It’s street sweeping day.

LA loves street sweeping day (that’s why it’s always street sweeping day somewhere in this town). If someone were to come up with some animated map of parking tickets issued in Los Angeles, you’d be able to watch the city coffers fill up block by block as the street sweepers winded their way through the city.

The city wants you to believe that street sweeping exists for the sole purpose of sweeping the street. Residents of Los Angeles know better. Street sweeping is an excuse to hand out parking tickets at $45 a pop. On my block alone, this morning my car was one of four others who had either purposefully or inadvertently ignored the posted no parking sign. That’s $180 dollars just on my block. I took a walk this morning and noticed an average of about three cars a block that were parked on the wrong side of the street at the wrong time.

So why $45? I’ll tell you my theory. It’s the same strategy they use in marketing. You don’t charge $20 for an item. You charge $19.95. Why? Because it’s not $20. It makes it seem more reasonable. $45? Well, it’s not $50, that’s why. $50 is a lot of money. It’s half of $100. But $45 is worth taking a risk on.

I wasn’t trying to take a risk. I had every intention of moving the car this morning (uh, I mean, my car had every intention of moving itself).

Instead, now I’m out 45 bucks. For absolutely no reason.

I hate this town.


Fun Fact: As I was researching for this blog post (yes, I do some research…very little research but…) I found this article on the subject from the Los Angeles Times.

Also, you’ll notice that the picture at the top of the post says “No Parking” on Wednesday. I realize that it’s Thursday today. See, our apartment building sits on a corner. The street in front of the house has no parking on Thursday. The street on the side of the apartment has no parking on Wednesday. That’s where I took that picture.

Incidentally, on both streets there’s only legal parking on one side of the street. This means that every week on Wednesday and Thursday, we get to have the “Great Car Shuffle!”

It sounds more exciting that it really is.

I Have Left Elvis’s Building

Every pilgrimage needs its Graceland, its Mecca. For Millions of Muslims, their Gracelend is, um, Mecca. For Tanya and me, our Graceland was…well…Graceland.

Memphis, Tennessee.

You got it. More vacation photos! See, Tanya and I realized that our trip from Nags Head, North Carolina to Los Angeles would take us right through Memphis. So how could we possibly turn down an easy trip to Elvis’s house? Well, we couldn’t. We didn’t. We went. And I took pictures.

But before we got to Graceland we passed through Scottsboro, Alabama. If that place sounds familiar to you, then you probably harbor a secret desire to buy other people’s lost airline luggage. You see, Scottsboro is home to the Unclaimed Baggage Center. The place where millions of pieces of unclaimed lost luggage get sold at low, low prices to greedy patrons willing to profit from other people’s misfortune.

I am one of those people! I want to buy people’s lost stuff. I was really just hoping that a lot of musicians had run into recent bad luck at the hands of the airlines. So you can imagine my excitement when I learned that the place I had just heard about on the national news was only a few blocks away!

We got off the freeway and weaved our way through town. There’s really no easy way to get to this place. You have to be alert and follow the directions that you read off the freeway billboard. But I was on a mission. And we found it! My dream was about to come true.

Only, I forgot one key thing. We were in Alabama…and it was Sunday. Nothing is open on Sundays in the Bible belt. Hell, you’re lucky to find a freaking church with its doors unlocked.

So I did what any other red blooded American would do in this situation.

I pouted.


And Tanya made fun of me.


What the South fails to realize is that people who are willing to buy other people’s lost stuff don’t have much need for church. Damnit! Heathens want to buy crap on Sunday!

I hate the Bible belt.

But we finally made it to Graceland.


We took the tour. We saw Elvis’s dining room! Wow. He like ate here and stuff…sometimes.


We saw the infamous “TV room.” This room looks like something out of James Lilek’s “Interior Desecrations.” You can’t really see it in the picture but underneath that creepy porcelain monkey with the pitch black, lifeless eyes there’s a sign that reads “Please Do Not Touch.” I’m pretty sure that’s because that black eyed monkey “will eat you!


Also, there are also only two TVs pictured here. Of course you know there are three. You can pretend like you don’t know anything about Elvis, but secretly you have the knowledge that Elvis had three TVs in his TV room. You’ve known all along, haven’t you? Clandestinely, we’re all hicks.

Here’s the back of Graceland. Nobody ever really wonders what the back of Graceland looks like. Not until you bring it up anyway. Well, this is what it looks like. Awesome.


The tour through Graceland is an audio tour. You have to listen to headphones the entire time. Everyone in the joint looked like obstinate teenagers. If every tourist didn’t look as if they were genuinely interested in everything, I would have felt as if I’d stumbled into my worst vacation nightmare.


And lastly...

Elvis is dead.




Fun Fact: It was Kevin’s birthday the other day! Go to his website and click around. Let him know that you care that he’s one year closer to death.

He’s almost 30!

How did Kevin celebrate his birthday this year? Well, he got 6 stitches under his chin thanks to a sea kayak.

And he stepped on a bee.

Fun!



P.S. This post was supposed to be up yesterday but...Blogger is a piece of stupid, stupid crap!

Like a Little Waxy Angel

Dear Shiloh Nouvel Jolie-Pitt of the future (the real one, not the candle-like thing at Mme. Tussaud's),

It’s your 16th birthday! Happy sweet 16, kid.

