Busy Wednesday...

You ever have a time in your life where absolutely nothing happens and, yet, you're far too busy to do anything? Well, that's my world. Welcome to it.

I got an email from my mom today, asking me what's been up, and all I could tell her was, "Nothing... and, yet, I've been inordinately busy." Let's not hope the rest of my life goes like this or they might put on my tombstone, "He was busy... doing... something..." (Good thing I want to be cremated.)

So, what's been in the middle of all this pointless business? (Can I just say that I really hate how "business", as in a place of business, and "business", as in a state of being busy, are spelled the same? Can someone please fix this?)

Vicky's been, well, busy preparing for paralegal exam in July, so I've decided to take over on the sale of With Eyes to See. I've started listing agencies that I can send it to and have run into an interesting problem. Back when I was trying to sell Vampire Society (something I did horribly), there weren't many agencies looking for philosophical fiction, shit that could change your fucking life... not many. With this book, though, there are just GOBS from which to choose. I guess that's because a lot of people read horror; I don't know. So, that's starting up and we'll see how that goes.

Vicky and I are working on getting pregnant but we've been so, well, busy that... um, you get the point.

Love of Your Life is coming along nicely. At 15,000 words, I now understand what it's all about. If No More Blue Roses was about a guy understanding loss, this book is about how we've all lost someone and, yet, all feel isolated in that loss. Nicely, it's also about moving on, which I'm happy to see.

So, people ask how I do that, just sit down and jot down 90-100,000 words in a few months. Barring any consideration of actually selling a book, dog forbid, I figured it out the other night and I can sum it up in one line. "Tell the story." There you go. Three words. If you want to write a book, my advice is just tell the story. Don't worry about if it's good or right - you can fix things later. And, if it really sucks, it's a learning experience. (Talk to me about my first three books, sometime.)

In addition to all this writing, I've decided to keep my eye out for a new job. Now, I'm not saying my new place is any Linksys - not by far. But sometimes you learn that the fit just isn't right and feel like trying for something else. Relationships are like that. So, I'll keep you posted.

I also have a formatting change on this here site, thanks to my favorite blogger, Jenn, which I still need to do... but I've been... you know.

Suki's doing much better since her fall, you'll be happy to hear. Now, Vicky has messed up her back and we need to look after her. I'm next. I'm thinking about driving my car off a high-rise... that might take some planning.

Full of gas...

So, let's see...

Oil companies are making record profits, giving CEOs multi-million dollar retirement packages. Gas prices have hit record highs thanks to artificially inflated prices.

So, what is Shrub's answer to all of this price gouging and monopolizing and basically breaking more laws than... well, Shrub's administration?

Let them pollute more!

Oh, yeah. HE'S not in their pockets!

And in other movie news...

There's a condition, a mania really, that deals with organizing things. People with this condition just love to put things in order and in different orders. You can see this in Pink Floyd's The Wall, the movie by Alan Parker, and to a lesser degree in High Fidelity.

I also have this condition.

And it's yet another reason for Vicky to think I'm completely insane.

... And I'm not arguing.

This started when I was a kid. I would categorize my toys. Then, I'd put my records (LPs) (... forget it...) in order. Then, I'd play my CDs in chronological order (from 1763 to present). Most recently, I've started a new trend.

Right now, for instance, I have no new DVDs to watch (except those Vicky wants me to wait and watch with her). What to do...

Pull them down and watch them in chronological order!

Now, before you think I've lost my mind, I'm not talking about all the DVDs... just about half... about 500...

Like I said, crazy.

Did I? You bet I did! I have stacks of movies waiting to be watched! And I love them! I'm a freaking cinemafile! I love movies!

Right now, I'm in the 1930's (I've been going for a while already), just as sound is beginning to hit the scene. But I could care less, because I absolutely adore silent films. You won't find movies funnier or more innocent. It's not about huge budgets and special effects (at least, not the ones I like), but just the people and the writing. Not even the words - just the feeling.

So, what am I talking about here? Three names: Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd. (Yes, it's alphabetical! You wanna make something of it!)

Chaplin's Modern Times (1936) is still an amazing movie. Not only is it a social statement but the jokes are just sublime! You have tit jokes, cocaine jokes - things you're amazed they did! And then, you have that ending, that magnificent, stolen-from-a-million-times ending.

