Friday, March 31, 2006
The largest study yet on the therapeutic power of prayer by strangers has found that it provided no benefit to the recovery of patients who had undergone cardiac bypass surgery.
In an unexpected twist, patients who knew prayers were being said for them had more complications after surgery than those who did not know, researchers reported Thursday.
The complications were minor, and doctors surmised that they could have been caused by the increased stress on patients worried that their conditions were so bad they needed prayers.
Now, I'm not saying there are NO benefits to prayer. Just like any form of meditation, there are the benefits you get from concentration, relaxation, and reflection. But can we finally leave behind this archaic superstition that prayer's gonna get you stuff???
That said, I'm sure a contrary study will be forthcoming - superstitious people just don't quit.
It's no coincidence that the '06 elections are coming.
Honestly, if you were a Republican, would you want the WAR to be the issue in the coming election?
So, I figured it was about time I chimed in on the whole thing. Why not? My blog, right?
I think the key word here is "PRIORITY"... which is to say this is not one. Isn't the war more important? Isn't the deficit more important? Isn't getting that crook out of the oval office more important?
Some will say it's not. But to put this in some perspective, let's keep in mind that "illegals" cost the country far less money than this war has. They cost far less money than corporate welfare. They hurt our country far less than Shrub breaking the law whenever he chooses.
If this country was a train wreck... oh wait, it is... I'd say we should take care of all the wounded, the bleeding, the dying before we worry ourselves over the busted headlight.
But that's just me.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
But there are times...
Jennifer recently finished reading No More Blue Roses. She wrote to me:
You know I gotta tell you. I was talking about you yesterday to a friend of mine and the book I just read. And for the first time in my adult life, the person I was talking to about this actually was engaged and asking some serious questions about why I felt certain ways about your book. And then he said something that I thought I'd pass on. He said, "It must have been a good book if you're still thinking about it."
That got me thinking, I am still thinking about it. I find myself drawing parallels with certain parts of the book. Most the journey part and how sometimes with your best intentions things get in your way to stop your drive. And maybe, just maybe, we should stop and observe those proverbial breaks.
Anyhow, I was telling him that what impressed me the most about the book was your way you write. Despite the fact of whether I "got it" or not in the beginning, your writing is what kept me intrigued. I could feel the characters and see them. And for me that's a big deal with books.
Pretty cool, huh?
Well, as usual in this crazy, mixed-up universe, it was quickly followed with something to keep my colossal ego in check. Vicky read the first chapter of the new book.
And she hated it!
Now, she's probably going to leave a comment about how she didn't hate it as much as she just disliked it a whole lot, but there's nothing wrong with hating it. That's her opinion.
Now, I could have accepted that and moved on but, instead, I sent it out to some other people and asked for their opinions. I'll be sure to post those, as well.
Even Babe Ruth couldn't bat .500.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Once upon a time, when dragons roamed the earth... I used to be thin. Um, well, I used to be thin-ner. As an actor, thin is good. Thin is the shit. I wasn't quite the shit but I was certainly a fart of some kind.
Anyway, I was much thinner when Vicky and I met. I got this way by going to the gym and, more importantly, not eating like a big, fat, fucking pig.
Then, Vicky came along.
Before you start screaming "TREND", hear me out.
I usually skipped lunch and ate only a small dinner. Or, I ate a small lunch and skipped dinner.
Then, Vicky came along.
You can now scream.
If anyone is beside you, I'd suggest moving.
Vicky is a wonderful girl. She said, "You can't skip meals. It's not good for you." So, I stopped skipping meals. She said, "You need to eat more than just a granola bar for lunch." So, I did.
And I got fatter and fatter.
Lunches went from a granola bar to a granola bar and a yogurt, and then I added a fruit cup, and then I added some string cheese, and then I added a side of beef, and then I added a small mobile home... with an olive...
So, I'm thinking it's time to change that. I'm going to try eating a little more sensibly with small dinners and lunches that take less than an hour to eat.
I'd like to stop blocking out the sun at auditions. I want to stop scaring little Japanese kids on the street as they run away shouting, "Godzirra!!!"
Today, I brought a yogurt.
One, lone yogurt.
... boy, my keyboard sure is looking tasty...
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
Vicky and I woke up early on Thursday... far too early. The butt-crack of dawn was still dark as we loaded up the car and headed out onto the freeway. Who would have thunk that the freeway would get so busy but, sure enough, by 6:00am we were surrounded by hordes of commuters, commuting. Didn’t they realize we had places to go? Things to do? Naps to take?
But we reached LAX in plenty of time, dropping off Vicky's car, and shuttled off to the terminal. We sat together - I like sitting with Vicky; it gives me someone to bitch to, who won't take me too seriously. Or so I hope! I popped on my RIO (read: iPod wannabe!) and listened to Wil Wheaton. Vicky popped on her Nano and listened to... porn!
Okay, so I listened to a little, too...
Oddly, on the plane's TV screens, where later we would squint at the in-flight movie, there appeared a map of southern California with an image of our plane superimposed over it. As the plane moved... and then, took off... we watched the picture of our plane slowly, if not gracefully, cross the map... until it was over the water! Then, we waited for Hawaii.
I was wearing a jacket because I had heard it might rain. Of course, we forgot to take an umbrella...
Here we are, on the 34th floor!
Pleasant Holidays picked us up and took us to our hotel, the Hyatt Regency Waikiki. It's a beautiful, BIG hotel; the first three floors are like a small shopping mall with stores and restaurants, waterfalls and plants and pools. When we checked in, they were very nice. They took our bags from the shuttle, checked us in. We went up to our room and -
WOW! Our room was beautiful and overlooked the beach. We knew it would overlook the beach but we didn't realize that we'd have such a great view! Totally unobstructed, which might be obvious considering how high up we were - but we saw all the smaller hotels blocked by ours! Standing on the balcony, we could see all of Diamond Head! The beach! The park! The city! It was gorgeous! We stood out there for a while and took it all in.
What to do first? At the airport, we'd had breakfast at California Pizza Kitchen - breakfast pizzas! Then, on the plane, we'd had another, little breakfast. We decided to start by hitting a restaurant!
We crossed the street and walked to Duke's. We wanted to have a drink at the bar but the bar was so full... the rest of Waikiki was in the bar! So, we sat in the dining area, had a couple of drinks and a couple of appetizers... and relaxed!