Hold on a second, I have to go outside really quickly and water my flowerbeds. I’m 16 years older now too. I’m going to be 50 soon, and lately I’ve been getting these irrational urges to water the hell out of my yard.

I suppose that I should explain why I’ve decided to write this letter to you.

I was at the gym one morning, 16 years ago, and I saw a story on CNN about your paraffin doppelganger over at the Wax Museum. Now, it’s been a while since the story of a wax “you” first came out, a couple of days actually, but some genius over at the news network decided that they could stretch the story out a bit (god knows there was noting else going on at the time). They went on and on about how you were the first baby ever to be immortalized in wax at Tussaud's famous museum. I’m not sure exactly what kind of honor that is, but it’s the ultimate comeback whenever someone gives you the old “I don’t know who you think you are, young lady” routine. “I was the first goddamned wax baby!” You can shout at them. Why not throw a laté in their smug faces to add some extra effect.

Now I’m not saying that you would do such a thing. I’m just saying that if I were the first wax baby, I certainly would. Especially if someone called me “young lady.”

I just got to thinking that you might be tired of hearing about your evil wax twin. I mean, it’s 16 years later and CNN is still running segments on it every other day (I’m starting to think that Ted Turner has a bit of a fetish thing going on. Oh, no, not for babies, just for wax.).

So I figured that I would explain to you why your wax baby figure initially garnered so much attention. It’s like this:

For one, your parents used to be really famous. I mean like, really famous. Especially after your dad dumped his first wife to travel the world with your mother (incidentally, his first wife is Jennifer Aniston. That’s right, Senator Jennifer Aniston! The same Senator Aniston who was later deemed to be incompetent after it was discovered that she was elected as a joke.) Your parents used to make big movies and save the children of the world. I know it’s strange to hear about your parents making movies since your mom now lives in a Quonset hut somewhere in the African jungle working tirelessly to eradicate that deadly new strain of whooping cough and your dad…well, cut the guy some slack, he was actually a pretty talented actor, I realize that porn isn’t acting per-se, but he used to make real movies, he just was never the same after your mom left him. Very sad.

Anyway, why was your wax self so popular? Because you were popular. The most popular baby on the planet (tell that to those cheerleaders who keep flipping you crap about your dad!). And why were you so popular? Well, this is where things get tricky.

When you were born, the Iraq war was only a few years old (Thanks god that, after much begging, Al Gore finally decided to run for president again). The war was going terribly. It was worse then than it was when it began. And America needed a distraction. After all, who wants to pay attention to a depressing old war, right? People figured that if they just stared at the celebrity baby long enough the war would take care of itself.

It didn’t.

In fact, things got a lot worse. Israel took the initiative to act on terrorist attacks by Hezbollah. They bombed the crap out of Lebanon. It was scary. It made the Iraq war look as if it was never going to end. Especially since Georgie Bush refused to help the situation. And Condoleezza Rice…? What the hell does she do for the government anyway? I mean, I could go around the world and piss people off, does that require a lot of talent?

That was around about the time that your polyethylene self was being squeezed out Madame Tussaud's waxy womb. And BAM! We had a reason to live again. And the media could remain upbeat! Thank god for that! Real issues can be such a downer.

So I wanted to write this letter to you to tell you that if you ever get tired of hearing about that inconsequential wax figure of yourself on CNN, blame former president Bush.

Go ahead, blame him.

I like to blame him for hundreds of things. And I’ve never been wrong yet.

Hang in there Shiloh. And happy 16th again! Call you dad every once in a while. He could probably use a friend right about now.

TAM


Fun Fact: Seriously, I got an obscene amount of joy when I typed the phrase “former President Bush” earlier. I felt the clouds part. I felt the hand of somebody’s god.

I envisioned George Bush being booed off the lecture circuit for being a complete moron because nobody felt obligated to listen to him anymore.

Ahhhhhh…that’s the stuff.

First in F(l)ight

More vacation photos. Aren’t you the lucky one?

The Outer Banks of North Carolina have many things to offer tourists but probably the most famous is Kitty Hawk. You know, that place where Orville and Wilbur Wright made their infamous first “powered” flight.

I like Kitty Hawk. I’ve been there a few times. The last time was about 13 years ago. Here’s what it looked like then.


That’s Mike in that picture, not me. He went with me last time. In a completely heterosexual way.

Here’s what it looks like now. It’s pretty much the same angle on this picture as the last one. The only difference is that, this time, my big fat head is taking up the whole frame.


And why is my big fat head taking up the whole frame? Because I was my own camera man that’s why. Tanya didn’t want to run the camera that day. She was in “a mood.” Don’t believe me? Well, here’s a picture of her “mood.”

Pouty.


But she wasn’t pouty all day. Here she is pretending that she can fly simply by putting her arms out. Yes, we were at Kitty Hawk and Tanya was pretending to be an airplane. We were “those” kind of tourists.




Here she is playing patty cake with a statue.


Sure, I had to be my own camera man all day but I still had fun taking goofy pictures. Here’s Tanya pretending to hold the Wright Bros. Memorial in the palm of her hand.


I told you, we were “those” kind of tourists.