Keaton's The Cameraman (1928) also has this amazing ending that has you on the edge of your seat. You're in such empathy with Keaton because, even though they called him "Stone Face", you can see the emotion just beneath the surface. He tries so hard not to make a fool of himself - who can't empathize.

Lloyd's Safety Last (1923) is the earliest and, in many ways, most amazing. It was called "Shock Comedy" for a reason - because it showed a guy 30 stories up on the edge of a building. And little did he realize that all their safety precautions were totally worthless. So, it's a good thing he didn't fall.

The best thing about these movies is that all these guys played nice guys. Polite, sincere, warm - I like that. Some people have slighted Chaplin, but most writers applaud him for being a good person and no one disagrees that Keaton and Lloyd were true gentlemen.

Anyone who "doesn't get" silent films or even black and white films probably hasn't seen any, or just has a closed mind. I love the wealth of entertainment they hold and can't wait to watch through the stacks.

See this movie...

See this movie!

See this movie!

See this movie!

It's about goddamned time someone did it. My hat is off to Mr. Al Gore.

Dreams like these...

I awoke this morning from a dream about Vicky. Well, maybe not "about Vicky" (I actually can't remember what it was "about") but Vicky was in it and we were having a nice talk about something. I like having Vicky in my dreams. I dream her as a very pleasant person, which though she can be so in real life is more regular than in the waking world. In my dreams, I can make her however I want her to be. Nice and unstressed, without the problems real life brings you. In our dreams, we sit together a lot and things are idyllic. I like that.

I haven't had a nice dream with Rosa in it for years. When she shows up, you can be guaranteed a bad time. I had one with her in it a few nights ago, for example. This was after I found out that her wages are going to be garnished to pay me back the money I loaned her several years ago. And, although she deserves it and she told horrible lies about me in court, I must feel pretty guilty. The dream showed me this. She showed up at my door, crying. She asked my forgiveness for all the horrible things she's put me through. I said, "It's not up to me to forgive you. I'm tired of that." And she pulled a gun out of her purse, put it up to her head, and pulled the trigger. I could see skull fragments and chunks of brains fly from the back of her head and she fell over, gushing blood. And I felt absolutely terrible when I woke up.

With Vicky, it's different. Last week, I had a dream of us both on our sofa. I was at one end and she was lying across, her head at the other. Her feet were on my lap. And I was watching a TV show about dreams... in my dream. The show ended and Vicky woke up (in my dream) and started telling me about this great dream that she had. I just enjoyed her closeness.

I woke up from my dream this morning, alone in the bed. Vicky was sleeping downstairs to keep the dog from whining. Suki has to be caged after her accident and she whines in there when one of us (Vicky) isn't close. So, she was down there. I walked down and leaned over the sofa and gave her a kiss. I had kissed her there last night, a few times, and I was sorely tempted to climb onto the sofa with her... but not for sleep. But then I started thinking of the logistics of it... so I just went up and went to sleep.

Perchance to dream.

You should see...

Imagine this...

Give peace a chance? Well, it's never been tried...

It’s like this sometimes…

This is where the story ends: I’m on the road on my way home. Santiago Canyon Road, just coming into Orange. It’s a nice road, winding between green, rolling hills, green now from all the rain we’ve had this year, and there are trees and a stream. Picturesque, you might call it. Just as it comes into Orange, there’s a passing lane. Now, the guy ahead of me has been keeping a slow speed, keeping us all bunched up behind him, but I haven’t said anything or cursed at him. I’ve just been enjoying the ride. As the guy ahead of me moves over and lets me pass, this motorcycle comes up from behind. It’s a big Harley and I haven’t seen him, but he pulls up beside me, passing on the right, in the passing lane, and he looks over at me. He’s a big guy with a pleasant face, odd for a Harley ride; he reminded me of Tim Murphy. He gives me a big smile, flashes me a peace sign, and then the peace sign is cut in two and the guy’s suddenly giving me the finger. He shakes it at me, still smiling, as he passes.

What did I do to deserve that, I wonder. I don’t have any kind of bumper sticker that might piss him off. What did I do?

But it’s been that way for the past few days. It was kind of the topper, if you will.

This started a while back.