Then, we walked down Kalakua Avenue to pick up our trolley passes. The plan was that we'd do most of our traveling via the trolley and, to that end, Vicky had got us a great deal on trolley tickets online. Walking up Kalakua was like walking down one immense shopping center. Vicky kept getting pulled towards the Coach stores! But we made it. We got our tickets and we took the trolley back to the hotel. Thanks to all the rain that fell during our time there - and the fact that the trolley's were exposed to the elements - that was the only trolley trip we took.
Tanaka of Tokyo.
We decided that our first dinner would be Japanese. Tanaka of Tokyo was just behind the hotel, in King's Village. It was a lot like Benihana's. It was here that we noticed that Hawaii should start calling itself "Little Japan" - Vicky's peeps were everywhere! At our table were two girls from Osaka who didn't speak very much English. (You want to talk multi-cultural? Our chef was a big, fat Hawaiian named Jose!) We had a nice, little dinner... and then, we noticed the rain.
It wasn't just raining... someone was dumping the ocean on the island! The people at Tanaka had these ponchos - they were garbage bags with hoods - and we each got one before we headed out... what were we thinking? The ponchos were great - but you could see where they ended because we were drenched! The streets were rivers! The wind was crazy! But we laughed like children as we ran back to the hotel.
Inside, we handed off our ponchos to a family that had five more blocks to go before they got to their hotel. From our balcony, we watched at the island was pounded by the elements. They didn't call it a typhoon... but they might as well have.
There be whales... where?
Friday was our whale-watching day. But first, we walked down to the Pleasant Holidays place for our "Welcome Breakfast". It was in the same place where we'd picked up our trolley tickets. Thankfully, the rain had stopped. We didn't take the trolley - though we should have considering how little use we got out of those tickets! The breakfast was inside a Chinese restaurant - the "most beautiful Chinese restaurant in the world"... if they said so... But we'd already booked all of our excursions and the purpose for the breakfast was to get us to buy excursions, so we left after breakfast. Anyway, we had places to go!
Our whale-watching bus picked us up a little while later. It was prompt and air-conditioned, which was great because the rain didn't relieve the heat and only added to the humidity!
I couldn't wait to get on the boat. I love boats and hardly ever go on one. Vicky and I couldn't wait to get out on the deck - we were given a seat at a table with a couple from Manchester - and spent most of our time out there, looking for whales. But then the lunch buffet opened. It was on the front of the ship - a bad idea. The front rocked the most and Vicky quickly grew ill.
On top of that... there wasn't a whale in sight... dammit.
I didn't care about the whales. I got to spend the day with Vicky and we had a great time on the deck, where Vicky got enough air to make her feel better.
Dinner was at Duke's. I can't remember much about it. I just remember the rain - it had started again! Water was everywhere. Duke's is inside of a hotel and the lobby was drenched and had that dank water smell... not good. On top of that, I had made the terrible mistake, earlier, when we had gone swimming, of slamming my foot into a rock in the water. So, I hobbled along the whole time, grimacing! But Vicky found a beautiful necklace and I bought it for her as an anniversary gift. (6-month anniversary! Yeah!)
Joseph the Explorer
Saturday started well. My foot was feeling better. Vicky, who I think had been suffering a bit of SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) - all that rain! - was raring to go. We had a bit of breakfast (eggs benedict with crab!) and found our way to the pick-up spot for our day's excursion.
Saturday was the day for our Eco-excursion around the island. Our guide was Joseph and he drove us all around the island. Better yet, he was an endless font of knowledge about the history of the island and all of its myriad life. The whole tour was one long lesson in everything from biology to history to philosophy to geology - Vicky and I, being geeks, just loved it. The first stop was my favorite, a Buddhist monastery. Being a non-practicing Buddhist, it's nice to walk into a temple, which was open for tourists. Most of the people on our tour just walked the grounds so the temple was quiet and I could take a moment for something more meaningful.
Joseph took us to the Banzai Pipeline to watch the crazy surfers and through rain forests and villages. Vicky and I were left wanting more. The funniest thing about Joseph, though, was that the upper part of his face - all I could see in the rear-view mirror - looked exactly like Paul Reiser! So, I spent the day imagining Paul Reiser being our tour guide!
That night, we splurged and ate at a place called Ciao Mein, an Italian/Chinese fusion restaurant. We ordered a six-course meal (portioned for two!) and couldn't finish it. I especially loved it because I finally tried Maker's Mark whiskey. I had wanted to try it for a while and, for those who love whiskey, Maker's Mark is just fantastic. Now, to buy a bottle! Anyway, Vicky's SAD was back - she just wasn't feeling well - who could with all this horrible weather. Up in our room, we could see the evening's storm drenching everything.
We only had a day left. I kept hoping it would get better.
Sunday. Rain. It was luau day and the rain kept coming.
We woke up VERY EARLY to catch the 6:00am bus to the Pearl Harbor memorial. Vicky had really been looking forward to this - rain or shine, we'd do it. But once we were on the bus, the rocking was worse than that whale-watching boat, and I got sick. I clenched my teeth as it rocked up and down and up and down and back and forth - but I wouldn't let that stop us from getting to the Arizona.
The line to get in was already long when we got there - a half-hour before it opened! And, with no umbrella, we stood in the rain! But, once we were inside, we bought ponchos - more garbage bags - and a snack. I was nauseous but hungry - having skipped breakfast.
A short film provided some context for where we were before we took a ferry out to the Arizona. This place is run by the National Park Service and they had hat in hand, begging for donations to (if you'll pardon the phrase) keep the place afloat. This is what happens when our nations priorities are on making war rather than remembering the lessons of war. And there was no shortage of irony there. One of the displays mentioned Japan's attach tactics as "shock and awe"... really? Sounds familiar.
As we stepped off the ferry, I couldn't help but marvel at the absurdity. Here we were, in a graveyard (which is what the Arizona is) wearing garbage bags in the rain, while everyone around us filmed everything. It seemed that everyone was more interested in capturing the here and now than reflecting on the then that this memorial tried to preserve. Having just been in a temple, my mind was still in a place where I could stand in reverence, saddened by all the forgotten lessons. Maybe some day our nation will remember them anew.