And here’s a picture that I took of myself doing the same thing. This kind of picture requires a deft, almost innate knowledge of space and angles. I think I pulled the effect off quite nicely.


All in all, it was a very nice trip to Kitty Hawk and not once did I pester a stranger with the phrase, “Excuse me sir/ma’am, but could you take our picture? Just hit that silver button on top. No…the silver one. It’s the silver one. The…one on top. …It’s the goddamned silver button, you freaking po! Jesus, how did you even manage to make it to Kitty Hawk in the first place?! I hope you don’t have children! By the way, those things that people dig in the dirt are called holes in the ground and that thing that you speak out of is your asshole! …oh wait, the button is red…sorry…my mistake…would you mind taking our picture?”

Not once did I say that to anyone. There was no need. I am a masterful cameraman.




Fun Fact: There wasn’t actually a fight that forced me to be the cameraman for the day. It was just something that we thought would be funny. No, actually the only time that we really fought at Kitty Hawk was when Tanya wanted to run the camera.

I’m a controlling jerk. But I wouldn’t have to be if Tanya would just take pictures that way that I want her to!

Let’s end this post with a picture that Tanya took.


You see?! Do you see how that’s all wrong!!!!

Man.


P.S. This post would have been up a lot sooner today if Blogger wasn’t a stupid, stupid piece of stupid crap!!! That’s a fact.

We're Baaaack

Tanya and I got back on Friday from our whirlwind tour of the hottest states in America. North Carolina, Tennessee, Georgia (very briefly), Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and finally home to California.

First, as you already probably know, we spent a week in Nags Head, North Carolina on the Outer Banks where we passed the time swimming in the Atlantic Ocean, looking at lighthouses and eating boiled peanuts.

If you’ve never had a boiled peanut, you’re missing a unique experience. Is it a good experience? Well, you’ll have to be the judge of that. Eat a boiled peanut today! (This message has been brought to you by the Boiled Peanut Advisory Council of North Carolina)

We spent more time in Nags Head than we had anticipated when we “planned” this trip. We were having a really good time with my family (which I hadn’t seen in a hell of a long time). Even though they could be extremely loud, there aren’t another 18 people that I’d rather share a house with.

Yes, we stayed with 18 of my relatives. And we actually had fun.

Anyway, now we’re back. And I miss the open road already. I mean, our car has air conditioning. Our apartment on the other hand…


Fun Fact: The first picture above is of a lightening storm that hit the Outer Banks on the second to the last day that we were there. I think it was the pre cursor to a tropical storm that passed by there. But I can’t be sure. What do I look like, a weatherman?!

I’ll post more pictures here as I sift through them. In the meantime, here are a couple. One thing that you should know; I was in charge of the camera for most of the trip so most of the pictures of me look like the one here.

This next picture was meant to be a contrast to the first picture at the top of the post. Just in case you thought that it rained the entire time we were at Nags Head. It only rained the last two nights. Our days were almost completely clear.

Anyway, as I was resizing this picture to post it, I noticed something about it that I hadn’t noticed before. Something in the water. Something that I hadn’t intended to photograph.

Nags Head Nessie!

I’ll make a fortune!

Unless it’s just a dumb old dolphin.

Leaving Nags Head

There are some people out there who said, "hey, you should post from the road!"

So, this is it. I'm "posting from the road."

Isn't this fun?! See you soon.

TAM


Fun Fact: This computer has been in this beach rental house the entire time I've been here. It has DSL. It's a nice computer.

I only learned that it was here yesterday.

And I didn't care.


Also, that logo at the top of the post is for the new and improved Outer Banks. They spell things with "X"s instead of "K"s now. They're way cool. If they ever start to spell things with "Z"s instead of "S"s, I don't know if I could stay here ever again. They might just "cool" themselves right out of my "coolness class."

What's up with that?! This place used to be cool, but still lame enough for me to enjoy. Now it gone and "cooled" itself all up and stuff! What am I supposed to do now?! How can I find a place that's still nice, but lame enough that I can hang? This is just another way that the "cool" people are keeping down the "lame class!"

It's the gentrification of coolness.

I hate "coolification."

On the Road Again

It’s almost that time. The time when Tanya and I take a little tour of these United States. We’re heading out on Sunday night to fly to Norfolk, VA, and then it’s on to spend a few of days on the beautiful shores of the Outer Banks in North Carolina.

I really like visiting the Outer Banks. What’s not to like? It’s the place where the Wright Brothers took their first flight (a fact that the license plates of North Carolina will never let you forget). It’s got some of the largest exposed sand dunes in the country. It has Ocracoke island, a place that was frequented by the dread pirate Blackbeard (and since pirates are all the rage these days, this fact is cool and trendy). And not too far away from where we’ll be staying is the Lost Colony of Roanoke (one of its greatest legacies is that Andy Griffith got his start acting in their little Lost Colony theatrical production – which I still have never seen).

I hope that we’ll find some time to get to Roanoke. I’ve been there before. It’s strange, but every time I visit that place I become convinced that I can solve the mystery of the lost colony. I know that hundreds of scholars and researchers have spent countless hours and used their interminable collective expertise trying to figure out what happened to that hapless group of first settlers, but when I go to the place and see the mounds of dirt and hear the stories, I still feel as if my insight into the matter will crack the case.