I should let you know that things haven’t been great. Not at home or at work. Vicky and I have been snapping at one another, and it didn’t help when we found out that our medical insurance would cover childbirth thinly, vaguely, and insubstantially. We might have to pay as much as $3,200!! My reaction was less than exemplary; Vicky thought I changed my mind and didn’t want to have a baby, which was not the case, not that I did a good job communicating that. But $3,200 is an impossible amount in my world. I say we'll figure something out but I haven't a clue to tell you the truth. At work, I get these impossible requests to do things I am not trained for, not able to do. I’m working on this new catalog and my boss puts up every roadblock he can, as if he wants to sabotage the whole thing. When I bring it up to him all we do is fight! Last week, in a meeting, he started screaming at me and another guy, “I’m tired of fighting! I’m tired of fighting! I’m tired of fighting!” like some lunatic.

Going into the weekend, I thought things would be better. I was wrong.

Friday night, Vicky had a “girl’s night out”. I’ll let her tell you about that, not that I’m promising anything. Sean and I hung out and, over a few drinks, really bonded. It was nice. We complained about our spouses, something you can only do with another married man, one whom you’ve known for some time. It helped get some things off my chest.

Saturday morning, Vicky and I went to the California Speedway for her big, driving day, and I got to watch her drive a race car. She had a terrific time but I felt like crap. I thought I’d paid all that money so she could race and all they did was have her drive behind a pace car. I felt like a jerk! I should have paid more money! What a louse I was! She seemed to have a great time – and I was really glad for that – but you know how Christmas or a trip to Disneyland can be loused up by one, stupid moment? Well, I had mine.

And then, before I knew it, we were fighting again!

Now, I’ve said in the past that our disagreements pale in comparison to most, and I’m grateful for that. But then, Sunday night came. Suki fell down the stairs and we brought her to the emergency vet. It ended up costing us $300 and an evening, night, and morning spent in this uncomfortable waiting room.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep. I don’t know. I could make a dozen excuses. But I snapped at her. All of our fighting just came to a head there and I found myself saying all the stuff I shouldn’t have said. True stuff, sure. But you just don’t say some things, you know?

We got home Monday morning and we both slept, calling in sick.

That day was miserable. We both felt rotten.

Now, I love Vicky. I don’t want us to fight. But there are some fights that get so big they have a will of their own. You just have to take a time out and hope they cool down on their own. Afterwards, the plan is to have that post-fight talk and try to work things out, which we will, I’m sure.

But then, I went into work this morning and I don’t know if my boss had just had enough of our own fighting or what but he called me into his office and just let me have it. He said I took too much time off – though I had PTO coming to me. He told me I took a day off that I knew I didn’t and make me time PTO for that, too. He told me that I’d been surfing the web too much on Friday, though I’d finished all of my work and nearly everybody was out of the office. He told me I spent too much time on the phone with my wife, who calls about twice a day, five minutes or so each call. He said I was a disappointment and that I’d let the team down without any examples to back it up. Then, he said that I’d better not cause any problems for the next few months or I was history.

Nice.

Just a rotten, rotten day.

And then, after I stayed at work late, as I was driving home, this lax harbinger comes up and flips me off. Then again, maybe he wasn’t a harbinger. Maybe he was an employee of the universe, telling me that the totality of everything was having a great time having fun with me. Hey, if I thought I had it bad, think of Job why don’t you?

Okay, so things aren’t great.

But they could be worse, right?

Anyway, Vicky just got home and it’s time we made nice. We’re both pretty sad right now and we’re the ones who are supposed to make us happy. Time to make things better… I hope.

No fingers now… okay?

Was Blind But Now Can See...

Three stories to tell this morning.

Vicky and I went to see Quidam last night. It was my first time at a Cirque du Soleil show and I thought it would basically be what I see on PBS... a freak show.

But this one had a little less freak in it.

Websters defines Quidam as Somebody unknown, and who isn't unknown? It's a pretty general term. But Vicky and I both said we'd Google it and see and here's what la Cirque had to say:

Quidam: a nameless passer-by, a solitary figure lingering on a street corner, a person rushing past. It could be anyone, anybody. Someone coming, going, living in our anonymous society. A member of the crowd, one of the silent majority. The one who cries out, sings and dreams within us all. This is the "quidam" that Cirque du Soleil is celebrating.

A young girl fumes; she has already seen everything there is to see, and her world has lost all meaning. Her anger shatters her little world, and she finds herself in the universe of Quidam. She is joined by a joyful companion as well as another character, more mysterious, who will attempt to seduce her with the marvelous, the unsettling, and the terrifying.

