There’s this painting of the Buddha. I've seen it a hundred times. In it, he’s holding a fiery sword over his head and he has the most horrific expression. It’s as though he’s ready to chop you in half and take a bite out of your spleen.
I was told once that this aspect of Buddha was meant to break through your ego, whenever your ego got in the way of your life. It’s supposed to be a frightening image, you see? It’s supposed to scare the sense into you. I could intellectualize the concept, particularly because it applies to kundalini yoga and afterlife exercises.
Well, I guess I didn’t realize how much of this was literally true here and now. I know I didn’t. The idea that my ego might be split open while I was still alive and using it didn't exactly appeal to me. And, in the summer of 2006, it wasn’t Buddha holding the blade; it was my own life.
What does this have to do with success or with Plato, for that matter? What can I tell you? It's a book! And it's going to take a few more months (or more) before I even know!
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Will he get a cat?...
Turns out that the scientists of the world, a fickle lot to be sure, have demoted Pluto. It's no longer part of the solar system.
My only question is: What will Mickey do now?
My only question is: What will Mickey do now?
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
The book, the interview, the BLAHs…
I’m writing this rather late. If you knew what was going on inside my head right now, you’d understand that “rather late” is becoming the norm.
Any idea I had about keeping my life normal through all of this, of sticking with my same patterns when my main pattern of earning a living has gone so askew, was probably a bit naïve, but there you are.
Before I get into how things are going, let me address something about this book I want to write. I think it’s a misunderstanding I’ve fostered, unnecessarily. The book is intended to be a story about people who are trying to understand what success means to them, while their lives are taking decidedly unsuccessful turns. The story is “I want to achieve that but this is happening to me”, a road picture without an onramp.
I guess I’ve made it sound like some highfalutin book of answers but what is of primary interest to me, what has always been of interest, is the questions. Stories, after all, are questions. Anyone who sees a movie runs into this when they ask, “Why don’t they just…” and then realize that if they did – whatever – there’d be no story.
One thing that I’m sure of right now (which is to say I might not be quite so sure of it later) is that success is inadequately defined, and that’s why we have so many problems with it. I don’t believe that success can be measured in any materialistic way of thinking but, at the same time, I applaud anyone who can be satisfied by that.
So, that’s the book.
I went to a job interview today. It was… well, it wasn’t great. This company was hiring its first copywriter and didn’t quite know how to interview me. They weren’t quite sure what a writer does, except for write. They even gave me a math test to take! So, I gave them my best sales pitch and then they thought it would be fun to have me write something. They found someone who wasn’t doing anything and had me interview her.
So, I did.
She didn’t find it very comfortable. I kept seeing this “Why is this stranger asking me so many questions” look on her face.
But I pressed on.
“The nice thing about this company,” she told me, “is that it’s so big. And you don’t realize that.”
“What do you mean?” I asked her.
So, she told me about how she ran into someone she knew outside of work, someone employed there, when she went to a different department.
“How do you know her outside of work?”
“I know her daughter from school,” she answered.
That was odd. Did she go to school with the daughter? Did she have children who went to the school? I was missing the connection. So, I began asking her about the connection and she was very hesitant to tell me. After all, it was personal information. And we’d never met.
“The thing is, Jaclynn,” I said, “I mean, I know we’ve never met, but I’m wondering how you know her daughter and how you know her. You know?”
No, she didn’t.
“Well, do you have kids who go to school with her daughter? Or is the daughter a friend of yours?”
“No,” she exclaimed, as if I was dense. “I go to church there!”
… okay.
It turned out that the school was a private school at the church Jaclynn attended, but fishing out that material was somewhat akin to asking her how large her vibrator was.
Yeah, it was an interesting afternoon.
Maybe I was too abrupt. But then, things haven’t been easy and I feel like I’m wasting a lot of time, trying to find a job. This awful depression has settled over me like a storm and I’m getting tired of these low clouds. I feel like I’ve let Vicky down – I hate that. On top of that, I keep getting rejection letters from agents.
Is it any wonder I’m pondering the concept of success just now?
Any idea I had about keeping my life normal through all of this, of sticking with my same patterns when my main pattern of earning a living has gone so askew, was probably a bit naïve, but there you are.
Before I get into how things are going, let me address something about this book I want to write. I think it’s a misunderstanding I’ve fostered, unnecessarily. The book is intended to be a story about people who are trying to understand what success means to them, while their lives are taking decidedly unsuccessful turns. The story is “I want to achieve that but this is happening to me”, a road picture without an onramp.
I guess I’ve made it sound like some highfalutin book of answers but what is of primary interest to me, what has always been of interest, is the questions. Stories, after all, are questions. Anyone who sees a movie runs into this when they ask, “Why don’t they just…” and then realize that if they did – whatever – there’d be no story.
One thing that I’m sure of right now (which is to say I might not be quite so sure of it later) is that success is inadequately defined, and that’s why we have so many problems with it. I don’t believe that success can be measured in any materialistic way of thinking but, at the same time, I applaud anyone who can be satisfied by that.
So, that’s the book.
I went to a job interview today. It was… well, it wasn’t great. This company was hiring its first copywriter and didn’t quite know how to interview me. They weren’t quite sure what a writer does, except for write. They even gave me a math test to take! So, I gave them my best sales pitch and then they thought it would be fun to have me write something. They found someone who wasn’t doing anything and had me interview her.
So, I did.
She didn’t find it very comfortable. I kept seeing this “Why is this stranger asking me so many questions” look on her face.
But I pressed on.
“The nice thing about this company,” she told me, “is that it’s so big. And you don’t realize that.”
“What do you mean?” I asked her.
So, she told me about how she ran into someone she knew outside of work, someone employed there, when she went to a different department.
“How do you know her outside of work?”
“I know her daughter from school,” she answered.
That was odd. Did she go to school with the daughter? Did she have children who went to the school? I was missing the connection. So, I began asking her about the connection and she was very hesitant to tell me. After all, it was personal information. And we’d never met.
“The thing is, Jaclynn,” I said, “I mean, I know we’ve never met, but I’m wondering how you know her daughter and how you know her. You know?”
No, she didn’t.
“Well, do you have kids who go to school with her daughter? Or is the daughter a friend of yours?”
“No,” she exclaimed, as if I was dense. “I go to church there!”
… okay.
It turned out that the school was a private school at the church Jaclynn attended, but fishing out that material was somewhat akin to asking her how large her vibrator was.
Yeah, it was an interesting afternoon.
Maybe I was too abrupt. But then, things haven’t been easy and I feel like I’m wasting a lot of time, trying to find a job. This awful depression has settled over me like a storm and I’m getting tired of these low clouds. I feel like I’ve let Vicky down – I hate that. On top of that, I keep getting rejection letters from agents.
Is it any wonder I’m pondering the concept of success just now?
Monday, August 21, 2006
Forms… just lying under there…
As with most things, this book is coming at me in a very subconscious way. I’m a very subconscious person; I’m just open to that.
So, I’m driving down the street today and it hits me – another way in which this book is far bigger than I originally imagined. Why? Well, you see…
I’m driving along and I suddenly hear Vicky say, “You can’t define success any way you want. Everyone knows what success is.”
Did I mention she wasn’t in the car?
This sets off the spark.
Does everyone know what success is?
“Of course.” she says. “Think about the underlying forms.”
Underlying forms.
I suppose I should mention right now that this isn’t really the right term. I mean, it is but it isn’t…
Moving on - - -
When she said this, it brought to mind Plato’s theory of forms. The idea is that all chairs represent a single, perfect chair, or that all humans represent a perfect, ideal human. And it occurred to me that this was just so much hogwash.
Wait just a second, I thought… I’m calling Plato’s theories hogwash?
Yes, but they are!
I couldn’t argue them before. After all, the theory is pretty self-evident. Think about chairs. A chair with two legs is obviously inferior to one with three, which is also inferior to one with four. The movement towards a perfect chair is self-evident.
What makes it hogwash?
Back to the chair. Take a newborn baby. Put him in a chair or have him look at a chair. Will she know that the one with three legs is, in any way, inferior to that with four? Of course, not! The whole in Plato’s theory is that it is wholly subjective, requiring a posteriori information. In other words, you need information on which to base that judgement. For something to truly be an underlying form, it would have to a priori, recognizable without any previous information.
Now, to success: Can there be an ideal success? A success better than other successes? Of course, not! Trying to wedge that concept into an ideal state, forces you to realize how open for interpretation it is!
Where the term “underlying form” came from, I don’t know. Again… subconscious. But it applies swimmingly well to a concept so far beneath our daily reference that it escapes rational thought.
It was when I hit the term “rational” that my spine began to bristle.
I mean, I’ve already defined “success” as non-materialistic in nature. Now, I am broadening the definition to include irrational.
There was a lot more swimming through my head but, by the time I got home, this was all I had and, reading it now, I’d say it’s enough…
So, I’m driving down the street today and it hits me – another way in which this book is far bigger than I originally imagined. Why? Well, you see…
I’m driving along and I suddenly hear Vicky say, “You can’t define success any way you want. Everyone knows what success is.”
Did I mention she wasn’t in the car?
This sets off the spark.
Does everyone know what success is?
“Of course.” she says. “Think about the underlying forms.”
Underlying forms.
I suppose I should mention right now that this isn’t really the right term. I mean, it is but it isn’t…
Moving on - - -
When she said this, it brought to mind Plato’s theory of forms. The idea is that all chairs represent a single, perfect chair, or that all humans represent a perfect, ideal human. And it occurred to me that this was just so much hogwash.
Wait just a second, I thought… I’m calling Plato’s theories hogwash?
Yes, but they are!
I couldn’t argue them before. After all, the theory is pretty self-evident. Think about chairs. A chair with two legs is obviously inferior to one with three, which is also inferior to one with four. The movement towards a perfect chair is self-evident.
What makes it hogwash?
Back to the chair. Take a newborn baby. Put him in a chair or have him look at a chair. Will she know that the one with three legs is, in any way, inferior to that with four? Of course, not! The whole in Plato’s theory is that it is wholly subjective, requiring a posteriori information. In other words, you need information on which to base that judgement. For something to truly be an underlying form, it would have to a priori, recognizable without any previous information.
Now, to success: Can there be an ideal success? A success better than other successes? Of course, not! Trying to wedge that concept into an ideal state, forces you to realize how open for interpretation it is!
Where the term “underlying form” came from, I don’t know. Again… subconscious. But it applies swimmingly well to a concept so far beneath our daily reference that it escapes rational thought.
It was when I hit the term “rational” that my spine began to bristle.
I mean, I’ve already defined “success” as non-materialistic in nature. Now, I am broadening the definition to include irrational.
There was a lot more swimming through my head but, by the time I got home, this was all I had and, reading it now, I’d say it’s enough…
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Saturday, August 19, 2006
A thought about Vicky...
(You may need to pardon the spelling in this entry... I'm still drunk...)
Sometimes I think that being married to an artist is more than Vicky signed on for...
So, I'm starting work on this new book, and one thing that's happening is that it's possessing my mind like crazy. I would use the word "occupying" but "possessing" is probably more appropriate.
Jeff came by tonight and we all sat around and talked. I started drinking, something I haven't really done since I lost my job. One thing that happens when I drink is that I start talking. Since my mind is so preoccupied with this new book, everything I see or hear or think about has this direct relation with the new book.
And so, I talk about it. And on. And on.
For Vicky, it must get tiring.
But, for me, it's the way my mind makes the connections between what is in the real world and what is in the book.