I’m an idiot.

If you don’t know what I’m talking about with Roanoke, go here to learn more. The short version is this: Some settlers came from England to establish the first western colony in the new world. They chose Roanoke Island. One of the colony’s leaders, John White, sailed for England to snag some more supplies for the colonists in 1587. Well, some crap came up and nobody was able to return with supplies until 1590. By then, all of the colonists had vanished into thin air. No bodies, no nothing. Only a word carved on a nearby tree "Croatoan." Evidentially, either the colonists were killed by Indians and marauders or they got tired of waiting three years for tea and Guinness and toddled off for greener pastures.

Legend has it that, years later, blue-eyed natives turned up. Ooohh. What a mystery. Did the colonists get killed or come down with a ribald case of jungle fever? Maybe we’ll never know.

Unless, of course, I can make it to Roanoke while I’m at the Outer Banks and solve the mystery.

After we kick around in North Carolina for a while we’re heading back to Los Angeles via road trip. We’re going to be touring through the not-so-deep south. First we visit Nashville and Memphis (to see the Egyptian stuff…or Graceland, whichever one it is that we have in the Memphis in this country, I’m so worldly that I often get my Memphises confused).

After Tennessee, the trip gets a whole lot less interesting…on paper.

We’ll be heading through Arkansas, Oklahoma, Northern Texas, New Mexico and Arizona. Or, as I like to refer to it, “America’s Nothing Belt.”

Not a whole hell of a lot to see in those places, but I’m sure that we’ll have a good time trying to find something.

While I’m gone, why don’t you go on your own mini vacation across the US with us? Just take out your largest map of the lower states and scoot your butt across it. Sure, it won’t be quite the same, but, honestly, you’ll probably have about as much to look at as we will as we’re actually driving through Northern Texas.


Fun Fact: I’m kind of looking forward to visiting Oklahoma. All I know about the state right now is that the wind comes sweeping down the plane and the wavin’ wheat sure smells sweet when the wind comes right behind the rain. Also, I’ve surmised that their main products are barley, carrots and pertaters, (pasture fer the) cattle, spinach and termayters. They have June bugs, lazy hawks and they call their sweethearts “honey lamb.”

I also know that Tanya’s going to go crazy while we’re there as I plan to try to hold out the first note of the Broadway classic song for the entire duration of our visit to the 46th state.

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaklahoma…..

OK!

So Now I’m Back from Outer Space

You should have changed your stupid lock. You should have made me leave my key.

I’ve been on a brief hiatus lately. Tanya and I have been house-sitting. Well, house-sitting and dog sitting. The people whose house we look after bought a new dog recently (the dog we used to look after passed away. So did the old cat. Now that I think about it, maybe Tanya and I aren’t the best people to care for pets?). The new dog is fun, but man, he requires a lot of attention. He completely wore me out with his constant desire to tear-ass around the back yard. He just wants to play all the time. And he doesn’t want to play alone. He wants me to chase after him. Doesn’t he realize that I’m going to be 33 soon? Doesn’t he realize that I’m lazy?! I don’t have the energy to play “keep-away” at every available moment. I suppose I was encouraging him a bit by letting him win all the time. I could have totally gotten that bone away from him. Easy! I just didn’t want the puppy to feel bad about himself.

Maybe by the time we house sit next life will have worn him down to a dull, lifeless pile of dog hair content to watch the world pass him by and wait for death?

Oh, man, that would be sweet.

I also had to go to the dentist yesterday. I hate the dentist. I mean, I really hate the dentist. Which, I suppose, makes me a glutton for punishment since I decided to go to UCLA Dental School to get my work done. Now, UCLA is a great school, so it’s not like getting your hair cut at the local Barber College. But the morons at the barber college don’t poke at your gums with sharp instruments either.

I’m going to go ahead and wager a guess that you’ve been to the dentist before. I’m also going to assume that you’ve had your gums probed with one of those pokey gum probing thingies. Those things that they shove down into your gum line to check for bone loss and periodontal disease. Those things that make having a toothpick shoved under your fingernail feel like a manicure.

I hate it.

Well, thanks to the fact that my resident “dentist” had little experience with the procedure (and thanks to the fact that I’m a big pussy who flinched every time she crammed that thing into my jawbone) I got to experience the process a grand total of three times!

Whenever the instructor came around to check my resident’s work I crossed my fingers that she wouldn’t have to do it again. I think I may have even prayed a little. I suddenly became her greatest cheerleader. I’ve never wanted a student to succeed so much in my life. Now I know how her parents must feel.

Anyway, it turns out that I don’t have an abscess as I previously thought (yeah me!). Just horrible, horrible gums. Usually, the protocol for me at the dentist is to sit in the chair, get my teeth poked at and, given the state of my gums, have the dentist tell me how awful my oral hygiene must be. I wind up leaving the place feeling like I’ve got the brushing technique and mouth of a crack whore (but without the potential income that it could generate, which could come in handy when it comes time to pay the bill).

But yesterday I was finally diagnosed with a genetic condition. Finally! I knew that I was blameless! I knew that my bad gums couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that I smoke, eat questionable meat products and sometime go entire weeks without brushing!