As I said, there was a little less rat, er, freak in the show. The clowns were hilarious. The high wire acts were amazing. The contortionists were... bendy...

I'm glad I saw it. It's definitely an experience best seen live.

Shrub's folks keep telling us what a threat Iran is. Meanwhile, they've only enriched uranium 3%. It takes at least 80% to make a nuke. At best, they can make a glow-in-the-dark watch. They're no more a threat than Iraq was... which is to say Shrub's people are evil fucks who are completely full of shit.

If you'd like to name one world power who poses a threat to the world, you'd need to look a lot closer than Iran.

Closer to home, I finished the first 10% of the new book yesterday. If I had to describe it in a word, I'd say it's "heartfelt".

Some of you may be wondering what the big deal is. The rest, who have probably passed out, have probably come to realize, as I have, that Kenneth La Salle writing something "heartfelt" is probably a clear sign that the end times are at hand.

Sure... blame me!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, VICKY!

Yes, that's right. Today is Vicky's birthday. We'll be hitting the new Cirque du Soliel show tonight and, then, Vicky's going to be driving a race car on Sunday - lots and lots of plans.

Hope you have a very nice birthday, Vic. I love you very much.

Ken

Four name titles...

First, there was With Eyes to See.

Then, I wrote No More Blue Roses.

Now, it seems, I am firmly entrenched inside Love of Your Life.

I hit the 5,000 word mark this morning. If you had asked me yesterday, I would have said that this idea would peter out at around 5k... but no. Far from it. Times like these I can't help but think I don't pick the stories; they pick me.

Consider it: a book about a man in a mid-life crisis who has to take care of a boy. Hasn't that movie already been made about forty BAJILLION times??? If it were up to me, I'd rather be working on something more unique.

I mean, for fuck sakes, Rich is writing a book about vampire cowboys! I want a piece of that action!!

But, nope. I'm writing The Courtship of Eddie's Fucking Father.

And I'm liking it.

Crap.

Eddie's father isn't exactly Bill Bixby, mind you. He's Max Von, the star of many horror films you may not have heard of, some of which include:

School House of Horror
Blood Hunt
Blood Hunt 2: The Search for Alix
Cold Blooded Cruel
Cold Blooded Cruel 2: Bloody Crueler
Cold Blooded Cruel 3: Bloody Stump
Power Tool Killers

He dropped out of doing movies a few years back, when he'd made enough money to retire early. But then, his wife left him and took everything. Since then, he's been drinking his life away.

And he's been just as happy there as I would have been. Now, he's going to be forced to move on in his life, to take car of the child of an old friend, help the kid get over the loss of his mother, while surrounded by people who want the kid much, much more than Max does. But the mother wanted Max to have him... and nobody can figure out why.

My next four word title? Get me a drink!

Ryan Fattest...

Ok, I normally don't follow this kind of shit but I couldn't help notice that now Ryan Seacrest is saying that he's "struggled" with a weight problem.

Ryan, on behalf of our nation's fatties: FUCK YOU!

Put that soda down!...

You can blame this one on Shrub's administration and the mistaken believe that consumer protection is a bad thing!

Now, they're finding Benzene in our soda - and dog only knows how long that's been going on!

Enjoy! Drink up! (Next one who bitches about my monthly cig gets it!)

Morning spit...

Is it just me or do other people notice the difference in viscosity your spit experiences first thing in the morning? I mean, honestly, this morning when I walked out to my car I spit a...

... anyway...

I nearly have the final feedback on that new book I started and, in case you felt left out because you didn't get to read it, don't feel too bad. The final tally was three lukewarm maybes and one scalding negative! One person couldn't bear to give me their opinion, so I'm guessing that's probably not a display of overpowering love for the book. Where I come from that's not exactly a rousing show of faith - so I'm going to put that one down.

Now, another idea has hit from left field and I've been mulling it over since the weekend. I really don't know where this one came from. Basically, it's a father/son story, with a single father. But not this kind of single father. More like this kind of single father... but with a British accent. (These things come to me; don't ask why.) Maybe this kind.

(And, oddly enough, I even have the grandfather cast, too...)

And, yes, this would submerge me deep inside the mainstream. Anyone who has any respect for me - anyone with any class - would be within their rights to BAIL!