Here's what's in it right now: Buddha, before enlightenment. Think about that for just one second. Jesus was the son of God. Mohammed was divinely inspired. Buddha, on the other hand, was just this guy who figured things out. Before he did that... well, things had to be kind of frustrating.
The book is about this longing for accomplishment. And I can't help but feel that Buddha must have felt that - before he reached enlightenment.
I'm not saying I'm anywhere near close - in fact, I'm not. But I can feel a connection with the sublime one before he reached that point... and I keep thinking about it. And, as I drank tonight, it pounded at my head... and I kept talking.
Mind you, as I got really drunk, it was kind of a gobbledy-gook...
And that brings me back to Vicky. What a chore she must have. Being married to me must be... irritating. One minute, I'm talking about multi-dimensional physics... and I write a book about it. Then, I'm talking about the epiphany that comes with suicide... and I write a book about going to the Grand Canyon. Now, I'm stuck in what I can only call the philosophy of accomplishment, or the lack of it, or "middle-aged angst"... and this leads me to my new book.
And Vicky has to keep in mind that, normally, I'm an okay guy. I'm just stuck in this new book.
She's really pretty incredible. She encourages me and cheers me on - and she's probably wondering where the hell I am.
I am an incredibly lucky man.
Thanks, Vic. This drunken slob - this out of work, drunken cacophany of a human - really loves you.
Sometimes I think that being married to an artist is more than Vicky signed on for...
So, I'm starting work on this new book, and one thing that's happening is that it's possessing my mind like crazy. I would use the word "occupying" but "possessing" is probably more appropriate.
Jeff came by tonight and we all sat around and talked. I started drinking, something I haven't really done since I lost my job. One thing that happens when I drink is that I start talking. Since my mind is so preoccupied with this new book, everything I see or hear or think about has this direct relation with the new book.
And so, I talk about it. And on. And on.
For Vicky, it must get tiring.
But, for me, it's the way my mind makes the connections between what is in the real world and what is in the book.
Here's what's in it right now: Buddha, before enlightenment. Think about that for just one second. Jesus was the son of God. Mohammed was divinely inspired. Buddha, on the other hand, was just this guy who figured things out. Before he did that... well, things had to be kind of frustrating.
The book is about this longing for accomplishment. And I can't help but feel that Buddha must have felt that - before he reached enlightenment.
I'm not saying I'm anywhere near close - in fact, I'm not. But I can feel a connection with the sublime one before he reached that point... and I keep thinking about it. And, as I drank tonight, it pounded at my head... and I kept talking.
Mind you, as I got really drunk, it was kind of a gobbledy-gook...
And that brings me back to Vicky. What a chore she must have. Being married to me must be... irritating. One minute, I'm talking about multi-dimensional physics... and I write a book about it. Then, I'm talking about the epiphany that comes with suicide... and I write a book about going to the Grand Canyon. Now, I'm stuck in what I can only call the philosophy of accomplishment, or the lack of it, or "middle-aged angst"... and this leads me to my new book.
And Vicky has to keep in mind that, normally, I'm an okay guy. I'm just stuck in this new book.
She's really pretty incredible. She encourages me and cheers me on - and she's probably wondering where the hell I am.
I am an incredibly lucky man.
Thanks, Vic. This drunken slob - this out of work, drunken cacophany of a human - really loves you.
Friday, August 18, 2006
One week…
(No Barenaked Ladies references! No Barenaked Ladies references!)
In about an hour, it will have been one week since I lost my job. And what a hell of a week it’s been.
I’ve been to a couple of job interviews… they haven’t gone that well…
I’ve started one book – stopped – and started another.
I haven’t been sleeping too well.
And, oddly enough, through all of this, I’m feeling okay with things – not great, but okay. I know that I’m incredibly lucky and feel fortunate to have a wife who loves me so much and is so supportive.
I’m not down, yet. And that’s what counts.
Let’s just hope this doesn’t turn into one of those things where I find out just what it takes to get me there.
In about an hour, it will have been one week since I lost my job. And what a hell of a week it’s been.
I’ve been to a couple of job interviews… they haven’t gone that well…
I’ve started one book – stopped – and started another.
I haven’t been sleeping too well.
And, oddly enough, through all of this, I’m feeling okay with things – not great, but okay. I know that I’m incredibly lucky and feel fortunate to have a wife who loves me so much and is so supportive.
I’m not down, yet. And that’s what counts.
Let’s just hope this doesn’t turn into one of those things where I find out just what it takes to get me there.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
So, just what was I talking about?…
I sat down with Vicky last night. As my co-pilot on this lifetime excursion, I figured she should have a say in things, too.
I said, “I could write a book that would sell or I could write this other thing.”
And then, I told her what the “other thing” was, and we talked it over quite a bit. Then, I took a notepad and a vodka and soda out on the patio and started taking notes…
How can you find inner peace, thinking you’re a failure?
Your life belongs to you – the outcome is your fault. (Basic existentialism)
Why do we fail to recognize our accomplishments when they happen?
It’s not about how the world sees you, or the expectations the world has placed upon you. It’s about how you see yourself and expectations you have placed upon yourself.
Something ineffable defines success. What is it?
Defining ourselves by our place in the world is inherently dissatisfying. (Thus the failure of materialism.)
We have a point inside of us that defines success. It is inside. It is not a part of the world.
What did the Buddha say about enlightenment? Once you’re enlightened, you realize that time is meaningless and that you’ve always been, albeit unknowingly, enlightened, striving towards enlightenment. If this is true, isn’t success a similar state? Have I always been successful but not seen it? Is that “too easy” an answer?
Those who do not live an authentic life cannot see this.
If every rock will one day be a person, and every tree – if enlightenment is sacred and the movement towards enlightenment is sacred, then every life is sacred. Every potentiality is sacred. Isn’t this angst, this drive, this striving for success also sacred?
Angst is sacred. Acceptance and peace are sacred. If a=c and b=c, then a=b… They are the same.
Actually, I wrote a whole lot more than this. This is just a summary. But I began to see that I was on to something much bigger than I had imagined, some amalgamation of existential and Buddhist thinking. But to claim that satisfaction and dissatisfaction were equal (i.e. 1 = -1) was obviously veering off the path somewhat.
That said, I think it’s safe to say I have my next book.
Which is good.
Because Vicky thinks I should write it, too.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Writing… old skool…
This is how it used to be. I’d start a book, get bored with it, start another, get bored with it, start another, get… well, you see the pattern, don’t you?
That’s the way I used to work. And it didn’t really pay off in the end, which is to say it didn’t result in too many finished novels. (Seven novels finished in 16 years = over two years per novel.)
After Vicky came along, that changed greatly. I’ve finished five novels in the last year and a half. (Five novels in 18 months = over three months per novel… wow!)
I knew that had to end sometime.
Um, it did.
See, here’s the thing. I don’t know how many of you heard about this (I don’t think I posted it) but the idea for the next book was something I was calling “My Side – The Movie”… no, not as the real title, just the concept. The idea was what if someone made a movie about a very personal blog, forcing the blogger to relive all of the events. I thought it would make a good, and possibly funny, idea.
But then, there were so many questions I had to resolve. Writing books is a lot about resolving issues and many of those issues have to be worked out in your head before you being writing.
And I wanted to write… NOW!… Right now! (You know, because I have the time!)
So, waiting was out of the question.
I sat down and asked myself, “Ken, what do you want to write more than anything else?” The answer came quickly, if disappointingly: A Philosophical Novel. If you know me, you know that philosophy is an important component in my life. It’s something I can do.
My first philosophical novel, Revelations, helped me resolve the apparent disparity between Christianity and Christians, the religion that teaches love and tolerance and the masses of people who profess to believe those teaching who are so filled with hate. My second philosophical novel, Vampire Society, helped me deal with the problems of materialism and how it is used to replace what we need, rather than fulfill our needs. I wanted to do that again, to say something meaningful, to address some fundamental issue in my life and so many others…
But it’s not marketable.
So, I began writing a new horror novel.
And it was pretty good. In fact, I realized this morning that it was a lot like many other horror novels/stories/movies I’ve read/heard/seen…
And that killed it.
Yes, I can write a horror novel just like many others – and it will be just as marketable as many others – but is that what I really want to do? Write like other people?
It killed it.
Because I realized that, more than anything, I want to write what’s important to my heart. I believe writing can make a difference, stories can make a difference, and I want to do that.
I started thinking about all the things I haven’t accomplished in my life and how, being out of work, I find myself back on square one. This gap, this unnamable something, burned away inside of me. What does it mean to accomplish something? What is the driving force that compels us away from peace and acceptance in the hope of attaining… what?
So, I put the horror novel away.
I haven’t started the next thing.
Or have I?
I need to reconcile myself. I need to find out where I am.
… Many of us feel this terrible regret at having reached a certain age (in my case, middle age) with nothing to show for it. Some of us ignore it and accept our lot. What do they know? What do they not know?
Maybe I have started something.
I’ll keep you posted.
That’s the way I used to work. And it didn’t really pay off in the end, which is to say it didn’t result in too many finished novels. (Seven novels finished in 16 years = over two years per novel.)
After Vicky came along, that changed greatly. I’ve finished five novels in the last year and a half. (Five novels in 18 months = over three months per novel… wow!)
I knew that had to end sometime.
Um, it did.
See, here’s the thing. I don’t know how many of you heard about this (I don’t think I posted it) but the idea for the next book was something I was calling “My Side – The Movie”… no, not as the real title, just the concept. The idea was what if someone made a movie about a very personal blog, forcing the blogger to relive all of the events. I thought it would make a good, and possibly funny, idea.
But then, there were so many questions I had to resolve. Writing books is a lot about resolving issues and many of those issues have to be worked out in your head before you being writing.
And I wanted to write… NOW!… Right now! (You know, because I have the time!)
So, waiting was out of the question.
I sat down and asked myself, “Ken, what do you want to write more than anything else?” The answer came quickly, if disappointingly: A Philosophical Novel. If you know me, you know that philosophy is an important component in my life. It’s something I can do.
My first philosophical novel, Revelations, helped me resolve the apparent disparity between Christianity and Christians, the religion that teaches love and tolerance and the masses of people who profess to believe those teaching who are so filled with hate. My second philosophical novel, Vampire Society, helped me deal with the problems of materialism and how it is used to replace what we need, rather than fulfill our needs. I wanted to do that again, to say something meaningful, to address some fundamental issue in my life and so many others…
But it’s not marketable.
So, I began writing a new horror novel.
And it was pretty good. In fact, I realized this morning that it was a lot like many other horror novels/stories/movies I’ve read/heard/seen…
And that killed it.
Yes, I can write a horror novel just like many others – and it will be just as marketable as many others – but is that what I really want to do? Write like other people?
It killed it.
Because I realized that, more than anything, I want to write what’s important to my heart. I believe writing can make a difference, stories can make a difference, and I want to do that.
I started thinking about all the things I haven’t accomplished in my life and how, being out of work, I find myself back on square one. This gap, this unnamable something, burned away inside of me. What does it mean to accomplish something? What is the driving force that compels us away from peace and acceptance in the hope of attaining… what?
So, I put the horror novel away.
I haven’t started the next thing.
Or have I?
I need to reconcile myself. I need to find out where I am.
… Many of us feel this terrible regret at having reached a certain age (in my case, middle age) with nothing to show for it. Some of us ignore it and accept our lot. What do they know? What do they not know?
Maybe I have started something.
I’ll keep you posted.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Is it art?