No, I don’t do those last two things. But it is nice to finally have a dentist give me a freaking break for once. It was nice to have a dentist who didn’t berate me. It was nice to have a dentist who didn’t make me feel like I had gums that could have only been crafted by Satan himself. I’m still in shock.

Has anybody checked the temperature in hell lately? I’m fairly certain that there’s been a cold snap.


Fun Fact: I’ve talked a lot of crap about my gums, but really, they’re not as bad as all that. Sure, they’re not in great shape, but at least it’s not something that you can see.

And if anyone out there is as afraid of the dentist as I am, I suggest that you go to the nearest (respectable) dental school to have your treatment. There’s nothing like a younger, ambitious co-ed to make you act like a tough guy. Sure, inside you’ll be screaming, but the thought of looking like a pussy in front of a college chick is enough to help you hold it together. At least to the point that you can walk out of the dentist’s office with your dignity still intact.

And, trust me, if I can leave a dentist office with dignity, anyone can.

Disabled Vet Please Help $$$ God Bless

I wasn't going to post today. But I got an update email from a company about a product that someday I hope to buy. I speak of course of the Vienna Symphonic Library of sampled instruments. It's a bunch of note samples from various symphonic instruments, painstakingly recorded and presented for easy use by most sampling software.

First, I need to get a new computer and set aside 550 gigabytes of space for the library. There are over 800,000 samples in all. Then I need to raise about $11,000 to buy the library itself.

So, I guess what I'm saying is...do you have $11,000 I can have?

If so, please leave a comment. I would be more than happy to pay you back by writing a song for you (p.s. I would like the "Symphonic Cube" thanks).

TAM


Fun Fact: You can listen to what other (very talented) people have done using these samples. Go here. Click on the "open" button. I recommend "Journey Down Rabbit Lane." Lame title, cool tune.

Don't be afraid to listen to the songs. It's classical music. Very nice. And remember that these songs were performed using nothing but instrument samples complied together note-by-note on a computer.

Symphony Orchestras aren't obsolete...yet.

And This is My Youngest Brother who we Just Call Pansy-Ass

Is this the way you introduce your youngest brother? If so, your parents probably had a lot of boys. There is a new study out that seems to show that the more full-blooded older brothers a man has, the more likely he is to be gay.

Oh, and if you introduce your youngest brother like that you’re also a homophobic jerk. He’s your brother. Show a little respect for the guy. He doesn’t introduce you as his older asshole (at least not while you’re around anyway).

Incidentally, the picture above is from “My Three Sons.” Which begs the question, why the hell did they need this study? Wasn’t “Ernie” proof enough?

Okay, you know what? I didn’t really want to post about this today. Well, I did, but I changed my mind a little while ago. Steve was nice enough to give this blog a shout out yesterday. He liked my Old School blog post. He even linked to a letter that he wrote to himself in 1990. It’s great. Go here and read it.

I was inspired to find an old note that I wrote to my girlfriend in high school. I also have one that I wrote to another (later in high school) girl that I liked. I don’t have a lot of notes that I wrote to girls in high school because…well…I gave the notes to them. I suppose I could have said “hey, baby, you know I love you like the moon loves to shine, but, when you’re done reading it, would it be possible for me to get that note back? You know, for posterity?”

I may have come off a bit arrogant if I had done that. Sure, I was arrogant, but no self-respecting teenager wants to look arrogant. So, all of my old masterpieces are now sitting at some girls house, with the exception of a couple that inexplicably never got delivered. Hopefully the girls kept the other notes I wrote. Most of them probably didn’t. I kept there’s! (some of them) Maybe I’ll post them sometime…if I can ever find them.

So, instead of walking down memory lane today, I get to post about the gay child study.

The study suggests that a man's sexual orientation may be influenced by the conditions in his mother's womb when he was a fetus. I’m not sure how. Maybe after having so many boys, the mother’s womb tries to create a more inviting atmosphere for future residents by decorating with lacy curtains and frilly throw pillows thus dooming any future males to a lifetime of Republican oppression (but possibly creating über-women as well)?

Man, I really wish that I could find those old notes.

Anyway, back to the study. The question of “Nature v Nurture” has been raging for years now…

You know, I bet that I put them in the storage closet downstairs. But it’s a real pain in the ass to get into that thing. I have to climb all over my dirty car and dig past all the Christmas decorations…

Tell you what, let’s just agree that gay men are born and not “turned” and leave it at that. After all, we don’t say that people “turn” heterosexual. To say that homosexuality and heterosexuality are somehow different “urges” is simply asinine.

Let us also agree that this study, with its scope and funding, answers another important question.

Yes, it’s true…no one cares about lesbians. In fact, I’m starting to think that they don’t really exist outside of a “raging kegger” setting anyway.

Who cares. I’m distracted. I’m going to try to find those notes.


Fun Fact: I’m the oldest child in my family. If my parents had liked each other more and had a couple more sons, I could have been a “gay maker!”

Man, I miss out on everything.

See, kids. Divorce hurts everyone.

Power Hungry!

Electricity. Sweet, sweet electricity. You don’t know what it means to you until it’s gone. So, Electricity, let us never fight again.

Yup, the power went out in the apartment last night at midnight. It didn’t come back until noon today. But did the lack of a functioning computer stop me from blogging?

Hell no. I’m hardcore.

HARDCORE!