When we got back to our hotel, it was still raining. We went to lunch at a place called Cheeseburger in Paradise - fantastic burgers and chili-cheese fries! And, as we walked back to the hotel, we stopped by a little store... and found it. The "it" in this instance is something I've been trying to find for years. Most statues of Buddha that you see have his hands in his lap but the position Buddha held as he found "enlightenment" was with one hand pointed to the ground. It signifies that the Buddha was sitting in the Axis Mundi, the center of the universe. This center is not a place but a state of mind. It is everywhere. It is all around us. It is also reflected in the phrase "Be Here Now". And Vicky and I saw it, a statue made out of Hibiscus wood (very popular in Hawaii, it was also the wood that Tom Hanks made fire with in "Castaway"). It is beautiful - and Vicky bought it for me. Happy Anniversary!
But, returning to our hotel, we found that the evening's luau had been cancelled, and I felt horrible because I knew how much Vicky was looking forward to it.
But, strangely, TBS was showing the last season of Friends in order. So, Vicky and I settled back and watched and giggled. Vicky wasn't feeling well but she was enjoying the comedy while the weather was all icky outside. I called downstairs and asked where the locals ate and made a reservation at a nearby place called the Hula Grill.
Then, I took off. With all that eating, I wanted to hit the gym and I'd found one nearby. I had found it Saturday morning when I went out for a walk. My sleep was off for the whole vacation and Saturday was a good morning for a walk (again, at 6:00am - I don't know why). I walked down Kalakua Avenue to Kapiolana Park, passing the morning joggers. It was a good morning. My mind was clear - something I have come to appreciate. I could write a great deal about that walk but it comes down to this - I had my moment of relaxation. I stood near the base of Diamond Head, no ghosts followed me, I was at peace.
And I found the gym! (He said, returning to the topic!) I had a great workout, spent about 45 minutes there. Jogging back, I saw a buxom blonde girl light a cigarette in the rain and thought about leaving Vicky for just one drag of that smoke... and then I laughed and went back to the hotel.
Hula Grill was fantastic. Our table looked out at the ocean and the food was really incredible. But I spent most of the meal looking at Vicky, without whom I would have never made it to Hawaii, and here I was, and here she was. Sometimes I think about how much I love her as I look at her - and she looks back at me as if I was a nut... and she's right.
Time to go home... way too early
We woke up early on Monday - can you guess what time? We had 7:00am reservations for breakfast at Duke's. We ate fast and caught our shuttle to get to the airport on time and - our flight was delayed by four hours!!!! Aaagh!
Thankfully, though, we were able to get transferred to another airline and out on time.
But if this vacation was going to end on a good note, it ended at the TSA booth. I noticed a lot of people being pulled aside and getting frisked. Only a few minutes after I mentioned it to Vicky, we were also pulled aside. As I was frisked, the TSA guy whispered, "I'm sorry, man. This is bullshit." The indignity of having my rights violated was only set aside by this comment. I don't know what this means but damn I wish I did.
Now, this might all sound like we had a horrible time.
As for myself, nothing - not my banged-up foot, not the weather, not being frisked in the airport, not the cancelled plans or the missing whales - nothing made this vacation horrible. You know I'm gonna get all sappy, right? Sorry. But having Vicky with me made it wonderful. I was so happy to spend five days with Vicky, with my love... as our shuttle returned us to the airport in Hololulu, we drove past a canal that was being filled with raw sewage, run-off from the storms, and Vicky and I were holding hands, and that made it just fine.
Now, we're back. I'm at work. Vicky's at home with a cold.
I miss Hawaii...
Have you ever come to a realization that you don't think anyone in their right mind would understand? Welcome to my world.
I've made this realization and it's so very counter-intuitive that when I tell you, it's going to sound like I'm saying that the sky is puce. But bear with me.
It's been coming for a while... a long while.
Should I tell you now or wait?
Here it is.
... nope. There's no short way to put this. Bear with me.
My first play - that's right, I'm taking you back a few years BV (Before Vicky) - Everything Changes was about a man with a broken heart who was trying to act as if everything was okay. Not only that but it was also about a woman with a broken heart, trying to go on with her life despite it. I recently finished No More Blue Roses, which is, in a way, about a man who is tired of people minimizing his heart-break. And now, I've started this new book...
Broken hearts. People are so full of platitudes about how things will get better and you'll be stronger and blah blah blah... Personally, it makes me sick.
And I didn't realize this until just the other day.
And I realized something about all these books and plays.
And I realized (rather quickly because it doesn't require all that much thought) that what I'm really talking about... is me.
My heart was broken. My life was ruined... destroyed, really.
And I hear people tell me about how I've come out the other end and how my life wasn't ruined after all and blah blah blah... and here's the thing. They are wrong.
And here's the bigger thing. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that.
I've felt so insecure about this, as if saying it would trivialize the love I feel for Vicky, as if I was a liar because you can't have it both ways...
Last night, I posed this to Vicky, "Man A says to you that he loves you so much he'll walk a mile. Man B, who has two shattered legs, also says to you that he loves you so much that he'll walk a mile. What can you tell me about the two men?" I was anticipating that she would conclude, as I had, that Man B must love her more.
She said, "You can't walk with two shattered legs."
And it's occurred to me that this is my point exactly. You can't. But he must love her a hell of a lot to even suggest it. And now, picture this broken shell of a man clawing his way through that mile. The phrase, "I'll do anything," is what this is all about.
I've been pretending to so many people that my loving Vicky and the love I once had for Rosa are two different things, that they're totally unrelated. And the thing is, it's been eating away at me. I suppose that's why I wrote No More Blue Roses and why I've been inspired to write this new book.
The life I had, the future I thought I had, with Rosa was obliterated. My heart was crushed. And there is no "other end" to come out on, it's just one, continuous lifetime. But I can see a future with Vicky despite that hurt and I love her whole-heartedly despite the injury - this is how much I love her.
I can admit to the pain Rosa caused me, which was tremendous, without denying the great joy I have with Vicky. Not only is it allowable - it's the right thing to do.
This is more about the lies I've been telling myself, by the way. I don't think other people have been thinking that I didn't love Rosa. But I've spent so many years telling myself this lie that I think it has eroded my own, personal history. And now, it has come back through my subconscious through these books, and I'm thankful for that. And having come to this realization, I feel better for it.
Here it is. I loved Rosa with all of my heart. And, after she smashed it into a million pieces, I gave them to Vicky; I put them into her hands. And she is worthy of that and I am abundantly fortunate.
So, this thing that I've been ashamed of is actually a love letter to my wife.
I love you, Vicky. Thank you.
(And, in case you're wondering, now I can really start that book...)
Actually, we should change that to "the FAT man is"... I swear, I don't think I've ever been so fucking fat, and you'll see why when you hear about how we ate in Hawaii. This little (big, fat, disgusting) piggie needs to hit ze gym!