I found this while surfing the great web wave and found it intriguing
Me: Girl Takes Picture of Herself...
Let me know if you see the blonde wig and sunglasses around 1 1/2 minutes.
Me: Girl Takes Picture of Herself...
Let me know if you see the blonde wig and sunglasses around 1 1/2 minutes.
Monday, August 14, 2006
My first day jobless…
It’s been a busier day than I thought it would be… and that’s a good thing!
One of the worst things about this weekend was the fact that I could do so little. I revised my resume (creating one for marketing writing and one for technical writing), drafted corresponding cover letters, and applied, well, EVERYWHERE! But, after that, it was a lot of waiting.
Last night, I hardly slept.
Vicky was swell. She has a lot of faith in me and is sure things will be fine. We talked about the difference between theory and application. In school, I excelled in theoretical fields (such as philosophy), whereas Vicky was better with application (lab classes, etc.). So, I told her how I have been meditating hard on Buddhist teachings after losing my job but can’t seem to find the inner peace it should provide. Vicky, not aware of the theory behind the Buddhist teachings has, meanwhile, found that peace without even thinking about it. (Again, is it any wonder why I love her?)
After spending most of the weekend applying to every job online, I had very little I could do this morning as far as job searching. I worked on some of the rewrites for the new book but, by and large, I was BORED.
I went to Sean’s and we went out for a cheap breakfast… BORING!
Thankfully, the calls started pouring in once I got home. By the end of the day, I had three interviews lined up: one next week, one on Thursday and one tomorrow! That helped put my mind a bit more at ease.
Mind you, I’m still out of work but things are looking a bit brighter… if just a bit.
One of the worst things about this weekend was the fact that I could do so little. I revised my resume (creating one for marketing writing and one for technical writing), drafted corresponding cover letters, and applied, well, EVERYWHERE! But, after that, it was a lot of waiting.
Last night, I hardly slept.
Vicky was swell. She has a lot of faith in me and is sure things will be fine. We talked about the difference between theory and application. In school, I excelled in theoretical fields (such as philosophy), whereas Vicky was better with application (lab classes, etc.). So, I told her how I have been meditating hard on Buddhist teachings after losing my job but can’t seem to find the inner peace it should provide. Vicky, not aware of the theory behind the Buddhist teachings has, meanwhile, found that peace without even thinking about it. (Again, is it any wonder why I love her?)
After spending most of the weekend applying to every job online, I had very little I could do this morning as far as job searching. I worked on some of the rewrites for the new book but, by and large, I was BORED.
I went to Sean’s and we went out for a cheap breakfast… BORING!
Thankfully, the calls started pouring in once I got home. By the end of the day, I had three interviews lined up: one next week, one on Thursday and one tomorrow! That helped put my mind a bit more at ease.
Mind you, I’m still out of work but things are looking a bit brighter… if just a bit.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Smoking out, Freaking out, and Pigging out…
Last night, I went over to hang out with Sean… and get all neurotic about losing my job. A true friend – and enabler – Sean picked me up a pack of smokes. He figured that I could use them, considering the situation I find myself in.
For the past day, I’ve been doing nothing but worrying. We could lose the house. We could lose everything – if I don’t find a job! Vicky, meanwhile, has been wonderful and far more supportive than I rightly deserve. Thank you, Vic!
So, we headed back to Sean’s today for a barbeque he threw and, on the way, Vicky pretty much broke. In no uncertain terms, she told me to stop freaking out! Now, I’d left the cigarettes at Sean’s so, when we got there, I grabbed one and lit up (far away from Vicky, of course), which calmed me down enough to stop bitching and moaning about things. And then, we commenced with the eating. Sean lives for these things; he loves throwing shindigs on the grill… along with some burgers and dogs. God only knew where my next meal was coming from, so I figured I should eat…
I realized that one of my problems is that, beyond being an habitual worrier, I’m the kind of guy who needs to have a purpose. Without a job, I’m corked champagne, filled with bubbles of neurosis. Maybe I should start on a new book… maybe I should work harder on selling what I got… ugh!…
After I’d totally stuffed myself, he suggested we play some catch. Sean is also a sadist… the bastard.
And so, I’m dealing… and that’s day one…
For the past day, I’ve been doing nothing but worrying. We could lose the house. We could lose everything – if I don’t find a job! Vicky, meanwhile, has been wonderful and far more supportive than I rightly deserve. Thank you, Vic!
So, we headed back to Sean’s today for a barbeque he threw and, on the way, Vicky pretty much broke. In no uncertain terms, she told me to stop freaking out! Now, I’d left the cigarettes at Sean’s so, when we got there, I grabbed one and lit up (far away from Vicky, of course), which calmed me down enough to stop bitching and moaning about things. And then, we commenced with the eating. Sean lives for these things; he loves throwing shindigs on the grill… along with some burgers and dogs. God only knew where my next meal was coming from, so I figured I should eat…
I realized that one of my problems is that, beyond being an habitual worrier, I’m the kind of guy who needs to have a purpose. Without a job, I’m corked champagne, filled with bubbles of neurosis. Maybe I should start on a new book… maybe I should work harder on selling what I got… ugh!…
After I’d totally stuffed myself, he suggested we play some catch. Sean is also a sadist… the bastard.
And so, I’m dealing… and that’s day one…
Stuff I forgot…
After I wrote yesterday’s blog, I realized that I’d actually left some things out!
So, here’s just one to belabor the point.
A few weeks ago, Tim called all of us into a meeting. Considering that we were all salaried, the content of the meeting was rather surprising. “You work from either 7:30-4:30 or 8:00 – 5:00 every day. You take lunch from 12:00 – 1:00. And you get two, 15 minute breaks, one from 9:45 – 10:00 and another from 3:00 – 3:15. No exceptions.”
I might have mentioned that there were originally four people in the department. One of them, our web guy, recently became a father of his first child, and scheduling was never exactly accurate. Coming in at exactly 8:00am was nearly impossible for him. Before, you see, he could have just worked later to make up the time – but not so now. So, Tim would call him into his office every day and they’d yell back and forth.
He quit just over a week later. And he grew so tired of Tim’s bullshit that he left before his two weeks were up… actually two days later.
I’m surprised I forgot this story because it makes an important point: that it wasn’t just me. And I don’t want to forget that as I start blaming myself.
Tim was a complete ass who thought very highly of himself. He was a member of the beer of the month club and, every month, he would be mailed a 12-pack of beer to work. Why to work? Anyway, as a show of what a swell guy he was, he’d give us ONE beer every month. Gee, what a swell guy.
After a few months, I couldn’t take it. With the shit he was giving me, I hated this pretend show of friendship. So, I simply stored them in my desk as I looked for another job.
So, I can imagine him emptying my desk yesterday, finding a six-pack of beer! (Mmmmm…. Warm, old beer….)
Last night, I had a hell of a time getting to sleep. One scene kept playing through my head. Tim came to my desk and said, “Ken, will you come with me?” I knew immediately what was happening; I was going to be written up – the first step towards them firing me. They’d never written me up. In fact, only two months ago, I received a very good review. Tim and I walked to Janet’s office. Janet was the HR lady. Tim pointed out a chair for me to sit in and I sat down. Tim sat beside me. Janet sat across from us. She hadn’t said anything. Then, Tim said, “We’re letting you go for poor performance. Janet’s got your packet.” Janet picked up an envelope. “This has your check and everything about COBRA and Unemployment Insurance.” She handed me the envelope. “We want you out right away,” Tim said.
I looked at them both. “Don’t I even get a box to put my stuff in?”
The whole meeting took less than five minutes. No questions. No explanations.
Over and over, it repeated in my mind. I actually had to sit up and meditate on the OM to quiet myself enough to sleep. I think that’s probably going to be the case for a while.
So, here’s just one to belabor the point.
A few weeks ago, Tim called all of us into a meeting. Considering that we were all salaried, the content of the meeting was rather surprising. “You work from either 7:30-4:30 or 8:00 – 5:00 every day. You take lunch from 12:00 – 1:00. And you get two, 15 minute breaks, one from 9:45 – 10:00 and another from 3:00 – 3:15. No exceptions.”
I might have mentioned that there were originally four people in the department. One of them, our web guy, recently became a father of his first child, and scheduling was never exactly accurate. Coming in at exactly 8:00am was nearly impossible for him. Before, you see, he could have just worked later to make up the time – but not so now. So, Tim would call him into his office every day and they’d yell back and forth.
He quit just over a week later. And he grew so tired of Tim’s bullshit that he left before his two weeks were up… actually two days later.
I’m surprised I forgot this story because it makes an important point: that it wasn’t just me. And I don’t want to forget that as I start blaming myself.
Tim was a complete ass who thought very highly of himself. He was a member of the beer of the month club and, every month, he would be mailed a 12-pack of beer to work. Why to work? Anyway, as a show of what a swell guy he was, he’d give us ONE beer every month. Gee, what a swell guy.
After a few months, I couldn’t take it. With the shit he was giving me, I hated this pretend show of friendship. So, I simply stored them in my desk as I looked for another job.
So, I can imagine him emptying my desk yesterday, finding a six-pack of beer! (Mmmmm…. Warm, old beer….)
Last night, I had a hell of a time getting to sleep. One scene kept playing through my head. Tim came to my desk and said, “Ken, will you come with me?” I knew immediately what was happening; I was going to be written up – the first step towards them firing me. They’d never written me up. In fact, only two months ago, I received a very good review. Tim and I walked to Janet’s office. Janet was the HR lady. Tim pointed out a chair for me to sit in and I sat down. Tim sat beside me. Janet sat across from us. She hadn’t said anything. Then, Tim said, “We’re letting you go for poor performance. Janet’s got your packet.” Janet picked up an envelope. “This has your check and everything about COBRA and Unemployment Insurance.” She handed me the envelope. “We want you out right away,” Tim said.
I looked at them both. “Don’t I even get a box to put my stuff in?”
The whole meeting took less than five minutes. No questions. No explanations.
Over and over, it repeated in my mind. I actually had to sit up and meditate on the OM to quiet myself enough to sleep. I think that’s probably going to be the case for a while.
Friday, August 11, 2006
This is how it begins…
Back in March, after Vicky and I came back from Hawaii, my boss, Tim, told me that I took an extra day off… but I hadn’t.
This was when things started to go downhill… and they ended up where they are now – at the bottom of a ravine. Broken. Smashed.
When I received my review in June, it was filled with high praise. Great. And a raise. Great great. Okay. Me likey! But there was an undercurrent of warning. You see, Tim was a massive control freak. I knew that. But there was more. I learned that this week.
So, he told me I should do things more his way and that I should kiss up more. Okay, okay. Fine. After all, I had my raise, right?
But then, I didn’t kiss up enough.
And this new guy, we’ll call him “Carl”… his real name was Carl… when he started, I didn’t kiss up enough. He had the owner’s ear and said he wanted his own writer. The way it was explained to me, this meant I was O-U-T.
But wait? Why? What about that great review?
Sorry.
And then, things got worse. When I’d started, I was told that it was a low-pressure environment and that people wouldn’t be on my back.
Not quite.
At the start of July, I was told to stop using the company phone and (shortly thereafter) to stop using my phone, too. Now, I received a couple of calls per day from Vicky (each lasting about five minutes) but, honestly, that’s far from excessive. Then, I was told that I couldn’t use the Internet – HELLO! I’M A WRITER! I NEED TO DO RESEARCH.
Sorry.
Then, I was told I had to be able to report where any of my work was at any time.