This is what blogging looked like before the internet:

Ripped from the Comments Section

Just like Law and Order! Kevin made a great comment on the post from yesterday and I was simply going to respond to it in the comments section. But my response would have been really large and I would have probably had to split it in two. So, I decided to turn the whole thing into a post. Why not? I’ve got to post about something, right?

Here goes. Here’s what Kevin had to say:

I can understand a non-Christian not wanting to hear the rantings of somebody who acknowledges Jesus as part of their life. But why is it that it's always Christians that bring their faith into daily life? You never hear about a Muslim acknowledging Allah at graduation or a Hindu thanking Buddha for continued strength. It's just an observation. Maybe they do and the press just doesn't cover it. I don't know. Personally, if I were at a graduation and someone started talking about how Buddha has helped them through trials and tribulations, it really wouldn't bother me. Good for them. Glad he helped ya out. Maybe other "Christians" would be upset, but I don't think I would. I don't believe in Buddha. He's never helped me. But I don't think it would upset me if someone else talked about him. Buddha doesn't threaten my beliefs. To me, that wouldn't infringe on freedom of speech. For some reason, Christianity evidently infringes on some peoples' ideas of freedom of speech. I'm not judging or complaining. Simply making an observation. Like I said, I can understand others being upset. But for me, it wouldn't be that big of a deal.

Now me:

I think the reason that I’m most upset is that this girl was told not to be specific about her faith. I’m sure that if she had said “my faith has been the thing that…blah, blah, blah…” then the event would have gone off without a hitch. But she wasn’t interested in sharing the fact that her faith is important to her in a personal way. She was more interested in testifying. Preaching the specifics of her belief system. Even though she was told not to. And I’m not one to do stuff just because someone told me not to (especially when I feel as if I’m being repressed by that someone), but…

Her actions made the graduation ceremony all about her. It was a selfish act of defiance. It was her opportunity to do what she wanted to do and damn the others. This was her graduation after all and nobody was going to tell her what “might” or “might not” offend her fellow classmates. And I’m pretty sure that there were more students in her graduating class than just her, right? How many of those other students were offended? I would have been. More because of this girl’s selfish behavior at my graduation than the actual words that came out of her mouth (does that make me selfish? Am I more selfish for not wanting to be offended than she is for not giving a damn?).

So how many students were actually offended? We don’t really know. Brittany McComb (the girl) doesn’t know. And furthermore, she doesn’t care. See, because in her mind, she’s right. She’s convinced of it. The question never crossed her mind. Yes, she told the administrators at the high school that she wouldn’t mention God in her speech and then later reneged. But, according to her, it was never a question of ethics…she was bullied into agreeing to their terms.

And that’s another frustrating part of this. How do you explain to someone that is so convinced that their beliefs are righteous, that other people may not agree? It’s impossible. And it’s not a noble task either. Destroying another person’s beliefs. It’s not admirable. That’s why these rules are in effect, so the debate doesn’t have to take place at someone’s high school graduation.

Kevin mentioned that he doesn’t hear a lot of people talk about Buddha and Allah at events such as this. That’s true. At least in this country it’s true. I’m sure that in the Middle East there’s a lot of Allah in people’s high school graduations (Allah is very popular at suicide bombings). In Tibet, they probably bandy Buddha’s name around quite a bit. The reason we don’t hear it much around here is that this is a very Christian-centric country. We all know that. As a non-Christian, I’m pretty darned aware of the fact.

And this is my point. Christians are always accusing us non-Christians of being too thin-skinned. What they don’t realize (actually, they do realize it, they just don’t care because they think that they’re “right”) is that by talking about Christianity at events that we non-believers have every right to be a part of, they are in essence excluding us. They are dividing the audience. They are taking away our common experience. As soon as God gets mentioned, I don’t belong anymore. And I’m not one to be a joiner, but if it was my high school graduation, I would want to feel like I was included whole-heartedly. That’s what ceremonies like this are for. That’s why kids go to these things (that’s also, incidentally, why I didn’t want to go to mine, but I did and It was pleasant). That’s why the kids all dress in the same robes and get the same diploma. It’s a collective right of passage. Bringing religion into what is essentially a non-religious event only works to polarize the group.

It would be the same if I had been the valedictorian on my graduating class (that would have never happened) and I had gotten up to give a speech only to start talking about how my faith in the absence of God and disbelief in the martyrdom of Jesus is what made me the top in my class. I would have been run out of there on a rail. Why? Because what I would have essentially been saying is that “I’m the top of my class because I’m smart enough to not be brainwashed by mythology.”

And one last thing about Brittany McComb. A good deal of people in the “Christian community” (whatever that means) are treating her as if she’s some kind of martyr for standing up to the oppressive, cold, God hating federal government. But after Jesus was nailed to the cross, him mom didn’t turn around and sue the Romans. If you’re going to play the martyr, then do it right or don’t do it at all.


Fun Fact: According to the US Geological Survey, dinosaurs first appeared around 230 million years ago.

What the USGS doesn’t know is that dinosaur bones were actually planted in the ground around 5000 years ago by God to test man’s faith.

Makes sense to me. Evolution is such a complicated process. So complicated that it’s nearly impossible to believe.

The God idea is way easier to swallow. I mean, we all know how to bury things.