So, why does it say "old man"? Well, Vicky and I found a forest of new, grey hairs on my head. It's starting: the greying of Ken. I wouldn't be surprised if I was completely old by my birthday. Better grey than gone, of course, which is what I tell Vicky - though she hasn't a grey hair on her head! Not one! I'm not lying!
Anyway, it rained, rained, rained during our vacation and now it's raining in Southern California. Uck! I'll be sure to write more later but it's time I head back to work and see how much the place has fallen apart without me...
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Whenever I talk about my life as an artist, I do so with great hesitation. After all, the successes I've had as an actor, on stage or film, have been limited at best. And my writing career...
Well, let's take a look at that.
I started writing when I was in the fourth grade. You can imagine what that was like. But my ambitions didn't form until I was 16 years old. I wrote a newspaper column, some short stories, poems, I'd started a book - I wanted to be a writer!
Over the years, and all the novels, one of my joys has been that with constant attempts and all the work, I've seen consistent improvement. My first novel, My Side, was neither marketable nor much good. I didn't care much about marketability but I did care about quality. And I have become a better writer. I can be proud of that. And without caring about marketability, my writing (novels, plays, etc.) have become more marketable over the years.
Why is that?
I don't know. But it's happening. I can see it happen. And even if I never sell a novel, it won't be because I suck. It will be for the same reason many other people don't - because only so many novels can be sold.
Not much of a "career", maybe, but that doesn't mean I don't have reason to be happy. It's been a long road and, oftentimes, an exhausting road.
But I am reminded of those who haven't even found a road.
Be they writers or actors or paralegals or cooks or computer programmers - I cannot help but think of those who never found something to be passionate about, those who lost their passion, or worse.
Tim Clostio has been drowning himself in booze for years now. He's my best friend and there's not a thing I can do about it, no matter how much I try. He was once the best writer I knew but now he hasn't written in years and he's given up on it - he's given up on himself. His life is about escaping this sad truth, he escapes in a bottle.
I've lost other friends to despair. Sean Roberson was one. He drank until he was so bad he couldn't recognize the diabetes that was killing him.
People who couldn't find a road or lost a road.
Being a failure means you tried, at least. And, as it's been said, a glorious failure is still glorious. I'm a lucky man in many respects - and I don't forget that.
How are ye?
It's time for Vicky and I to leave. Tomorrow morning, we'll be on the plane. We'll be celebrating our six-month anniversary in Hawaii. (Our one-year anniversary will be spent in some other exotic place... like Azusa...)
It's going to be pretty slow around here for a few days so I thought I'd get a few things off my mind before I leave.
Those of you who asked for copies to review should be receiving them soon.
Trish hasn't finished No More Blue Roses, yet, but she did tell me that she liked it so far. Other than that, she's making me suffer... and that's fun. Once I get the full scoop, I'll let you know for good or ill.
The new book, which I have all of 2500 words to and am thus far calling UM, has stalled. I don't think it's dead, yet, even if it should be. I reread what I had and even I could see a huge problem. The problem? No heat.
Books need heat, passion, something to keep you on your toes - otherwise, there's reality TV, ya know? The book was supposed to be about a man facing his fears and, in 2500 words, was nothing more than a man dealing with irritations... no. This isn't unfixable. I just need to go back, turn up the heat and let it go.
But better to see this now than 90,000 words later!
My family and I have never had the most solid ground on which to stand. My mother, brother, sister, and I were at odds from the minute my dad walked out when I was five and the years didn't help any. There are times when things are good and not so good and downright crappy.
Things have been good.
They're going to crappy.
Here's the thing: My mom is sure I'm going to burn in hell. She's none too pleased about this so she's decided to try and convert me. But rather than flood my inbox with religious spam - thank GOD she hasn't figured out how to do that... yet - she's filling my mailbox with evangelism by proxy.
Not only do I think she's wasting her money - money she doesn't have to waste - but I can't help think it's rude and disrespectful. I mean, I don't send her pamphlets on Buddhism; I don't want to see the mass marketing of the END TIMES in my mailbox.
My family has never been great at confrontation - I mean, ever. I've asked my mom to stop her campaign to hook me up with Jesus but, sadly, I think that will probably result in her distancing herself from me. We've done this before and I guess we're going to do it again.
Did I ever say I came from a normal family?
Don't you love these one-word titles?
Well, it's official. Vicky's off "the pill".
She told me this last night and laughed out loud at the look on my face. Now, I think I've come quite a ways in accepting this new stage that will be coming, understanding the responsibility we'll soon have, overcoming my fear of what might happen - you know, that I might generally suck as a father, something history has proven for the men in my family - but hearing this news was very much akin to... nothing else I'd ever experienced.
(And, mind you, we'd discussed this!)
Terror? Sure. Fear? Of course. Paranoia? Well... But then, there was also this giddy kind of feeling. We're actually doing it! We're going to make a baby!
Mind you, it didn't help that I've only recently learned about Tay-Sachs. Tay-Sachs is a birth defect that, thanks to my lineage, I may be carrying. I need to get tested for it! Sure, the odds are so small that there were no reported cases in 2004, but still!!!
And then Tay-Sachs led my mind down the road to Cystic Fibrosis, Down Syndrome, and on and on and on... my ex-wife gave birth to a child whose one side of her face stopped growing! They had to break the baby's skull to stretch it and make it fit the other side!... Birth defects led to everything that could happen after the baby was born - after the baby was walking - after the baby was... and on and on...
Is it any wonder I couldn't sleep much last night.
Vicky says I worry too much. She's probably right. But what's more compelling for worry than the responsibility of another's life?
Billie gave us some "What to Expect when you're Expecting" this past weekend. I plan to read everything I can. I'm good at that. Reading and Worrying.
Vicky will read, too. And she may do a little worrying. Mostly, though, she'll look at me like I'm crazy.
It's time for Hawaii.
Monday, March 20, 2006
She left last night at around 4pm. I was playing World of Warcraft, of course. So, I kept on playing World of Warcraft.
But that got boring.
I went out and picked up a Spicy Chicken burrito from Del Taco, kicked back on my sofa and watched The Freshman, with Harold Lloyd. This is part of the Harold Lloyd collection (FIVE DVDS, baby!) that Vicky bought me for Bobmas last year. The Freshman is a pretty amazing movie, historically speaking. It was one of the first, modern romantic comedies. You can really see a lot of cinematic conventions being laid out in this film - people are still copying this today!