Then, they increased my workload to where I was working on 20 projects at a time.
Then, they increased my workload to where I was working on 30 projects at a time.
Then, they increased my workload to where I was working on 40 projects at a time. Each project was stacked individually in my cube. I’d be tested daily as to the status of each project. I was quizzed on terminology and, without being able to do any research, grilled when I came up short.
On Tuesday, I heard they were interviewing a couple of people for the writer position.
Today, I was fired.
I needed to write all of this down because now, only a couple of hours later, I’m already starting to blame myself. But I know it wasn’t entirely my fault. Could I have kissed ass better? Probably. But I don’t think I want a job that I couldn’t keep because I didn’t go in deep enough, anyway.
So, that’s where I am. My job now is to find another job. And I plan to do that job damned well!
This was when things started to go downhill… and they ended up where they are now – at the bottom of a ravine. Broken. Smashed.
When I received my review in June, it was filled with high praise. Great. And a raise. Great great. Okay. Me likey! But there was an undercurrent of warning. You see, Tim was a massive control freak. I knew that. But there was more. I learned that this week.
So, he told me I should do things more his way and that I should kiss up more. Okay, okay. Fine. After all, I had my raise, right?
But then, I didn’t kiss up enough.
And this new guy, we’ll call him “Carl”… his real name was Carl… when he started, I didn’t kiss up enough. He had the owner’s ear and said he wanted his own writer. The way it was explained to me, this meant I was O-U-T.
But wait? Why? What about that great review?
Sorry.
And then, things got worse. When I’d started, I was told that it was a low-pressure environment and that people wouldn’t be on my back.
Not quite.
At the start of July, I was told to stop using the company phone and (shortly thereafter) to stop using my phone, too. Now, I received a couple of calls per day from Vicky (each lasting about five minutes) but, honestly, that’s far from excessive. Then, I was told that I couldn’t use the Internet – HELLO! I’M A WRITER! I NEED TO DO RESEARCH.
Sorry.
Then, I was told I had to be able to report where any of my work was at any time.
Then, they increased my workload to where I was working on 20 projects at a time.
Then, they increased my workload to where I was working on 30 projects at a time.
Then, they increased my workload to where I was working on 40 projects at a time. Each project was stacked individually in my cube. I’d be tested daily as to the status of each project. I was quizzed on terminology and, without being able to do any research, grilled when I came up short.
On Tuesday, I heard they were interviewing a couple of people for the writer position.
Today, I was fired.
I needed to write all of this down because now, only a couple of hours later, I’m already starting to blame myself. But I know it wasn’t entirely my fault. Could I have kissed ass better? Probably. But I don’t think I want a job that I couldn’t keep because I didn’t go in deep enough, anyway.
So, that’s where I am. My job now is to find another job. And I plan to do that job damned well!
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Love of Your Life...
I've just finished the first draft of Love of Your Life.
I'm all misty-eyed. There's no greater mix of sadness and relief and joy than when I finish a novel.
And that makes an even dozen. Wow.
Time to start on those rewrites...
I'm all misty-eyed. There's no greater mix of sadness and relief and joy than when I finish a novel.
And that makes an even dozen. Wow.
Time to start on those rewrites...
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Every day I write the book…
It’s been a while since I checked in last. I guess I should let you know that I’ll be finishing Love of Your Life any day now.
It looks like I won’t be going to any auditions because conditions at my place of employment have worsened and they’re messing with my schedule at will. Screwy schedules don’t work when you’re in theater and that means another postponement in my returning to the stage.
Meanwhile, the writing continues.
As I near the end of Love, my subconscious is already working on an idea for the next book. If you can imagine an old-style telephone in a lightening storm, with the world coming to a violent end every now and then… well, it’s sort of like that. And, every time around, the idea is refined more and more.
It started like this:
A Wizard in Los Angeles
This was an idea about a guy who loses his wife, his job, and his home. He ends up homeless, on the street, and without hope until he meets a bum he mistakes as some kind of wizard. He thinks the bum can work some kind of magic to return him to –
CRASH!
It was like seeing a hammer come through a closed window – the idea was gone.
Anyway, I didn’t want to write another love story. What’s the point of it, anyway? It’s just one after another – nothing special.
And then:
MY SIDE: The Movie!
This idea was about a guy who wrote a blog during the breakup of his marriage (very much like my old blog). Years later, after he’s married and happy again, or so he thinks, he is approached by a producer who wants to make the experiences in his blog into a movie. This stirs up old memories that –
CRASH!
Shattered. And good riddance. Hey, it might sound like a great idea but I’ve been down that road before, you know? I mean, I wrote the blog!
So, where was my mind taking me? What was it trying to say? And, if it couldn’t get its message straight, could it at least allow me to write a nice, gory, horror story?
But then, I had this dream last night. Dreams are very powerful sometimes and this was no different. It was simple. I was standing in my bedroom when, I opened the door – and I suddenly stood in Rosa’s house. There, she sat, watching television. She didn’t notice me. I don’t remember if the dream was lucid or just seemed so but I remember hoping she wouldn’t notice as I sat down across from her. And I just shared her space.
That was it.
So, I spent today pondering that. What was it trying to tell me?
Even as I thought about it, as I tried to find some other answer – I knew I had the answer already. I just hated what it was.
And I knew I couldn’t write what wanted to be written. I love Vicky very much and I don’t want to hurt her, even with an idea.
Here’s the idea, and why I don’t think I should go down this road: We never really get over anyone. We may think we do. In reality, though, what we do is come to our senses and realize that we need to find a relationship that’s more healthy – more healthy than thinking about the person we lost.
I don’t know. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with that. But it seems to me to be a bit too much like enjoying cake you get to keep…
Maybe I’ll just stick to my video games…
It looks like I won’t be going to any auditions because conditions at my place of employment have worsened and they’re messing with my schedule at will. Screwy schedules don’t work when you’re in theater and that means another postponement in my returning to the stage.
Meanwhile, the writing continues.
As I near the end of Love, my subconscious is already working on an idea for the next book. If you can imagine an old-style telephone in a lightening storm, with the world coming to a violent end every now and then… well, it’s sort of like that. And, every time around, the idea is refined more and more.
It started like this:
A Wizard in Los Angeles
This was an idea about a guy who loses his wife, his job, and his home. He ends up homeless, on the street, and without hope until he meets a bum he mistakes as some kind of wizard. He thinks the bum can work some kind of magic to return him to –
CRASH!
It was like seeing a hammer come through a closed window – the idea was gone.
Anyway, I didn’t want to write another love story. What’s the point of it, anyway? It’s just one after another – nothing special.
And then:
MY SIDE: The Movie!
This idea was about a guy who wrote a blog during the breakup of his marriage (very much like my old blog). Years later, after he’s married and happy again, or so he thinks, he is approached by a producer who wants to make the experiences in his blog into a movie. This stirs up old memories that –
CRASH!
Shattered. And good riddance. Hey, it might sound like a great idea but I’ve been down that road before, you know? I mean, I wrote the blog!
So, where was my mind taking me? What was it trying to say? And, if it couldn’t get its message straight, could it at least allow me to write a nice, gory, horror story?
But then, I had this dream last night. Dreams are very powerful sometimes and this was no different. It was simple. I was standing in my bedroom when, I opened the door – and I suddenly stood in Rosa’s house. There, she sat, watching television. She didn’t notice me. I don’t remember if the dream was lucid or just seemed so but I remember hoping she wouldn’t notice as I sat down across from her. And I just shared her space.
That was it.
So, I spent today pondering that. What was it trying to tell me?
Even as I thought about it, as I tried to find some other answer – I knew I had the answer already. I just hated what it was.
And I knew I couldn’t write what wanted to be written. I love Vicky very much and I don’t want to hurt her, even with an idea.
Here’s the idea, and why I don’t think I should go down this road: We never really get over anyone. We may think we do. In reality, though, what we do is come to our senses and realize that we need to find a relationship that’s more healthy – more healthy than thinking about the person we lost.
I don’t know. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with that. But it seems to me to be a bit too much like enjoying cake you get to keep…
Maybe I’ll just stick to my video games…
Monday, August 07, 2006
When good news isn’t…
Okay. So, it’s been a while. I’ve been busy, busy, and…. oh, yeah – busy.
But this story popped up about a week ago and it was almost enough to make me lose my lunch… then, I remembered it was in my lunchbox, so…
But for Pat Robertson to “believe in” global warming, well, that’s about enough to make me buy an SUV! I mean, the minute he says he believes something the credibility is severely shot to hell!
He’s got millions of certifiably insane people following him. Do we sensible, rational folk want to be on the same side as the crazy people??? Do we?
Of course, this is probably just a way for him to get 700 Club viewers to donate to save pasty, white evangelicals from not having enough ice in their lemonade. I'm sure once winter comes around, he'll declare that God has told him that it will now be cooler...
But this story popped up about a week ago and it was almost enough to make me lose my lunch… then, I remembered it was in my lunchbox, so…
But for Pat Robertson to “believe in” global warming, well, that’s about enough to make me buy an SUV! I mean, the minute he says he believes something the credibility is severely shot to hell!
He’s got millions of certifiably insane people following him. Do we sensible, rational folk want to be on the same side as the crazy people??? Do we?
Of course, this is probably just a way for him to get 700 Club viewers to donate to save pasty, white evangelicals from not having enough ice in their lemonade. I'm sure once winter comes around, he'll declare that God has told him that it will now be cooler...
Sunday, August 06, 2006
A superhero for 2006...
It's Pinata-Man!
"Never fear! It's me, Pinata-Man - OW! Stop it! Ouch! Cut it out! Oh! Stop hitting me!!!"
"Never fear! It's me, Pinata-Man - OW! Stop it! Ouch! Cut it out! Oh! Stop hitting me!!!"
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Revenge of the Pasta…
Yep, another week has passed us by and it was time, once again, for me to cook. (Jenn’s out of town, so she’ll be chiming in with my recipe after she gets back.) This week, it was… what was the name?… oh, right, Pasta Weirda… or something.
Seriously, this was one strange pasta dish. But, I made it anyway, in the interests of discovery and science… and because Vicky told me it was my turn to cook.
Here’s the recipe:
MAMACELLO PASTA
1 lb Spaghetti or Linguini3
T Extra Virgin Olive Oil
4 Cloves of garlic, finely chopped
2 pinches Crushed Red Pepper Flakes
1/2 C Dry white wine
2 Lemons zest
1 Lemon juiced
1/2 C Heavy Cream
Handful of flat leaf parsley, chopped
1 C Fresh Basil, Shredded
Freshly grated Pecorino Romano cheese for topping pasta… or whatever it is you use
Now, these were some weird ingredients. I mean, lemon juice and shredded basil??? That’s not the kind of food they make where I come from. And, it got worse. I started reading the directions (original copies can be seen on Jenn’s site) and it made no sense. Add the garlic to the oil and then set it aside for FIVE MINUTES? It was looking more like a joke than a recipe! So, I did what any red-blooded, American male would do… I bitched about it until Vicky called Jenn.
Between the two of us, we agreed it didn’t make much sense. After all, how long did you leave the garlic in the oil before removing it? Did you want to brown it? And why five minutes? Jenn suggested that the intent was to infuse the oil with garlic and red pepper flavor. I could get behind that. Okay!
So, here are your revised directions.
I put a HUGE HEAP of finely chopped garlic in the olive oil (we’re talking 6-8 cloves!), along with twice the red pepper flakes. That soaked up the oil so I poured in even mor e oil! You can do that.