Another Long Day

Is it just me or does this day feel like the longest one of the entire year?

Okay, I know that it’s not just me. It’s the Summer Solstice! The official beginning of summer and the longest day of the year. I should say that today contains the longest period of daylight of any other day of the year. The day is not actually any longer than any other day since, technically speaking, all days consist of 24 hours, no more, no less…that is, until the wacko scientists take over and start adding leap hours in order to make up for our flawed calendar and keep our global wristwatch synchronized with the rest of the universe. There’s nothing more embarrassing than being invited to an intergalactic event and showing up late because your planet is running a few years slow.

Anyway, it’s the Summer Solstice, a day when hippies everywhere head to the woods to sit in earthen Native American sweat lodges, suck down herbs and beat on drums to honor our earth mother.

Yeah for Summer Solstice.

Personally, my favorite thing about the Summer Solstice is that it’s all downhill from here on our way to autumn. The days can only get shorter. And for those of us who enjoy a long evening, that’s the best news.


Now for some irritating news.

I was watching the Today Show this morning and I saw a girl on there named Brittany McComb. She was the class valedictorian of Foothill High School in Henderson, Nevada. Since she was the class valedictorian, she was planning on giving a speech to the rest of her class about what made her the really smart and successful chick that she turned out to be.

Unfortunately, when she turned her speech over to school officials for review, there were a few problems. The speech had a number of references to God in it. There was one specific instance where she named Jesus as her lord and savior and a reference to God's love being so great that he gave his only son to suffer an excruciated death in order to cover everyone's shortcomings and forge a path to heaven. So the school officials, since they believe in the separation of church and state and said references were “faith specific”, told Brittany that she had to edit those parts of her speech or else she would not be allowed to address the school at graduation.

Brittany agreed.

But was that the end of it? Oh no. Brittany went ahead and said all that stuff anyway. Most of it went unheard however since the school pulled the juice from her microphone. Something they promised they would do if any of the speakers diverged from their approved speeches.

Now Brittany and her parents are hopping mad. They feel as if their right to free speech has been infringed upon (although, it was a school sponsored event and what people need to realize is that, yes, we all have the right to free speech, but we don’t have the right to use anyone else’s forum that we choose to). In fact, they’re so mad that they’re going to sue the school over it. And they’re sure that they’ve got God on their side.

One thing is for certain, they’ve got NBCs Campbell Brown on their side. Campbell was the reporter of the story. She thinks that Brittany is quite the little rebel. A rebel to be admired.

It’s nice to see that “journalists” are unbiased by their own religious beliefs.

I shouldn’t be too hard on Campbell though. After all, this report was on the Today Show. I don’t know what kind of hard-hitting journalism I was expecting.

But I have to tell you. I’m tired of having to deal with the child warriors in God’s army. I would no sooner take financial advice from a 18-year-old than I would take spiritual advice. Even if that 18-year-old was the freaking valedictorian of her graduating class.

When Brittany’s mic was cut off, others in her class booed. And I’m pretty damned sure that they weren’t booing because of infringements of free speech. They were upset that they couldn’t hear one of their own spread the gospel a little. They were upset because the big-bad people at the school were winning. It doesn’t matter what’s right.

Getting back to God’s chosen teenagers. There’s been a lot of press lately about high school students harassing science teachers about evolution and stuff. When I was in high school I can remember many rallies where groups of Christian kids showed up to picket for the right to pray in school.

I guess I’m just getting tired of the kids. I see no difference between the jerkass high school kid who makes his science teacher miserable and those little soldiers you see in third world countries. You know who I’m talking about. Those kids with the AK47s. Those poor little brainwashed children who are out on the front lines to fight for ideals that they can’t possibly comprehend.

And if you tell me that there’s a difference in their idealism, then back it up. Explain to me how the gun toting teens are any different than Brittany McComb. I’m not talking about their methods of expression. Obviously the kids who kill people are much worse. Brittany never killed anyone. I’m talking about their idealism.

I mean, is “brainwashing” only possible if the person that’s doing it has different values from yours?

Let me know.

In the meantime, would obnoxious teenagers just shut the hell up?! And if you refuse to, and if you’re going to continue to be obnoxious, at least say something new.


Fun Fact: You can see Brittany’s interview on the Today Show here. Click on the “Silenced Valedictorian Speaks Out” link (that’s one unbiased headline, baby). Listen to Brittany’s words of wisdom. Her parents are even smarter! I especially like her father’s liberal use of the word “ain’t.”

Bucking a Stereotype

West Hollywood has always been considered one of the more…liberal…cities around Los Angeles.

Almost as if they’re proving a point, the West Hollywood city council is voting whether or not to approve a resolution that would attempt to decriminalize the casual use of marijuana. The resolution is designed to encourage police officers to focus on more serious crimes than pot smoking. Crimes like crack smoking and the mutilation of people’s pet dogs’ ears.

Smoking pot would still be illegal in the city, especially if done on the streets. And dealers would still be pursued. But the days of SWAT teams breaking down people’s doors while they’re kicking back on a Saturday night will, the city hopes, be a thing of the past.

This will solve two problems: The first being that cops will no longer have to suffer debilitating foot injuries from all that door-kicking. And two, in West Hollywood anyway, “Saturday Night Live” just might be funny again.