But after that was over, I was bored. I walked the dog. I flipped through some channels. I played some more World of Warcraft. I did some dishes. But, mostly, I kind of wandered aimlessly. I went up to the bedroom and hung out with the cats. I played with the dog.
But, I was bored.
Then, I realized that it was 10:30pm!! I hadn't ironed any clothes for the week. I hadn't... done much of anything, really.
I read for a while before going to sleep... and woke up to the phone ringing. It was Vic, calling me from Saint Louie. It was about 5:30am. I figured I had plenty of time before I had to go back to work... and fell back asleep.
And I woke up at 8am... shit!
I guess there's a point here. I mean, I miss Vic A LOT. I like having her around, even when we fight, which we've been doing our share of recently. But, despite that, I never want her to leave... which she did... dammit. More than that, though, I guess I need Vicky around as a kind of anchor. She keeps me up on my daily responsibilities, which I hate.
I guess there's no winning here. When she's here, I always have things I have to do but when she's gone I miss her. Crap.
Fortunately, she'll be back tomorrow. She'll be exhausted from her trip and a little cranky... and I'll be happy she's home.
Friday, March 17, 2006
Thursday, March 16, 2006
This new book is a lot like that ugly girl you knew in college, or high school, or junior high... who fucked so well. The one whose phone number you kept but who's calls you wouldn't return. You know the one that I mean.
(If you're a girl, change gender... if you're into that. And if you're one of those people who doesn't know what I'm talking about, you'll never know how fortunate you are.)
Let's be clear. I like this book, all 900 words of it, this sliver of a book, this sampler of a book, but... well, this is where it gets hard to explain. I don't like the way it looks at me. I don't like what it says about me behind my back. No, this is not crazy talk! Writing a book is like vivisection, you open up your guts and (if you were me) look for the funny parts. (Spleens, for instance.)
And I don't like what I see.
This book has my number.
Here's why. I was doing some work on the protagonist. Being in first person, it's important to have this guy down, to know the ins and outs. (By the way, "doing some work" is a euphemism for listening to the voices in my head, letting them talk.)(That part is the crazy talk, I think.) He was married before. He was married to a woman who didn't like him very much. And I realized there's going to come a point in this book where he says that he married her because, "I wanted her to like me."
And that hurt.
Because it's true.
Well, partially true. You see, Vicky and I have learned a lot about my first wife in the last few months. We've learned a lot about who she's become since I tried to get back together with her, years ago, long before Vicky. She's become a horrid human being, and she went out of her way to cause me a great deal of pain. I won't go into details right here but the gist is that the repercussions are only now being felt, like ripples turning into tsunamis.
I had really wanted her to like me - but she never did. Or, if she did, I can't remember it. It's all gone now; the memories have gone to shreds.
The awful feelings that remain wash back upon me in the shape of this figure, this character, this guy who would marry someone because he wants so desperately not just to be loved but to be liked. It's not a comfortable place, but I don't mind that because I know that art should never be comfortable.
And speaking of uncomfortable, I still need to write the damned thing...
(Oh, another thing I can't do: Draw. Swear to God, I suck! And I really admire that ability in people who can do it well.)
(But that's not what this is about. This one's about...)
Last week, while I was in San Diego, Vicky discovered this neat, little something on iTunes and started downloading away. She's got a few but her favorite, or so it seems to me, is the Happy Tree Friends podcast. For those of you not familiar with Happy Tree Friends, who are a phenom online and on G4, it's sick, disgusting, and absolutely hilarious. There's nothing more cathartic than watching the slaughter of wee fuzzy creatures.
But I digress...
This week, I found my podcast addiction and you might not see this coming. It's Wil Wheaton's podcast: Radio Free Burrito! This podcast absolutely kicks ass! Wil is funny and insightful and honest - he's everything I try to be and he's got a great voice. He doesn't sound like Wesley, which might say something about his voice work; he sounds, well, pretty cool actually. Yeah, I know. I'm "gaying" all over the place about Wil, right? But it's really something you should listen to - you might enjoy it.
(I just figured out his voice. He sounds like my brother Dwight might sound if he had something funny, insightful, or honest to say... and if you're reading this, Dwight, you can hit me later.)
I've always told Clostio that the difference between a gay man and a straight man is that when a gay man thinks "I want to be in him" and a straight man thinks "I want to be him". That one word makes all the difference! And, in this case, I want to be Wil.
I went home last night, after listening to Radio Free Burrito #3 on my way home, and told Vicky, "I would LOVE to do a podcast!"
And she replied, with her typical lack of concern for reality, "Why don't you look into it?" (I swear, when we have children, I'll have to watch her. The kid's going to say, "Mom, I want to be Spiderman," and she'll say, "Why don't you look into it?" And then, I'll have to keep the kid away from spiders...)
Listen, as much as I might think I can do one and do it well, I don't see it happening. I mean, I did the CDs some of you might remember but, more often than not, nobody listened to them. I got no feedback. Nobody cared. And, hell, I have a hard enough time getting a handful of people reading this blog. Mostly, I do this for my own entertainment, edification, reflection - call it what you will.
So, in lieu of me, here's Wil's podcast. I know you'll love it. If you don't, I'll know you're crazy.
"Well, it looks like you are."
Then, she said to me, "Oh, the dog did that." And she was completely serious. I kid you not!
Did I believe her? Of course, not! Even if the dog did do it, I had to doubt her just on principle!
... mind you, she didn't think that was very funny.
So, I have to ask: If you saw the blankets pulled back on the bed and someone said the dog did it, wouldn't you be skeptical?
NOTE: Vicky doesn't see what's so funny about this and maybe I just have a twisted sense of humor. Either way, try to make your comments funny - she needs to get a laugh out of this.
Something I can't do? See, I was at the gym this morning and I saw something on TV and I thought, "You know, I never could do that."
There are plenty of things I can do and I do them well. For instance, I have a great sense of direction. I used to love taking long drives on surface streets for hours and hours and then work my way home. I thought that was fun because I knew, no matter where I was, I could find my way home. It was cool. The same thing happens when I go hiking.
I also know I can kiss. Between my marriages, I had the opportunity to kiss quite a few women, and I found out over and over that I was doing a pretty good job. It's nice to know I'm a good kisser because I'm pretty much done finding new women to kiss. Now, I've got my kisser for a lifetime - that's Vicky. She doesn't like to kiss as often as I do but I know she likes it, and that's a nice feeling.