I don't know. Maybe it's my own impending fatherhood that brings this on. And maybe once I'm a parent with Vicky, I'll know enough about two-parent households to actually write about one!

So, what else do I know about this so far? Well, it's about an ex-horror-movie-star (strictly C-list) who's trying to find his place in life and, when a female friend dies, is left with her 11-year old son. As usual, my brain has some idea but isn't telling me. It's leaving me to fill in all the details.

Here's the oddest part. The name of the book came to me last night in a dream. It's called Love of Your Life, with the tagline You Get More Than One. (So, what the hell's that about?)

Where is all of this coming from? Well, I think it's the spiritual descendent of a book I began about five years ago, around the time I was with Cindy. Some of you may recall that Cindy was the mother of three, beautiful girls. I had started a book called "Surrogates", about a man who suddenly finds himself responsible for a young lady, trying to deal with the issue in my own, literary way. That book never got past the sixth page, because I was better at evading the issue than dealing with it - the whole thing was one, long, arduous, extended metaphor. Here I am again. And maybe, this time, I can address it with a little more honesty.

We'll see where this one goes.

It could end up dying a quick death like the last one. Sadly, that's really more the norm than the way I worked last year, putting out book after book. But I'd like to write one more before starting school in the fall and give myself plenty of things to try and sell.

I'll keep you posted... about a lot of things...

Immigration Nation... part deux...

I heard something particularly ludicrous on the radio today.

Before I give you my spin, here's what I heard. I heard a complaint that people who are protesting these new, draconic, immigration laws are showing the Mexican flag too much. This guy on the radio said that people (and I'm assuming he meant "white" people) feel threatened by the Mexican flag.

And I couldn't believe it.

Though it came as no surprise.

Hey, I live in Southern California, where it's always been fashionable to hate Mexicans. People complain that they're "taking our jobs" or "using our services", assuming that they'd want to pick strawberries or clean hotel rooms or that there's no benefit to treating sick children of any ethnicity or - most importantly at the moment - that all immigrants are Mexicans.

Listen, I don't think that illegal immigrants are without fault, if you'll pardon the double negative. But I also think that this issue is far too complex to reduce down to a catchphrase. Also, I tend to worry more about my job being outsourced oversees than about an illegal immigrant coming in and doing it. I'm also one of those pinko commies who thinks that corporate welfare costs far more than educating a child.

And when we get down to the issue of people waving the Mexican flag, let's keep in mind that we are all immigrants or descended from immigrants. Even the American Indians were immigrants! And there's nothing wrong with people saying, "This is my group and you're treating my group like shit."

Threatened by the Mexican flag? I feel more threatened by anyone who says that people shouldn't be free to fly it.

Come on, get happy!...

Gay people.

Lots of gay people.

And they all want rights!

Fucking gay people!

Don't they know you only get rights in this country if you're white... or rich... or a man?

I mean, seriously!

First they want the right to exist. Then, they want the right to marry. Next thing you know, they'll want the right to be included in history books!

What's the problem? Some people are afraid that their friends might turn gay, or their children might turn gay, or that they themselves might... gasp!... become gay! And you know that seeing gay people, allowing gay people to have rights, and even reading about gay people can make you, too, gay as anyone who's ever drank San Francisco water!

... People are fucking stupid.

(You'll notice I made no comments about homosexual sleepovers in the White House or pedophiles in Homeland Security... yep... self-control is my middle name!)

Mornings work this way...

I thought I'd sleep in this morning. I came to this conclusion last night, when I discovered that my alarm clock was broke.

I bought the alarm clock years ago, back when I lived in my apartment, after several disastrous attempts at using freeware alarm clock programs on my PC. You see, my bedroom was so small that my PC always ended up rather close to my bed. It was too small and I had far too much furniture (as I later learned when I moved in with Vicky). So, I downloaded these freeware programs, which I thought were neat because they were supposed to awake you with MP3s on your PC. But the bastards would never go off at the right time! You'd think a computer would be able to keep the time, but... I ended up at Sav-on, where I paid $5 for a battery-operated clock.

You can imagine how long I mourned. I looked at the thing and thought, "Oh well."

Anyway, I've been doing pretty well with going to the gym. I've gone every morning this week - so why not take a day off? Why not find out what this "sleeping in" is all about?