As that cooked over medium-low heat, with my sexy assistant stirring (that would be Vicky), I started the pasta. And I went with angel hair pasta because… well, we have a ton.
After the garlic and pepper infused the oil, I poured in easily ½ cup of dry, white wine. (We went with a Sauvignon Blanc… and I got saucy on the rest of the bottle!) Vicky had been kind enough to zest the lemons for me and we through that in, too.
We probably didn’t let it boil for the whole three minutes before throwing in the cream, lemon juice, salt, and – yes – a whole ladle of pasta water. It sounds pretty gross but, there you have it – and we did it!
Then, I drained the pasta. After a few minutes letting the concoction reduce a bit, I threw in the basil, parsley, and some cheese. Then, we let that wilt a little.
Finally, I threw all the pasta in the pan and let that absorb, soak up, and generally love on all the sauce.
And, we ate.
Final verdict: Good. Very light and lemony. It would pair beautifully with some lightly grilled chicken or the rest of a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. (Hic!)
Seriously, this was one strange pasta dish. But, I made it anyway, in the interests of discovery and science… and because Vicky told me it was my turn to cook.
Here’s the recipe:
MAMACELLO PASTA
1 lb Spaghetti or Linguini3
T Extra Virgin Olive Oil
4 Cloves of garlic, finely chopped
2 pinches Crushed Red Pepper Flakes
1/2 C Dry white wine
2 Lemons zest
1 Lemon juiced
1/2 C Heavy Cream
Handful of flat leaf parsley, chopped
1 C Fresh Basil, Shredded
Freshly grated Pecorino Romano cheese for topping pasta… or whatever it is you use
Now, these were some weird ingredients. I mean, lemon juice and shredded basil??? That’s not the kind of food they make where I come from. And, it got worse. I started reading the directions (original copies can be seen on Jenn’s site) and it made no sense. Add the garlic to the oil and then set it aside for FIVE MINUTES? It was looking more like a joke than a recipe! So, I did what any red-blooded, American male would do… I bitched about it until Vicky called Jenn.
Between the two of us, we agreed it didn’t make much sense. After all, how long did you leave the garlic in the oil before removing it? Did you want to brown it? And why five minutes? Jenn suggested that the intent was to infuse the oil with garlic and red pepper flavor. I could get behind that. Okay!
So, here are your revised directions.
I put a HUGE HEAP of finely chopped garlic in the olive oil (we’re talking 6-8 cloves!), along with twice the red pepper flakes. That soaked up the oil so I poured in even mor e oil! You can do that.
As that cooked over medium-low heat, with my sexy assistant stirring (that would be Vicky), I started the pasta. And I went with angel hair pasta because… well, we have a ton.
After the garlic and pepper infused the oil, I poured in easily ½ cup of dry, white wine. (We went with a Sauvignon Blanc… and I got saucy on the rest of the bottle!) Vicky had been kind enough to zest the lemons for me and we through that in, too.
We probably didn’t let it boil for the whole three minutes before throwing in the cream, lemon juice, salt, and – yes – a whole ladle of pasta water. It sounds pretty gross but, there you have it – and we did it!
Then, I drained the pasta. After a few minutes letting the concoction reduce a bit, I threw in the basil, parsley, and some cheese. Then, we let that wilt a little.
Finally, I threw all the pasta in the pan and let that absorb, soak up, and generally love on all the sauce.
And, we ate.
Final verdict: Good. Very light and lemony. It would pair beautifully with some lightly grilled chicken or the rest of a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. (Hic!)
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Fun with your face...
My Heritage is a site that's in beta right now. You really have to try it out. It's really excellent at blowing smoke deep into the darkest recesses of your ass. It takes a picture of a person's face and finds the picture that you'll think is most flattering.
For instance, I tried both of my headshots and it said I looked like Christian Slater and Leo DiCaprio.
... I'LL TAKE IT!
Give it a spin!
Next, I'm going to look for a website that tells me I'm filthy rich!
For instance, I tried both of my headshots and it said I looked like Christian Slater and Leo DiCaprio.
... I'LL TAKE IT!
Give it a spin!
Next, I'm going to look for a website that tells me I'm filthy rich!
Monday, July 31, 2006
This is how you know the day will suck…
And it did, by the way.
So, I normally drink a lot of water during the day. I bring a cup and fill it up over and over from our water filtration thingie (bottled water is SO 20th century). But, um, well, not today.
I forgot it.
I didn’t worry, though. I got some money from my car to buy a bottle, which I would then refill.
The machine was out of water.
Oh well. I’d get a 7-Up, which are now all natural… bullshit…
I put my money in. I pressed the button and out came…
… a root beer.
… I should have just gone home.
So, I normally drink a lot of water during the day. I bring a cup and fill it up over and over from our water filtration thingie (bottled water is SO 20th century). But, um, well, not today.
I forgot it.
I didn’t worry, though. I got some money from my car to buy a bottle, which I would then refill.
The machine was out of water.
Oh well. I’d get a 7-Up, which are now all natural… bullshit…
I put my money in. I pressed the button and out came…
… a root beer.
… I should have just gone home.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Fuck Flying…
There’s nothing I love more than flying. Seriously. And I’m not talking about flying in a plane – I mean outright flying. Hell, I jumped off a three-story building, I liked it so much!
And that’s why I decided to play City of Heroes.
But here’s the thing, by the time you get enough experience to fly you’re so sick of the game, you say, “Fuck flying!” and quit.
… which is what I did today. Fuck flying.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s a great idea for a game. It is. Superheroes! Fun! Excitement! Um… Fun! But you have so many load times and so many incidences (things gamers know far too well). And there’s so much interminable grinding! I thought World of Warcraft was bad but NO – NO NO NO NO NO! OH NO! Just to get 1000 of the 6000 (or so) points to level high enough to fly, I had to work the same area for night after night after soul-killing night – because they only let you play in one little area and it gets FUCKING BORING!!!
So, FUCK FLYING! I don’t care. I don’t even want to fly anymore!
Give me a sword or a hammer, leather armor or mail, and some damned dwarves and night elves and shit – I’m heading back to Azeroth and World of Warcraft!!!
And that’s why I decided to play City of Heroes.
But here’s the thing, by the time you get enough experience to fly you’re so sick of the game, you say, “Fuck flying!” and quit.
… which is what I did today. Fuck flying.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s a great idea for a game. It is. Superheroes! Fun! Excitement! Um… Fun! But you have so many load times and so many incidences (things gamers know far too well). And there’s so much interminable grinding! I thought World of Warcraft was bad but NO – NO NO NO NO NO! OH NO! Just to get 1000 of the 6000 (or so) points to level high enough to fly, I had to work the same area for night after night after soul-killing night – because they only let you play in one little area and it gets FUCKING BORING!!!
So, FUCK FLYING! I don’t care. I don’t even want to fly anymore!
Give me a sword or a hammer, leather armor or mail, and some damned dwarves and night elves and shit – I’m heading back to Azeroth and World of Warcraft!!!
And the writer writes…
Is it just me or is it really, bloody confusing?
I’m a writer!
I’m an actor!
I’m a writer!
I’m a fucking desert topping!!!
… well, I find it confusing…
Up until recently, my literary endeavors have been conveniently restricted to work hours, when I could get some work time freed up to do some writing. In order to get the work time freed up, I would work twice as hard as most other people, skipping breaks and lunches and my time writing would make up for that.
Well, things recently changed at work. Writing was no longer an option since my work time would have to be fully accounted for… dammit. So, no writing. But I decided that, if I wasn’t going to be allowed to write, I certainly wasn’t going to put in all that extra effort. I would work slow! Damned slow!
And, so I started, working at a pace that made snails feel superior. Dammit, I was slow!
… or so I thought. I was actually working at the same pace as everyone else. Imagine what an eye-opener that was!! Here I was, restraining myself lest my pace pick up, forcing myself to work slower, slower, slower… and it turned out that’s how most people regularly worked. Freakish!
This also meant I had to move my writing to home. I warned Vicky about how busy I’d be… and immediately auditioned for a play. There’s another audition today… and I might go…
But here’s the thing. I’ve reached the 80,000 word mark and am rapidly closing in on 90,000 words and completion. Not only that but I have an idea for my next book and – DAMMIT, WHEN’S A GUY SUPPOSED TO ACT???
Seriously, can someone just cut me in half?
I’m a writer!
I’m an actor!
I’m a writer!
I’m a fucking desert topping!!!
… well, I find it confusing…
Up until recently, my literary endeavors have been conveniently restricted to work hours, when I could get some work time freed up to do some writing. In order to get the work time freed up, I would work twice as hard as most other people, skipping breaks and lunches and my time writing would make up for that.
Well, things recently changed at work. Writing was no longer an option since my work time would have to be fully accounted for… dammit. So, no writing. But I decided that, if I wasn’t going to be allowed to write, I certainly wasn’t going to put in all that extra effort. I would work slow! Damned slow!
And, so I started, working at a pace that made snails feel superior. Dammit, I was slow!
… or so I thought. I was actually working at the same pace as everyone else. Imagine what an eye-opener that was!! Here I was, restraining myself lest my pace pick up, forcing myself to work slower, slower, slower… and it turned out that’s how most people regularly worked. Freakish!
This also meant I had to move my writing to home. I warned Vicky about how busy I’d be… and immediately auditioned for a play. There’s another audition today… and I might go…
But here’s the thing. I’ve reached the 80,000 word mark and am rapidly closing in on 90,000 words and completion. Not only that but I have an idea for my next book and – DAMMIT, WHEN’S A GUY SUPPOSED TO ACT???
Seriously, can someone just cut me in half?
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Threat...ha!
Actually, threatened is more appropriate. As you all know, Ken is usually the one on the soap box. Well, more and more, I've been finding myself with a foot up there too.
Everyone rants and raves about freedom these days. How the Iraqis are better off now that they have "freedom", how Israel should be "free" to defend itself from Lebanon, how are country should be "free" from illegal aliens...hell I could keep going, but I think you get the picture.
Thanks to Frank, one of the Triplets, on one of my fave radio programs for discussing this on their program.
Well this week, Shrub signed into law the Freedom to Display the American Flag Act of 2005. Okay, great, we can all display our country's flag, like that is a freedom that is largely denied...Ha!
Earlier this month, the Wisconsin legislature sent a letter signed by 52 assembly representatives and 9 state senators demanding the University of Wisconsin-Madison to fire Kevin Barrett. Professor Barrett has argued that our government is behind the terrorist attacks on our country. His intent to allow for open debate on this issue was met with a demand for his immediate dismissal or, as stated by Rep. Steve Nass "the leadership of the U.W. System operates at its own peril if it continues to ignore views of the taxpayers." Now where is our freedom?
The repugs are happy to give you your freedom, so long as it fits within their limitations. Step outside of that box, speak about an alternate theory, then WHAM! there goes your freedom.
We should all be feeling threatened...
Everyone rants and raves about freedom these days. How the Iraqis are better off now that they have "freedom", how Israel should be "free" to defend itself from Lebanon, how are country should be "free" from illegal aliens...hell I could keep going, but I think you get the picture.
Thanks to Frank, one of the Triplets, on one of my fave radio programs for discussing this on their program.
Well this week, Shrub signed into law the Freedom to Display the American Flag Act of 2005. Okay, great, we can all display our country's flag, like that is a freedom that is largely denied...Ha!