Things I can't do? Well, I'm no athlete - we've established that, I think. And I can't dance to save my life.
The thing on my mind this morning is that I can't estimate distances. Some people can do that. They say, "Oh, that's 40 yards" or "that tree's 70 feet tall". I look at the same thing and say "that's 100 yards" or "that tree's about 20 feet tall". I just have no fucking clue.
I don't know if my brain has become so specialized over the years or what the deal is but I have to admit, I envy people who can perform this very simple task of estimating distances. Tim Murphy's pretty good at this. I remember driving up to his place and hearing him say on the phone, "Drive a couple hundred yards and turn right." I knew I'd be hopelessly lost - not that I told him that. Hey, I might suck but I'm not going to tell you, you know!
... except for now, right?
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
If you read the text, it states that the sale is to "an unrelated American buyer".
Who is this "unrelated American buyer"? DP World's American division!
So, when I say the political climate in America is hopeless, a cynic would use that climate to fill his bank account. See the difference?
The reason I find the political climate so hopeless is because of the levels of - call it corruption, call it incompetence - I'll call it fuckupedness.
We have a president with downright enmity towards the American people, who busts our surplus, gives it away to the rich, starts illegal wars, feels it's his right to break the law by spying on Americans without a warrant he would legally be allowed to get AFTER the fact, etc. etc. etc.
Under that we have his evil henchmen.
Under that we have the Republicans.
Under that we have the Democrats.
Under that we have the corporate owners.
Levels on levels. It would take several lifetimes to peacefully fix all these levels - the fast way you don't want. How can one person stand up against it? It's insurmountable.
But then, look at the times when things have changed. The only times things have changed is when one person takes a stand. That one person gathers others by their example. Soon, it's not one person standing up, but many, and they cannot be denied.
Maybe that's one way things can change.
Here are the facts. The FISA court, which has changed for Shrub five times since he took office, allows Shrub and his cronies to wiretap anyone, so long as they notify the court within 72 hours. Again, he can wiretap anyone. All he has to do is tell them within three days. But Shrub doesn't want to do this. He believes he's above the law so he doesn't notify the court and he breaks the law. Even when things are made this easy for his - he refuses to obey the law.
So, last night, I signed this petition. I signed it because it's a petition to censure Shrub for breaking the law. I don't think it'll do any good. I don’t thing anyone will notice. I'm sure the Republicans, who are towing the party line and lying for their leader, will win. But there does come a point where it's important for an individual to say, just so he can maintain his own integrity, just to keep from being an cynic for another minute, that wrong is wrong. Breaking the law is wrong. Wiretapping without a warrant is wrong and Shrub should be censured. Will he be? Of course, not. The Republicans are in charge and they will not do what's right. If you don't believe me, look at our war and the prisoners who are "renditioned" off for torture and those getting rich off stolen money and... Listen, if you don't believe me, you won't. That's it. The evil that's been done is too obvious...
But if you want to do what's right, if you want to stand up and say that wrong is wrong, even though it probably doesn't mean that anything will come of it, if you don't believe the President should be allowed to break the law without one person - you - standing up and telling him that he's wrong, at the very least, then here. Sign this petition. It'll do you good.
And, you never know what else...
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Since when did pictures become sacred?
You've got idiots in America terrified about flag-burning. You've got religious idiots terrified at people drawing pictures of Mohammed. Now, there's this idiot in Tennessee!!
Say it with me people, "They're just pictures!!!"
And if that's not enough, shouldn't we focus our attention a bit more on the people actually killing, maiming, dismembering, and sexually assaulting REAL HUMANS??? I'm talking about you, Alberto Gonzales!
As you should know, I am on the Board for our Homeowners Association. This means that I should know all of the Rules and Regulations, and as far as I’m concerned, we should be an example of a “good homeowner”. Well, for over the past year we have been in violation of the R&R’s. One violation that I won’t actively change is the fact that we have 4 pets…1 dog and 3 cats. Despite how much I complain about them almost daily, I will not get rid of them. The other violation is our satellite dish. The first time we had in installed, it was attached to our patio fence. We soon learned that this was a violation (we had no clue because no one provided us with the R&R’s when we moved in nor did we have any information telling us who to contact to get them). So, being the “good homeowners” that we are, we immediately scheduled to have the dish moved…moved onto a pole planted in a bucket of cement that the prior owner left on the patio for just such a use. The dish was just fine, but we had cables running along the outside of the building with a hole drilled into the wood siding for entry into the second floor. BIG violation according to the R&R’s.
Now, before any of you say…well you’re on the Board, why not just have an exception made. All I can say in response is that this is how corruption in our leaders starts and I want no part of that! Plus, there is this retired gentleman on the board that is a “HOA Geek”. No kidding, the other day I must have gotten at least 15 emails from him which were just copies of the Civil Code. Now, they should all know that I work in a law department (I’ve told them this when I was running for the Board) so why he feels the need to send me all of this information that I readily have access to is beyond me. And his answer to everything is to pull out his highlighted copy of the R&R’s and point at it saying “It’s in the Rules and Regulations”. Simply, he just bugs me.
So back to the satellite dish…I finally decided that it needed to be moved (the Board has a walk thru scheduled this week which will be starting right across the street from our unit). I scheduled an appointment for this past Saturday for sometime between 8 am and noon. I just don’t understand why they have to give a 4-hour window…it completely messes up half of your day. Since Ken was in San Diego visiting Tim, I figured I wouldn’t have much to do that morning.
The satellite guy, Kris, got to our place at about 10:20 am. I told him what we wanted done. We walked upstairs and it was during our talk about moving everything that he told me they don’t run cables through the wall space, just from one side to the other…but I needed the cable to get from the second floor to the first. He said that he could run the cable along the floor of the stairs, along the floor of the living room to the living room TV. This just wouldn’t do…I certainly didn’t want the cable running along the floor all over our home. I then asked him about drilling a hole through the floor in one corner of the master bedroom down through the ceiling in the living room. He said he could do that if I was okay with him drilling the holes. No problem and he started the process.