I woke up at 3:40.

I'd been having this dream for a long time. It's very fuzzy to me now. I was waiting inside a building and whatever it was I was waiting for was causing me a great deal of stress. WAIT! I just remembered. I was in the old Linksys building. So, there - throw in whatever subtext you want.

I thought about just getting up and going to the gym. I'd normally wake up in an hour, anyway. But, no. I wanted a taste of this "sleeping in" stuff. I went back to sleep.

I woke up at 5:05.

I can't remember what woke me but I knew it was too late to hit the gym. (Normally, I'd already be there.) I didn't want to disturb Vicky. So, I took my hand... and found Alacrity next to me. I found Suki snuggled up next to my leg. I found - ah, there she is. My Vicky. Sleeping soundly. Nothing bothers her sleep - I'm so envious.

Back to sleep, I went.

I knocked a large, butcher's knife off of a stainless steel counter onto a tile floor.

Vicky said, "Did you hear that?"

I said through my sleep, "Yeah, I accidentally knocked a knife on the floor."

I don't know what she heard but I'm sure she was wondering about me after that.

I remained asleep... and then, Vicky's morning routine made it impossible not to be awake. Vicky loves her snooze bar. Seriously. She French-kisses it. It's rather disturbing. She hits it at 5:30, 6:00, 6:30, 7:00 (approximately!)... how does she keep sleeping? I couldn't!

Oh well. For me, 7:00 was "sleeping in". I'd had all I could take. It was time to get up.

One of the benefits of working out faithfully is that my clothes are fitting me better. This morning, I was even able to fit into one of my "thinner" shirts. And I didn't have to suck my gut in so much to fit in my pants.

(You're loving hearing this, aren't you?)

But, when I went to weigh myself... nothing. No change. I hate this. I know how it works and I hate it. One morning, in a couple of weeks, I will suddenly drop 5-10 pounds. Until then, the scale will refuse to show a change. Until then, I'll gauge it by my clothes.

Vicky and I are going to spend some time with Sean and Megan tonight. If you don't know Sean & Megan, here's a brief intro: Megan was Rosa's best friend and Sean and I were never friends. Then, the divorce struck. Sean and I became fast friends. I met Vicky. Megan likes Vicky. Somehow, I've gone from doing "couples" things with Rosa, and Sean & Megan, to doing "couples" things with Vicky, and Sean & Megan. Very strange for me. Oh, and did I mention that Megan hates my guts? Yeah, that always makes things fun.

(Vicky insists that Megan no longer hates my guts. Now that Vicky's in the picture, supposedly, Megan only dislikes me intensely.)

So, we'll all be hanging out tonight.

Sean wants to play games. Oh god, no! Couples games! These aren't the types of games I like, like "Pin the Tail on the Whiskey" or "Ring Around the Martini". No, these are those god-awful PictionarTriviaScattagorScrabblesque kinds of games. You know - BORING ONES!

Listen, I know of a great game that couples can plan or that two couples can play, that lots of people can play, all at the same time! Why can't we play my game? I just don't understand!

But that's the way it works when you're part of a "couple", you do stupid thing that you'd otherwise never, ever do... like walking into Nordstrom...

After I was ready to go, I went to give Vicky a kiss. She was balancing our checkbook at her computer. I said, "Don't forget to put the money for my PC in my account." (We have many different accounts. We're like Dick Cheney, only with far less money, more scruples, and not hated by all.)

Ah, money. My PC has been giving me problems lately, so I'm looking into making some changes. I'm hoping I can get my PC situation worked out soon and get back to playing World of Warcraft... you know, instead of those couples games...

Autumn...

This is a poem by Garrison Keillor. I've heard it many times and every time I think of all whom I've loved. I think of Vicky. I wanted so much to read it at our wedding but was too cowardly even to suggest it. You might find that hard to believe but I was afraid it might bring other things to mind (as it sometimes does to me) that might not have been appropriate.

But it always brings tears to my eyes.

It was on my mind today. And I thought of Vicky. And I thought of how lovely she was as she walked up the aisle to me and when I was pulling all of the pins out of her hair and on and on.

(Many thanks to Mr. Keillor for this and so much else. And my apologies if I got a word wrong.)

Here on an Autumn night is the sweet orchard smell,
Sitting in a pile of leaves under the starry sky,
Oh what stories we could tell
With this starlight to tell them by.