Earlier this month, the Wisconsin legislature sent a letter signed by 52 assembly representatives and 9 state senators demanding the University of Wisconsin-Madison to fire Kevin Barrett. Professor Barrett has argued that our government is behind the terrorist attacks on our country. His intent to allow for open debate on this issue was met with a demand for his immediate dismissal or, as stated by Rep. Steve Nass "the leadership of the U.W. System operates at its own peril if it continues to ignore views of the taxpayers." Now where is our freedom?
The repugs are happy to give you your freedom, so long as it fits within their limitations. Step outside of that box, speak about an alternate theory, then WHAM! there goes your freedom.
We should all be feeling threatened...
When striking out ain’t so bad…
So, no. I didn’t get the part.
But here’s why: the director told me that he didn’t think I looked like an embittered writer who’d lost his wife.
Old time readers should see the irony in that bad boy.
It’s actually something of a relief. Like a final affirmation. Ken, you’re not that guy any more. Congratulations.
I don’t mind. I’m working hard on finishing Love of Your Life (77 out of 90-ish thousand words) and, while that doesn’t quite have the “Dig Me” factor that acting provides, it’s good work. And, you never know, another audition could be only days away.
I’ll keep you posted.
Ps. By the way, Vicky has been threatening leaving a post. I just thought I’d warn those of you with weak hearts. (Love you, baby!)
But here’s why: the director told me that he didn’t think I looked like an embittered writer who’d lost his wife.
Old time readers should see the irony in that bad boy.
It’s actually something of a relief. Like a final affirmation. Ken, you’re not that guy any more. Congratulations.
I don’t mind. I’m working hard on finishing Love of Your Life (77 out of 90-ish thousand words) and, while that doesn’t quite have the “Dig Me” factor that acting provides, it’s good work. And, you never know, another audition could be only days away.
I’ll keep you posted.
Ps. By the way, Vicky has been threatening leaving a post. I just thought I’d warn those of you with weak hearts. (Love you, baby!)
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Auditioning for a staged reading…
It was weird. I hadn’t written this one. You see, most staged readings I’ve done I have also written, so…
But Stephanie emailed me and told me about the part. It was irresistible. A bitter writer who’d lost his wife… it sounded so familiar…
I haven’t been to an audition in quite a while. A lot of the reason why had to do with my immense girth… I mean my stomach… but there was something else. I was afraid. Too long had past. I was scared.
Which is exactly why I went. (And the fact that a staged reading provides more “fuck-up insurance” but we won’t go there.)
I wanted to look as thin as possible and finally found some clothes to wear that made me look… not entirely… Blubbery. It was all denim so I looked like an inmate – but I looked like a not quite so fat inmate, dammit!!!!
The beautiful thing about the theater is that it’s so close to our house. I could get there and get rejected in lightening speed.
I got the side (a side is a few pages of the script, which you read for the audition) and started reading. It started with a psychiatrist trying to opening up the lead character, Jeremy (the partI was auditioning for!). When she pesters him with “What’s on your mind” kinds of questions, he asks, “Why do you think they call it mayonnaise?” So, he’s a smart-ass. I could grok that.
Two people were reading beside me. (I didn’t have someone to team up with, dammit!) The person reading the shrink’s part kept stumbling over her words. The guy auditioning for Jeremy gave his angriest, Kirk Douglas kind of read. “Why do you think they call it MAYONNAISE?”
Either he’d be laughed to the street or he’d get the part.
I was called in first, so I didn’t get to see.
The director recognized me from my headshot – a good litmus test as to how recent your headshot is! As we went back, he gave typical director babble: “So glad you could make it. Hope it wasn’t too hard to find. Insert witty comment here.”
The theater was small…. teeeeeeny small! That was fine. Fewer people meant less embarrassment should I get the part. But it was really small. I was almost claustrophobic!
I met the producer, who was oblivious, and the playwright. Poor fella. I’ve been there. It ain’t pretty. Self important actors come in and mangle your work… and now, it was my turn.
As the director and producer talked (they love to do that), the writer asked, “Did you have any questions about the character or what he’s going through?”
I replied, “No, I’m pretty familiar with the situation. I lost my wife a few years back.”
The writer gasped. “I’m so sorry!”
Mind you, I didn’t mention that Rosa didn’t die but, hell, I’ll use it if it’ll score me points! I downplayed my mourning (snicker snicker), “It’s okay.”
And, then, we read.
But the stage bugged me. It was so small! Maybe I was just nervous because it had been so long but I could feel my heart beating. I stammered. My throat was dry.
When we were done, I knew I’d done a good job because the director gave me some direction. Usually, they’ll be happy to give losers the boot. He said, “That was excellent. Now, try to read it as though you were nervous. As though you were in an uncomfortable situation. As though you were afraid of screwing up.”
… Excuse me?
At first, I thought he was being sarcastic… Nope.
Anyway, I should get a call one way or the other tomorrow and maybe, just maybe, I’ll be back on stage – albeit in just a lowly staged reading – next month…
But Stephanie emailed me and told me about the part. It was irresistible. A bitter writer who’d lost his wife… it sounded so familiar…
I haven’t been to an audition in quite a while. A lot of the reason why had to do with my immense girth… I mean my stomach… but there was something else. I was afraid. Too long had past. I was scared.
Which is exactly why I went. (And the fact that a staged reading provides more “fuck-up insurance” but we won’t go there.)
I wanted to look as thin as possible and finally found some clothes to wear that made me look… not entirely… Blubbery. It was all denim so I looked like an inmate – but I looked like a not quite so fat inmate, dammit!!!!
The beautiful thing about the theater is that it’s so close to our house. I could get there and get rejected in lightening speed.
I got the side (a side is a few pages of the script, which you read for the audition) and started reading. It started with a psychiatrist trying to opening up the lead character, Jeremy (the partI was auditioning for!). When she pesters him with “What’s on your mind” kinds of questions, he asks, “Why do you think they call it mayonnaise?” So, he’s a smart-ass. I could grok that.
Two people were reading beside me. (I didn’t have someone to team up with, dammit!) The person reading the shrink’s part kept stumbling over her words. The guy auditioning for Jeremy gave his angriest, Kirk Douglas kind of read. “Why do you think they call it MAYONNAISE?”
Either he’d be laughed to the street or he’d get the part.
I was called in first, so I didn’t get to see.
The director recognized me from my headshot – a good litmus test as to how recent your headshot is! As we went back, he gave typical director babble: “So glad you could make it. Hope it wasn’t too hard to find. Insert witty comment here.”
The theater was small…. teeeeeeny small! That was fine. Fewer people meant less embarrassment should I get the part. But it was really small. I was almost claustrophobic!
I met the producer, who was oblivious, and the playwright. Poor fella. I’ve been there. It ain’t pretty. Self important actors come in and mangle your work… and now, it was my turn.
As the director and producer talked (they love to do that), the writer asked, “Did you have any questions about the character or what he’s going through?”
I replied, “No, I’m pretty familiar with the situation. I lost my wife a few years back.”
The writer gasped. “I’m so sorry!”
Mind you, I didn’t mention that Rosa didn’t die but, hell, I’ll use it if it’ll score me points! I downplayed my mourning (snicker snicker), “It’s okay.”
And, then, we read.
But the stage bugged me. It was so small! Maybe I was just nervous because it had been so long but I could feel my heart beating. I stammered. My throat was dry.
When we were done, I knew I’d done a good job because the director gave me some direction. Usually, they’ll be happy to give losers the boot. He said, “That was excellent. Now, try to read it as though you were nervous. As though you were in an uncomfortable situation. As though you were afraid of screwing up.”
… Excuse me?
At first, I thought he was being sarcastic… Nope.
Anyway, I should get a call one way or the other tomorrow and maybe, just maybe, I’ll be back on stage – albeit in just a lowly staged reading – next month…
Speaking in Tongues...
After Vicky read the last blog, she turned to me and said, "I can't believe you stuck your tongue out at a little girl."
I didn't see what the fuss was about.
... which incensed her. "You don't stick your tongue out at a little girl! Especially if it's not yours!"
And I still don't get it. It's not like a pulled out a gun... or some other appendage... I had a goofy moment with a kid so I did what kids to; I was relating on her level, if you will.
I knew the day would come when I just flat out did not understand our world but I never thought it would come so soon... or be about something so silly...
I didn't see what the fuss was about.
... which incensed her. "You don't stick your tongue out at a little girl! Especially if it's not yours!"
And I still don't get it. It's not like a pulled out a gun... or some other appendage... I had a goofy moment with a kid so I did what kids to; I was relating on her level, if you will.
I knew the day would come when I just flat out did not understand our world but I never thought it would come so soon... or be about something so silly...
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Fights…
Turns out this book I’m writing is a lot more about confrontation that I had originally suspected. The writing is very organic, not planned at all, and this is just one thing that’s taken me by surprise. So, with this in mind, I thought I’d write about fighting. I’ve been presented with fighting, both literal and figurative, and thought this might be a good time.
I was at Wienerschnitzel with Sean recently… I took a booth when a kid jumped in and then jumped out again, and I stuck my tongue out at her as if I was playing along. I can get a bit silly like that but the girl seemed to have fun, so… I thought nothing of it… for about a second… when her father stepped up, about an eighth of an inch away from me, and said, “Did you just stick your tongue out at my daughter?” This guy was about six feet tall, 250 pounds, which is coincidentally what I am… but, with him, it was all muscle.
I’m about to get beat up, I realized.
I’ve done a pretty good job not getting into any fights for a long, long time so, I figured, I was due. But I was shocked to hear my voice say, “Don’t worry, man. I was just kidding. It’s okay.”
That’s good… nice and patronizing…
“You don’t stick your tongue out at my daughter,” Brutus growled.
Again, the voice came, “We were just playing around. Nothing serious. It’s okay.” I was so damned reassuring. I knew that, any second now, my face would get very bruised.
You know what he did?
He walked away.
I thought, “How did that happen?”
“I thought he was going to kick your ass,” Sean’s hoarse voice told me.
“My too,” I agreed.
You just never know.
Now, don’t get the wrong idea. I wasn’t spoiling for a fight. In fact, I often think I should be more willing to fight. Not just to defend myself but to fight for things I believe in… or to fight for my friends, even when they’re the people I should fight.
Case in point: Tim Clostio.
Tim was the best man at my wedding. He’s one of my best friends in the world, a favorite for #1. Vicky and I have known for a while that Tim’s had a drinking problem. When I was going through the worst years of my life, drinking with Tim helped me get through. But I stopped needing to drink when I got over Rosa. Tim, on the other hand, never found a reason to stop.
Recently, we thought he was doing better. He changed jobs, reduced his stress, and he said he’d stopped drinking, with the exception of a couple drinks on the weekends.
This weekend, I found out he’s been lying. I drove down to his house to find out that his drinking is horribly out of control. And I just didn’t know what to do.
Mind you, I’ve tried talking to him over and over – but he refuses to recognize any problem. It’s an old story, but it’s a true one.
The part that makes me feel even more guilty is his relationship with Sean Roberson. Sean was the best man at my first wedding and he self-destructed on booze… now, it appears to be Tim’s turn.
And I just got so sick of it, I got in my car and left, angry at Tim for taking my friend away and replacing him with this pathetic lush.
It’s hard to know when it’s the right time to fight or what is the right reason. I’m not sure if, in either case, it would have done any good.
I was at Wienerschnitzel with Sean recently… I took a booth when a kid jumped in and then jumped out again, and I stuck my tongue out at her as if I was playing along. I can get a bit silly like that but the girl seemed to have fun, so… I thought nothing of it… for about a second… when her father stepped up, about an eighth of an inch away from me, and said, “Did you just stick your tongue out at my daughter?” This guy was about six feet tall, 250 pounds, which is coincidentally what I am… but, with him, it was all muscle.