First, he moved the dish from the patio to the roof. No problem there…he then had to feed the cable through a vent that went down into a second floor closet where the heating unit was kept. I helped with that…first I got an umbrella with a hook handled to hook the cables. He then went back onto the roof to feed the cables through while I pulled on them. He ran the cable from the closet into our bedroom and then around to the corner behind our desk. Now this desk is one of those corner desk that is a pain in the ass to move…so we had to crawl around under the desk to do the wiring. He went downstairs and drilled a hole into the ceiling…drilled into open space very easily. Later Kris said that he thought “wow, that was easy”. Well easy it was, because of the approximately 15 inches of space between the ceiling and second floor as we soon learned. Kris then got out this really long drill bit…it must have been a few feet in length. He successfully drilled through the ceiling and through the second floor. Then came the challenge of fishing the cable through the two holes.
He got out this long stick that he used to fish the cable through the wall and poked that through the ceiling…I went upstairs to see if the stick came through the floor. I could hear poking around under the floor, but no stick in sight. We decided to switch and he would poke down through the second floor. I went downstairs to wait. I was really watching for it, but next thing I knew this stick came falling out of the hole and I caught it on its way out. There was our first attempt.
We tried again. This time I successfully grabbed the stick before it went through the floor. Kris then tied the cables to the stick and I tried pulling it through the holes. Well, I pulled the stick through the holes, sans cables. Our second attempt…gone.
We tried for a third time. After poking the stick around looking for the hole in the ceiling, I grabbed it when it came through. This time Kris somehow attached the end of the pole into the end of the cable…smart guy, much smarter than the homeowner he was working with, me. This time I gently pull on the stick and the cable follows through after the stick. YAY! Success. I then start pulling on the cable as he is feeding it through the hole. Well, I honestly didn’t hear him tell me to stop and I thought I felt a push on the cable to I pulled some more. Next thing I know, the end of the cable comes through the ceiling. Yes folks…I pulled the entire cable through and we had to start over again…short-lived success that was!
We try yet another time. After finally getting the stick through with the cable on the end, I gently pull the cable through and STOP after an appropriate amount of length has come through the hole. I held the cable until Kris came downstairs and yes folks this time we succeeded! He finished connecting the cables and then wrote up the order.
It was about 1:10 when he finished…nearly 3 hours after he arrived! I felt so horrible for my lack of cable fishing skills that I tipped him $50. I think that made up for my ineptitude.
Monday, March 13, 2006
I'm a liar, a liar, a big, fat liar.
I don't know how else to put it.
I sat down at my computer today, sure I wouldn't start any new projects. I've started so many books that the number I've finished seems miniscule in comparison. Not only have I started them, I've then gone on to misplace many of them - those are lost forever. Pre-Vicky, I would start a book weekly and toss it aside and go again. So I always worry when I start a new project because I'm afraid I won't finish it.
To that end, I've laid down some ground rules. I have to know what I'm writing about. I have to have a story. I have to have an ending. It has to be compelling. On and on...
But I've had this urge, kind of like a writer's libido. I have an itch that needs scratching. I have to write.
So, I did. I sat down and did it. I don't know what will come of it or where it will go but I hammered out a few hundred words and here they are:
There are those who believe that when you die you are only in heaven a short time, waiting for your next incarnation to occur. Then, you travel down to earth to inhabit a new body and live a new life. The message here is clear: Heaven is for the dead.
And who wants to be dead?
I feel this same thing in my own life. A chapter ends and part of me dies and I am temporarily in another place - heaven or hell? I don’t know - until a new chapter begins and I am back again.
I felt this when my first marriage ended. I feel it now as my second one nears. And yet, it is with a certain foreboding that I know that heaven, that cold, blinding place, is not through with me. The angels won't retract their grip and I dare not pull away. God only knows how far I have to fall.
I look down from this dizzying height and see the object of my life far beneath. Bethany. She calls to me but I can't hear her. And it's not because I'm deaf, not because of some outside impediment. I refuse to listen. I continue to refuse.
She stands down there in that white dress we bought in Cabo, white cotton as thin as a lie, holding her tiny frame like Aphrodite in marble sculpted by tiny hands. Her pale skin in mineral. Her hair is as light like the sunset sun; it actually shimmers.
I should respond to her.
"Can you come down?"
I can't look over again. That one, quick glance was more than I - my doctor says it's more than simple acrophobia. It isn't just the heights that I fear. It's that parking lot and the street and the sky and the sun and the girl and - acrophobia with a hint of agoraphobia and a dash of aviophobia, garnished with venustraphobia and a bunch of shit you ain't never heard of.
And it's not as though I can't look at beautiful women. Not at all. Any touch of venustraphobia I suffer from is synonymous only with my Bethany. My fiancé. My love.
And ain't that a bitch?
It could be worse. My phobias don't come close to the apex, which is hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia, a fear of long words. Wouldn't it just suck to have someone ask you what your phobia is?
"I know you're up there, Matthew!" comes her voice again.
And then my phone rings.
And I pull it out of my pocket.
And it's her.
"Hi." It's all I can say, really. Having an anxiety attack on the night of your rehearsal dinner, keeping your fiancé waiting, you can never find a witty opening line.
"What is it, Matthew?"
I pull my voice from out of my pants. "I'm having a bad day."
"We're going to be late." She tells me this as though I were ten and I can't blame her. But I'm dressed and my hair is combed. I'm wearing her favorite, blue suit, the one that shines and I have no idea what it's made from, the one we go dancing in. And I can dance in it without fear because there are all of those people and they're right next to me and I can hear them breathing. It's dark and it's loud and I can feel that I'm in my place even when the music jumps like a drunken monkey over stones of trance, pop, hip-hop, and the odd punk, even when all they can play is Depeche Mode, even after all these years...
"Come on, Matthew. We've talked about this. You're going to be fine."
I know I will. So long as I stay put.
Mind you, I already had a complete outline to Wormfood. It was the logical choice.
But that's for later... Let's hope I finish this one...
The writer, having writ, writes on - Anonymous
Yeah, but it gets annoying - Mrs. Mous
Well, I'm sorry but that's how it works - Anonymous
Don't take that tone with me - Mrs. Mous
Watch it, bitch, or you'll catch one upside the head - Anonymous
Oh yeah? Well, I FAKED all those orgasms! - Mrs. Mous
Formal divorce proceedings with begin, er, proceed... um... proceedingly...
Where was I?
When I started writing plays, I told Tim Clostio that it didn't mean I'd give up writing novels. And it's a good thing I said that because, in the last year, I've written FOUR!
Let me give you some idea of how unusual that is. In 17 years, from the time I started my first novel (1983) to when I hung up my hat (2000), I completed seven novels. That's about one novel every two and a half years. These last four were each done in about three months.
Honestly, I should take a break.