But West Hollywood has always been on the cutting edge as far as “resolutions” go. And why not? It’s a cutting edge type of place. I mean, if you consider being a homosexual “cutting edge.” Which I don’t since homosexuality has been around since the dawn of man. So I just ruined my own argument, didn’t I? Well, tough tympanis. It’s my blog.

But I did want to bring attention to West Hollywood’s prominent gay community. It’s a fine community. Good people. And they keep the place very tidy.

West Hollywood is a place where gay people can walk freely, without fear of being considered “deviant.” And, believe me, these gay communities are important battlegrounds in the war against intolerance. The homosexual people of West Hollywood are sending a strong message that there’s nothing devious or depraved about being a gay person in this day and age.

There is dignity in being gay. There’s nothing to be ashamed about. Gays aren’t just viewed sex-starved freaks who like to dress up like sadomasochistic circus clowns to march in parades to Village People music and give reach-arounds while redecorating someone’s den.

Not any more. Those stereotypes are as tired as a lesbian’s Doc Martins.

Gone are the days when gay people had to relegate their sexual adventures to clandestine rendezvous in the back seat of a Prius parked in a darkened alley.

You can do that in the open now! Because in West Hollywood, they’ve already passed a resolution that has decriminalized having sex in parked cars.

Yes, folks, West Hollywood is that liberal. And classy too! The city council has sent a clear message here. Gay people like to have sex in cars! And that’s okay. It’s just what gay people do, right? They like to have sex in cars. And why shouldn’t they? It’s a gay ol’ time!

Man, the city council in West Hollywood is really making amazing strides in the way that gay people are viewed by the ignorant public. That’s just what the gay community needs, a hot beef injection of pure class. Good job, men!

But hey, I shouldn’t be too hard on the West Hollywood City Council for passing that “sex in cars” resolution.

I mean, they were probably stoned at the time.


Fun Fact: Congratulate Kevin on his recent mention in the Boston Globe! His parody of James Blunt’s “Beautiful” is getting some press. Right alongside Weird Al! That’s great for Kevin, but it’s good for me too. I did the music for Kevin’s version (I also did the camera work, and Tanya did the playback!)

Yeah me!

If you haven’t heard the tune lately or seen the video, watch it! It didn’t used to have my accompaniment on it but now it does. Taste the difference!

1000 Words

You know the old adage about a picture being worth a thousand words. I wonder if it still holds true today? Is there some kind of adjustment for the amount of megapixels? And what if your camera can record sound? Is a picture with sound worth more than a thousand words?

Does anyone really care? Does postulating such questions make a person seem “deep” or just desperate to sound philosophical? Or is the question-asker just trying desperately to put some words together to look clever and tell you about his new digital camera?

The answer is the latter.

Yes, Tanya and I bought a new camera. Its immediate purpose is to take pictures of our impending trip across the country. Its not-so-immediate purpose is none of your business.

Here’s a picture of the camera that I took with the camera.

It’s not the top of the line or anything, but I think it will serve its purpose quite admirably. I’ve been playing with it a little bit this morning. It’s easy to use. Its biggest advantage (one you can’t see in the picture) is that it has a good sized viewing screen on the back. It’s also nice and compact. Perfect for misplacing.

It was refurbished so we got it a good price. I records 5 megapixels. It also records (surprisingly good) video with (surprisingly good) sound. There’s a little mic on the front. Not a mic that I would ever record an album with, but it’ll definitely be able to do its job at my family reunion this summer.

Maybe when I get back I’ll make a sound collage of every one of my relatives saying to me, “what do you mean you’re only staying three days?!”


Fun Fact: Yesterday, as I mentioned yesterday, I tooled around the greater LA area doing some location scouting. I was lucky enough to have to go to the Huntington Library and Botanical Gardens. I had never been there before. If you haven’t been there, I suggest you go.

It’s gardeny!

Note: This picture was taken with the old camera, thus the slight focus problem. The new camera was one half a day late for my first scouting gig.

Hey Look Behind You! No, Really! There’s Something Behind You! Look!

See, that? That there is what we in the “biz” call “misdirection.” A way to draw your attention to something else while slight of hand is being performed right in front of you without you ever knowing.

Sucker.

You probably didn’t even notice that the blog post from yesterday has disappeared, did you? That’s because I was very sneaky about it. A good slight of hand artist never reveals his tricks, however.

It’s magic!

Also, I changed the TAM Cartoon again! Man, am I ever sneaky. Sure, you might be thinking to yourself “I would be a lot more impressed if this guy wasn’t such a dumbass.”

You would be right.


Fun Fact: Today I get to pretend that I’m a Location Scout. So I’m off to the four corners of the city to take pictures of various things.

If you know of any place around here with cool topiaries that look like animals and junk, let me know. I already know about the ones on the 3rd Street Promenade in Santa Monica.

Also, another fun fact: This is only the second time in the history of this blog that I’ve deleted anything. The first post I deleted was the very first one. I wish I hadn’t done that. Not because it was anything great, just for posterity. Don’t worry; yesterday’s post isn’t completely gone. It will live forever on my computer’s hard drive.

It's Only Tuesday

My dad and brother are still visiting.

They leave on Wednesday...