I’m about to get beat up, I realized.
I’ve done a pretty good job not getting into any fights for a long, long time so, I figured, I was due. But I was shocked to hear my voice say, “Don’t worry, man. I was just kidding. It’s okay.”
That’s good… nice and patronizing…
“You don’t stick your tongue out at my daughter,” Brutus growled.
Again, the voice came, “We were just playing around. Nothing serious. It’s okay.” I was so damned reassuring. I knew that, any second now, my face would get very bruised.
You know what he did?
He walked away.
I thought, “How did that happen?”
“I thought he was going to kick your ass,” Sean’s hoarse voice told me.
“My too,” I agreed.
You just never know.
Now, don’t get the wrong idea. I wasn’t spoiling for a fight. In fact, I often think I should be more willing to fight. Not just to defend myself but to fight for things I believe in… or to fight for my friends, even when they’re the people I should fight.
Case in point: Tim Clostio.
Tim was the best man at my wedding. He’s one of my best friends in the world, a favorite for #1. Vicky and I have known for a while that Tim’s had a drinking problem. When I was going through the worst years of my life, drinking with Tim helped me get through. But I stopped needing to drink when I got over Rosa. Tim, on the other hand, never found a reason to stop.
Recently, we thought he was doing better. He changed jobs, reduced his stress, and he said he’d stopped drinking, with the exception of a couple drinks on the weekends.
This weekend, I found out he’s been lying. I drove down to his house to find out that his drinking is horribly out of control. And I just didn’t know what to do.
Mind you, I’ve tried talking to him over and over – but he refuses to recognize any problem. It’s an old story, but it’s a true one.
The part that makes me feel even more guilty is his relationship with Sean Roberson. Sean was the best man at my first wedding and he self-destructed on booze… now, it appears to be Tim’s turn.
And I just got so sick of it, I got in my car and left, angry at Tim for taking my friend away and replacing him with this pathetic lush.
It’s hard to know when it’s the right time to fight or what is the right reason. I’m not sure if, in either case, it would have done any good.
Monday, July 24, 2006
Hot Weather Recipe World...
Okay, so it's just way too hot to cook.
Gotcha! Heard that!
So, this week's recipe (see Jenn's site for hers), takes less cooking and is nice and cool for hot days. (It's also one I've never made - so I'm curious!)
ROASTED POTATO SALAD
2 pounds new potatoes, quartered (it's good to use a mix of different types of potatoes, for consistency)
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons of olive oil
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 egg
Juice of three lemons
1 tablespoon chopped garlic
1 tablespoon Creole Mustard
1/2 cup chopped green onions
1/2 pound bacon, chopped and browned until crispy
1 cup chopped red onions
4 hard_boiled eggs, peeled and sliced
1 tablespoon finely chopped parsley leaves
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh dill
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. In a mixing bowl, toss the potatoes with 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Season the potatoes with salt and pepper. Place the potatoes on a baking sheet and roast for 35 to 40 minutes. Remove the potatoes from the oven and cool completely.
Okay, the cooking part is done.
In a food processor, fitted with a metal blade, add the egg, juice from one lemon, mustard, garlic, and green onions. Puree until smooth (or somewhat smooth). Season the mixture with salt and pepper. With the machine running (the food processor, that is), slowly add the remaining olive oil until all of the oil is used and the mixture is thick. Reseason the mayonnaise with salt and pepper to taste. In a large mixing bowl, toss the potatoes with the bacon, red onions, sliced eggs, parsley and dill. Season the mixture with salt and pepper. Stir in the mayonnaise and the remaining lemon juice. Mix thoroughly.
Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 1 hour.
Enjoy!
And if this heat keeps up, I'm going to be looking for ice cream recipes!
Gotcha! Heard that!
So, this week's recipe (see Jenn's site for hers), takes less cooking and is nice and cool for hot days. (It's also one I've never made - so I'm curious!)
ROASTED POTATO SALAD
2 pounds new potatoes, quartered (it's good to use a mix of different types of potatoes, for consistency)
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons of olive oil
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 egg
Juice of three lemons
1 tablespoon chopped garlic
1 tablespoon Creole Mustard
1/2 cup chopped green onions
1/2 pound bacon, chopped and browned until crispy
1 cup chopped red onions
4 hard_boiled eggs, peeled and sliced
1 tablespoon finely chopped parsley leaves
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh dill
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. In a mixing bowl, toss the potatoes with 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Season the potatoes with salt and pepper. Place the potatoes on a baking sheet and roast for 35 to 40 minutes. Remove the potatoes from the oven and cool completely.
Okay, the cooking part is done.
In a food processor, fitted with a metal blade, add the egg, juice from one lemon, mustard, garlic, and green onions. Puree until smooth (or somewhat smooth). Season the mixture with salt and pepper. With the machine running (the food processor, that is), slowly add the remaining olive oil until all of the oil is used and the mixture is thick. Reseason the mayonnaise with salt and pepper to taste. In a large mixing bowl, toss the potatoes with the bacon, red onions, sliced eggs, parsley and dill. Season the mixture with salt and pepper. Stir in the mayonnaise and the remaining lemon juice. Mix thoroughly.
Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 1 hour.
Enjoy!
And if this heat keeps up, I'm going to be looking for ice cream recipes!
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Days of Wine and Blogging…
So, here’s that Pinot I was telling you about. Actually, the one we had (and promptly purchased more of) was the 2004. Wine.com gave it 4.5/5… not bad. It was a light pinot, not overly complex. Enjoy.
… Oh, there’s something else.
Looks like I won’t be blogging as much as I used to. My work environment is cracking down – hardassifying… so, no blogging from work. Dammit. That’s when I have most of my free time! But, not to fear, I’ll be around and, maybe, sometime soon, thing will change.
Meanwhile, I’ll be heading to dinner with some of my family tonight. Vicky’s studying mercilessly for this CLA exam, which is coming up in less than 24 hours… lucky girl.
… Oh, there’s something else.
Looks like I won’t be blogging as much as I used to. My work environment is cracking down – hardassifying… so, no blogging from work. Dammit. That’s when I have most of my free time! But, not to fear, I’ll be around and, maybe, sometime soon, thing will change.
Meanwhile, I’ll be heading to dinner with some of my family tonight. Vicky’s studying mercilessly for this CLA exam, which is coming up in less than 24 hours… lucky girl.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
And making an ass of myself on the phone...
Just so you know, this blog follows a rather long and grovely apology.
Before we start, I just want to chuck the boomerang of time back a little bit... there it goes... back to... 1996...
Rosa and were standing outside of a restaurant near the corner of Katella and Tustin, where we were waiting to meet Essex and Lily for dinner. We weren't quite at the pacing point, yet, but we were getting close. And I distinctly remember saying, "You know, if we had a cell phone, we could just call them and tell them to get the fuck over here."
And here comes the boomerang... curving back to the present... 2003...
I was trying to get back together with Rosa and she thought it would be nice if we each had cell phones. So, she gave me her old one and got a new one... but I never got service on the thing... didn't really want to carry it around... lost it...
The boomerang is almost back... 2004...
Shortly after Vicky and I met, she too gave me her old cell phone and got a new one... the idea of having to carry around one of these things... ugh... but Vicky paid for the service and we talked and talked... we talked so much that I eventually became one of those people who talks while they drive, while they shop, and while they eat. I haven't become one of those people who talks while they're pooping... NOR WILL I EVER! But, I used to be one of those people who complained about cell phones! They were annoying! A blight! A pain in the ass to those of us trying to get somewhere quickly! Why is it that people get on their cell and take their foot off their gas???...
And (fwack!) the boomerang has returned... this morning...
I went to work this morning with my cell phone in my pants pocket because I'm wearing a shirt with no pockets. I thought nothing of it and began to drive to work. But then, as I was taking a curve up a hill... the phone began to ring. It was Vicky's personal ring. I tried to ignore it, paying attention to my driving, but it kept ringing and I began to think, "Maybe the dog got out... maybe she was in a car accident... maybe the house is on fire... maybe the -" Oh shit! I had to answer the phone!
I tried to reach under my seat belt but couldn't find my pocket. I had to take off my seat belt! But my pocket went too low - I had to lift my hip, taking my foot off the gas, to get to it, which also meant my hand was off the wheel!
Nothing to see here, folks! Just some idiot, doing 60, who's decided he doesn't want to live anymore!
Of course, the whole contortion put me in a rotten mood... after all, I nearly hit a truck and the guy behind me was honking... but it was necessary to make sure everything was okay with my bride.
... and this is where I made an ass of myself. Not before. Right now.
I answered with, "I hope this is important."
Okay, now she didn't know about how her call nearly killed me, right? And she's told me, in the past, not to answer if I'm driving. My response is, "What if it's an emergency?" Based on this, she agreed to call less while I'm driving.
I guess she forgot.
Maybe I'm just not the kind of person who can have a cell phone... maybe it's a guy thing. I don't know. No man would call and, when asked why, say, "No reason." It just doesn't happen! Maybe a woman can explain this to me, why women are so lacking in focus... I don't know.
Anyway, so I'm the jerk. If you hear about me dying in a car accident, at least you'll know why.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
The mind reels...
It just shocks the hell out of me that doctors and nurses are being put on trial for allegedly euthanizing some patients in the wake of Katrina, while Shrub is let off scott free after letting so many victims of Katrina die - without lifting a finger!
Maybe, just maybe the doctors and nurses were wrong - but what about the guy in charge who went to a party and posed for a photo op while so many Americans were dying.
It's disgraceful.
Maybe, just maybe the doctors and nurses were wrong - but what about the guy in charge who went to a party and posed for a photo op while so many Americans were dying.
It's disgraceful.
The man... the meat... the recipe...
I got home earlier than Vicky last night. That won't be too hard to do, considering that she'll be studying for her CLA exam all week. Then, FREEDOM! She'll return to the real world filled with dishes and movies and... cooking...
So, I cooked last night. I dipped into Jenn's recipe for "Meat in Glue That You JUST CAN'T STOP EATING"! I had bought all the ingredients the night before - and, I'll warn you here, they can get a bit pricey. This is especially true if you're buying organic... which you really should... bitch.
Now, I have this system I follow when I cook one of Jenn's recipes. That is: I never write them down. So, I am perpetually running from one room to another, finding out what I need for the next step before this step burns. If good cooking is a glorious accident, I am uninsurable.
I laid out all of my ingredients and, in a flush of sudden inspiration, opened a bottle of pinot noir (from a Central California winery whose website I cannot find... dammit) that paired perfectly in the end.
And, so, on to the recipe:
Carbonnade a la Flamande
3/4 C All purpose flour
1/2 tsp Salt
1/2 tsp Black Pepper
1/8 tsp Nutmeg
2.5 lbs boneless chuck roast, trimmed, and cut into 1/2 inch cubes
2 Strips bacon, diced
2 C Chopped onion
1 T chopped garlic (I use two large cloves)
1 C Less sodium Beef Stock or broth (14.5 oz)
1 C Water
2 T Brown Sugar
2 T Red Wine vinegar
2 T Tomato paste
2 T Dijon mustard (don't use yellow mustard on this)
1 tsp Fresh Thyme
2 Bay leaves
1 (12oz) can Dark beer
2 T Chopped Fresh parsley
I tend to like to ready all of the ingredients before I start. So, I chopped the onion, which is usually Vicky's job but... oh well, so I cried for a while. I cut up the meat, opened the can, pulled out the seasonings... I was ready!