The only problem with that is that I have three ideas pounding on my skull - they want out.
First, there's the horror novel, which I'm calling Wormfood. It's based around the idea of people getting worm infections that turn them into zombies. It's not that far-fetched; people actually can get worm infections. This weekend, though, Clostio showed me the trailer for a new movie called Slither, which I have to admit does have some similarities. Still, it is compelling...
Then, I want to start the "Handbook for Life" book. I want it ready for our first-born. It's an idea that isn't out there, a collection of answers to the philosophical questions that we face in life: Why do we share? When is it right to fight? Ect.
Oddly, though, the one that's hitting me the hardest is a book written in first-person... and I don't even know what that one's about, really. But my head wants me to write it... whatever it is...
I'm thinking I'll probably be able to hold off on starting anything until after we get back from Hawaii, which is in a couple of weeks. (Don't worry. You'll hear all about it!) Those of you who asked for No More Blue Roses should see it in about a week. I can't wait to hear some feedback on that.
And, of course, Vicky and I will be working on selling both With Eyes to See and No More Blue Roses shortly.
So, that's where this Writer stands... fidgeting...
Thursday, March 09, 2006
I remember it from childhood - the marching troops, the rows of tanks, the straining missiles, the primary colors... It was the Soviet Union in the 1970's being shown on the news in the same, old way. The news program was running old parade footage as if that was all the Soviet Union was, as if they were hell bent on destroying us... as if we didn't do the same damn things ourselves.
And then, this morning. I was at the gym, on the elliptical, watching the news. And there it was again - the marching troops, the rows of tanks, the straining missiles, the primary colors... but this time, it wasn't the Soviet Union. The Soviet Union's gone now and the men in charge need to provide us with a new enemy. They've gobbled through Iraq but now they have one they think will be even better: Iran.
Iran, the age-old enemy. Iran, the hater of America. Iran, the new and horrible threat.
Iran, the bill of goods. That's what they're trying to sell, and they're selling it in the same old way with the same old threats and the same old footage.
Are you going to buy it this time?
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Now, I could go on and on but this time I think we'll go to the video...
Whatever happened to "Mission Accomplished", indeed.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Now, I'm not the biggest fan of VoIP but, then, I'm not a big fan of walkie talkies, which is pretty much as good as VoIP gets. Still, it's being touted as the wave of the future. (Yes, that wave.) A company called Vonage, which in ancient Aramaic means "dry butt fuck", wants to sound like the expert... they also want to steal all of your money while providing rotten service.
As I say, I'm no fan.
And then, this popped up. Free is good. It's certainly better than anything Linksys or Vonage can provide.
(NOTE: If you're not a fan of Microsoft, you probably won't like this much. Then again, Open Source and Apple probably already have superior software.)
Thursday, March 02, 2006
In fact, it sounds like nothing.
It sounds like we're trying to politely get the other person off the phone.
"Love you, talk to you later, bye!"
And we miss it. We miss the meaning behind it all, that tells us that we're not alone and that we're in love and that it's become so commonplace that we no longer mind letting the other person go for a while.
I think back to when Vicky and I were first dating, and when it was difficult to get off the phone. We never knew if that would be the last time we spoke. It still could be... but we're so secure with each other, the thought never occurs to us.
So, I thought I'd drop this note for Vicky.
I love you. I'll talk to you later. Bye.
People take politics about as seriously as a sitcom these days, so why don't we check in on what Shrub was doing just before Katrina hit, courtesy of some inconvenient (for the Repug's, at least) video tape showing Shrub and his cronies before the hurricane...
At the August 28th briefing, the president was told exactly what to expect:
- The chief scientist of the National Hurricane Center warned that a major levee breach was "obviously a very, very grave concern." Bush lied to the entire nation about this point just five days later.
- Michael Brown told the president that if New Orleans flooded the Superdome emergency shelter would likely be under water and short on supplies, creating a "catastrophe within a catastrophe."
- Experts and officials implored the President to prepare for, as the AP described it, "devastation of historic proportions."
- President Bush didn't ask a single question during the briefing. In the next two days he campaigned, attended birthday parties and played guitar while the worst natural disaster in American history killed over 1,300 people and displaced hundreds of thousands.
Oh that Bush! He's funnier than that Yakoff Smirnoff the kids today love so much...
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Jury Duty Scam
Most of us take those summons for jury duty seriously, but enough people skip out on their civic duty, that a new and ominous kind of scam has surfaced. Fall for it and your identity could be stolen, reports CBS. In this con, someone calls pretending to be a court official who threateningly says a warrant has been issued for your arrest because you didn't show up for jury duty. The caller claims to be a jury coordinator. If you protest that you never received a summons for jury duty, the scammer asks you for your Social Security number and date of birth so he or she can verify the information and cancel the arrest warrant. Sometimes they even ask for credit card numbers. Give out any of this information and bingo! Your identity just got stolen. The scam has been reported so far in 11 states, including Oklahoma, Illinois, and Colorado. This (scam) is particularly insidious because they use intimidation over the phone to try and bully people into giving information by pretending they're with the court system. The FBI and the federal court system have issued nationwide alerts on their websites, warning consumers about the fraud.
So be warned...
See I do post on here sometimes
What's so special about March, you ask - as if you haven't heard me go on about this before? March, dear friends, is baby month!
... okay, maybe not so much...
But long before Vicky and I got married, we came to the decision (read: She told me) that come March we were going to hop on the baby bandwagon. After all, neither of us is getting any younger. It's high time... which is to say that time is upon us, not that it's time we got high... although...
No, no! No distractions! It's time to make a baby!
And after long hours of haggling, we have decided on the method by which we will make a little kidling: Fucking.
Yep, that's right. Fucking. Vicky and I plan to fuck a lot (well, I'm hoping that's the case - not to sabotage anything but I'd hate for us to make a baby at our first "at bat" - half the fun is in the making!) and keep on fucking until we are sweaty, exhausted, and out of PTO time!
I just love when people say they are "trying" to have a baby. In this context, "trying" means "fucking". You'd never use that meaning anywhere else... unless, course, you were "trying" someone's patience, something I'm quite adept at...
So, on with the fucking! Commence with the fucking!
The reason behind this One Path, in case you didn't know, is that I plan to hold on to these as a kind of time capsule for our child. Once they get old enough (4 or 5), they can read about how their parents fucked and fucked and fucked... which should really, um, try them up. You know?
(Last night, Vicky told me this is more my blog than hers... this is what she gets...)