Autumn night, and you, and paradise,
So lovely and so full of grace,
Above your head, the universe has hung its lights,
And I reach out my hand to touch your face.


I believe in impulse, in all that is green,
Believe in the foolish vision that comes true,
Believe that all that is essential is unseen,
And for this lifetime I believe in you.


All of the lovers and the love they made:
Nothing that was between them was a mistake.
All that we did for love's sake,
Is not wasted and will never fade.

IT COULD WOOOOORK!...

This was posted on Dubious Quality today:

(In case you're wondering, Dubious Quality is my absolutely favorite video game blog and, yes, I've added a link to this here site as well!)

I'm allegedly 45 today. ... On the positive side, I get to eat birthday cake and go with Gloria and Eli 4.8 to see Deep Sea 3D at the IMAX theater this afternoon.

Now, okay, I grant you that you probably don't know what the hell he's talking about but there's a point to this.

My point is that he's 45. His son is about four and a half years old. So, he became a father when he was 40.

... about the same time Vicky and I are planning on having a kid.

AND HE'S LIVED TO TELL ABOUT IT!!!

That means I might, too!

Now, I know where you're going. You're thinking I'm just far too neurotic about this fatherhood thing. Right? You're thinking I'm WAY overanalyzing it. Right?

Well, hold on a second. I used to be very neurotic about my love life and crazy neurotic about being lonely and fucked up neurotic about my art.

Now, that has pretty much worked itself out.

Did you expect I wouldn't find something else?

There oughta be a law...

Shouldn't it be a crime for someone to put "Manic Monday" by the Bangles in your head?

I'm just saying...

Drunk things done sober...

I've been really good about waking up and going to the gym recently. In fact, I'm starting to fit into my clothes again, which is nice.

Now, if I can only stop being an idiot...

I got back from the gym tired. I always get back from the gym tired. Returning at 6am, you're bound to be tired. Then, you have to shower and hope that wakes you up. That's not always foolproof.

This morning, after my shower, I went through my usual routine and put gel in my hair. I like to make my hair stand up with the gel - it adds humor to my otherwise dreary mornings. After I was dressed and had breakfast and checked my emails and fed the cats, I made my regular stop back in the bathroom to make sure I looked okay before I went to work. (It's a habit I picked up in the theater. For those in "the know", it's also sometimes referred to as a "fly check".)

And my hair was still standing straight up!!

Now, I know. I know. I can hear you asking already:

Why the hell didn't you brush your hair before the gel set? I don't know. I was stoopid!

Were you drunk? No. That's the sad part. I wasn't even drunk.

Are you my real father? Tim, I told you to stop asking me that!

The upshot to this story is that Vicky got a good laugh out of it. After I combed my hair down, she said, "You should have left it standing up!" And I wasn't sure if she was joking...

Daddy Dumbass...

Two words: Costco & Diapers...

I heard them this morning, coming out of Michael's office. He and Tom were in there and I stepped in. "Did I just hear Costco and Diapers used in the same sentence?"

I had.

So, I told them this story. Vicky and I received a coupon book in the mail for Costco. Inside, there were coupons from three makers of diapers. Vicky, who isn't even pregnant, said, "We should pick some of those up."

My response was kind of a "Hurhrunh?"

The guys looked at me with a knowing kind of look.

And they started telling me stuff.

People with kids - let's call them "parents" - are always giving me advice. I'm always forgetting it. I feel like a jerk. Tom said, "Don't worry. You'll remember when you have one." Michael said, "Or you'll learn as you go."

Learn as you go?! Hell, I've been learning to write as I go! Twenty-four or more years later and I still don't have a book published! I can't wait twenty-four years to master the art of changing a diaper!!!

So, I go to sites like this - and I read. I have books at home to read.

And Vicky isn't even pregnant, yet.

How can people look at parenthood as anything but the hardest pop quiz they'll ever take???

Things you should know about 9/11...

A friend sent me a link to a film tonight that I think you might be interested in. Since 9/11/01, I've been saying (to anyone who'll listen) that the person who has benefitted most from 9/11 has been George Bush. Now, if you agree with me or not, this movie provides some rather compelling arguments. (Thank you, Google Video!)

It runs about 90 minutes long, so get some free time. I think you'll find it very worth while.