The first step, combining the flour, salt, pepper, nutmeg, and steak in a large zip lock bag - Seal, shake to coat - is not a time to press all the air out of the bag. I did... and realized my mistake very quickly. You ever trying to blow up a zip lock bag? I have! But, after the air's in there, it's just fun time. Toss the bag around to your little heart's desire. I found that if you put in just the right amount of flour, salt, pepper, and nutmeg, you'll just coat the steak, which is probably what you want.
I knew everything was going south shortly after heating up a large dutch oven over medium-high heat. I added the bacon to the pan, cooked it for one minute... and it wouldn't brown. The bacon wouldn't brown. I'd never seen that before: bacon that refused to cook. I think a good rule in cooking is "Whenever you see the impossible happen... stop." I didn't.
I added the beef mixture, cooking it for three minutes or until browned... you see what's coming, right? It refused to brown. In fact, it wasn't even cooking. I checked the heat. Yep, it was hot... but stubborn. Ten minutes later... nothing. Uncooked meat... oh wait! All of the flour had coated the bottom of the pan, making it impossible to wilt the onions in the next step.
So, I removed the beef from the pan and resigned myself to a horrible muck... poor Vicky. She'd have to eat it.
I added the onion (a large, red one) and garlic (one tablespoon, my ass!) to the pan and let it saute for five minutes... nothing... five more minutes... nothing. I resigned myself to uncooked food. The heat couldn't get through that lining of flour...
Fuck it. I put the beef back in the pan and stirred in the broth. Immediately, something happened! The solidified roux began coming off the bottom - heat broke through! I threw in the water, brown sugar, tomato paste, dijon mustard, fresh thyme, bay leaves and dark beer (Guinness, of course) all at once and brought it to a boil.
Vicky came in. "That smells really good," she said. So, I decided to let her live in her fantasy. Reducing the heat, I cooked it for a half hour with the cover on and a half hour with the cover off... by which time, we were both starving.
I nixed the parsley but did make egg noodles, as Jenn suggested.
Now, here's the thing. When I cooked it, this came out looking like meat in a dark glue - but that's a good thing! The sauce is rich and thick - a heart attack inducing heaven! And the ingredients, while strange when you first look at them, come together with an addicting palatability.
"So... you like my meat?" I asked.
Vicky agreed. She loved my meat.
"Would you like more of my meat?"
She had more of my meat.
So, I guess what I'm trying to say is this recipe is pretty hard to mess up - even when you're me!
(Actually, the whole point of this blog entry was just so I could write how much Vicky loved my meat...)
So, I cooked last night. I dipped into Jenn's recipe for "Meat in Glue That You JUST CAN'T STOP EATING"! I had bought all the ingredients the night before - and, I'll warn you here, they can get a bit pricey. This is especially true if you're buying organic... which you really should... bitch.
Now, I have this system I follow when I cook one of Jenn's recipes. That is: I never write them down. So, I am perpetually running from one room to another, finding out what I need for the next step before this step burns. If good cooking is a glorious accident, I am uninsurable.
I laid out all of my ingredients and, in a flush of sudden inspiration, opened a bottle of pinot noir (from a Central California winery whose website I cannot find... dammit) that paired perfectly in the end.
And, so, on to the recipe:
Carbonnade a la Flamande
3/4 C All purpose flour
1/2 tsp Salt
1/2 tsp Black Pepper
1/8 tsp Nutmeg
2.5 lbs boneless chuck roast, trimmed, and cut into 1/2 inch cubes
2 Strips bacon, diced
2 C Chopped onion
1 T chopped garlic (I use two large cloves)
1 C Less sodium Beef Stock or broth (14.5 oz)
1 C Water
2 T Brown Sugar
2 T Red Wine vinegar
2 T Tomato paste
2 T Dijon mustard (don't use yellow mustard on this)
1 tsp Fresh Thyme
2 Bay leaves
1 (12oz) can Dark beer
2 T Chopped Fresh parsley
I tend to like to ready all of the ingredients before I start. So, I chopped the onion, which is usually Vicky's job but... oh well, so I cried for a while. I cut up the meat, opened the can, pulled out the seasonings... I was ready!
The first step, combining the flour, salt, pepper, nutmeg, and steak in a large zip lock bag - Seal, shake to coat - is not a time to press all the air out of the bag. I did... and realized my mistake very quickly. You ever trying to blow up a zip lock bag? I have! But, after the air's in there, it's just fun time. Toss the bag around to your little heart's desire. I found that if you put in just the right amount of flour, salt, pepper, and nutmeg, you'll just coat the steak, which is probably what you want.
I knew everything was going south shortly after heating up a large dutch oven over medium-high heat. I added the bacon to the pan, cooked it for one minute... and it wouldn't brown. The bacon wouldn't brown. I'd never seen that before: bacon that refused to cook. I think a good rule in cooking is "Whenever you see the impossible happen... stop." I didn't.
I added the beef mixture, cooking it for three minutes or until browned... you see what's coming, right? It refused to brown. In fact, it wasn't even cooking. I checked the heat. Yep, it was hot... but stubborn. Ten minutes later... nothing. Uncooked meat... oh wait! All of the flour had coated the bottom of the pan, making it impossible to wilt the onions in the next step.
So, I removed the beef from the pan and resigned myself to a horrible muck... poor Vicky. She'd have to eat it.
I added the onion (a large, red one) and garlic (one tablespoon, my ass!) to the pan and let it saute for five minutes... nothing... five more minutes... nothing. I resigned myself to uncooked food. The heat couldn't get through that lining of flour...
Fuck it. I put the beef back in the pan and stirred in the broth. Immediately, something happened! The solidified roux began coming off the bottom - heat broke through! I threw in the water, brown sugar, tomato paste, dijon mustard, fresh thyme, bay leaves and dark beer (Guinness, of course) all at once and brought it to a boil.
Vicky came in. "That smells really good," she said. So, I decided to let her live in her fantasy. Reducing the heat, I cooked it for a half hour with the cover on and a half hour with the cover off... by which time, we were both starving.
I nixed the parsley but did make egg noodles, as Jenn suggested.
Now, here's the thing. When I cooked it, this came out looking like meat in a dark glue - but that's a good thing! The sauce is rich and thick - a heart attack inducing heaven! And the ingredients, while strange when you first look at them, come together with an addicting palatability.
"So... you like my meat?" I asked.
Vicky agreed. She loved my meat.
"Would you like more of my meat?"
She had more of my meat.
So, I guess what I'm trying to say is this recipe is pretty hard to mess up - even when you're me!
(Actually, the whole point of this blog entry was just so I could write how much Vicky loved my meat...)
Monday, July 17, 2006
Ethics and other kinds of thics...
I know this feeling. Several months before I began writing With Eyes to See, a horror novel about multi-dimensional physics, I bugged Vicky for a whole weekend with brainstorms on dimensional perspectives. It's like my brain starts working on things long before I need them.
Of course, there is the flip side. I have a notebook filled with conjectural analysis on a variety of Christian myths... yet have done nothing with it.
That said, you never know. Either way, it's bugging me.
What is?
It's this thought that has been poking at the side of my head.
Here's how it began: Many serial murderers and scriptwriters have claimed that murder is justifiable based on the fact that nations in the last century have become so adept at mass-murder. As the same time, however, is it justifiable to prop yourself up just because you never murdered anyone? (... providing you haven't...)
That wasn't quite it. Anyway, murder is no longer a crime. The conditions under which murder can be committed have just been redefined. You can murder Iraqis if you're over there. You can murder criminals if you get that job. You can murder your spouse if you're rich enough. Exceptions! Exceptions! Exceptions!
Anyway, that wasn't it.
In fact, I don't even know if I've gotten to "it". But I have gotten closer.
If you go broke and can't pay your bills, it would be impossible for you to engage in "deficit spending". Yet, that's what our government (praise be to the Republicans who are not "tax and spend" politicians... they just spend) does every day. On the other hand, if I boast about how my brother has fallen under hard times and how I can support myself just fine - in fact, I just bought a boat! - that's wrong, somehow.
I don't know what this means but I think it's about Empathy, about Perspective. I think it deals with a collapse of the connection we have with each other. We allow out government to commit horrible crimes in our name, things most of us would never imagine doing. Can we consider ourselves "ethical" while supporting a government ignorant of ethics?
I don't know.
I've been dying to get back to writing some dick-and-fart joke comedy... but I think my brain has something else in mind... dammit. We'll see.
Of course, there is the flip side. I have a notebook filled with conjectural analysis on a variety of Christian myths... yet have done nothing with it.
That said, you never know. Either way, it's bugging me.
What is?
It's this thought that has been poking at the side of my head.
Here's how it began: Many serial murderers and scriptwriters have claimed that murder is justifiable based on the fact that nations in the last century have become so adept at mass-murder. As the same time, however, is it justifiable to prop yourself up just because you never murdered anyone? (... providing you haven't...)
That wasn't quite it. Anyway, murder is no longer a crime. The conditions under which murder can be committed have just been redefined. You can murder Iraqis if you're over there. You can murder criminals if you get that job. You can murder your spouse if you're rich enough. Exceptions! Exceptions! Exceptions!
Anyway, that wasn't it.
In fact, I don't even know if I've gotten to "it". But I have gotten closer.
If you go broke and can't pay your bills, it would be impossible for you to engage in "deficit spending". Yet, that's what our government (praise be to the Republicans who are not "tax and spend" politicians... they just spend) does every day. On the other hand, if I boast about how my brother has fallen under hard times and how I can support myself just fine - in fact, I just bought a boat! - that's wrong, somehow.
I don't know what this means but I think it's about Empathy, about Perspective. I think it deals with a collapse of the connection we have with each other. We allow out government to commit horrible crimes in our name, things most of us would never imagine doing. Can we consider ourselves "ethical" while supporting a government ignorant of ethics?
I don't know.
I've been dying to get back to writing some dick-and-fart joke comedy... but I think my brain has something else in mind... dammit. We'll see.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
So, what if we legalized ALL drugs...
I was just reading around the Internets and saw something behind a series of articles on drugs. It started with Barry Bonds, who may be facing indictment. I thought it was for steriod usage but it's actually for tax evasion. (If he gets off as easily as Capone, he'll only have syphillis.)
But it got me thinking about steriod use. So what, if they use steriods! Did it improve their performance? Fine. I could care less if all professional sports teams became filled with drug-addled horses. I could give a shit. Who does it hurt? The players? Yeah, well, so does can their diet but we don't make Ben & Jerry's illegal... thank god.
And that got me thinking about other kinds of drugs.
And this is what I'd like to suggest. (Not that it will be worth piss.) Legalize all drugs. All of them. Heroin, crack, acid - everything. The act of ingesting a drug should not be a crime in and off itself.
Now, if that person kills someone - that's a crime. If they rob - that's a crime. A crime is the violation of someone ELSE'S rights - and not their right to decide what YOU do. So, if someone commits a crime while on drugs, then charge them for the crime. Fine.
And, I can hear it already - Using drugs lead you to committing crime. Oh really? Funny. I see plenty of people who aren't stoned committing crimes all the time. Remember Kenny Lay? Tom Delay? George Bush?
... oh, wait. That could explain everything...
But it got me thinking about steriod use. So what, if they use steriods! Did it improve their performance? Fine. I could care less if all professional sports teams became filled with drug-addled horses. I could give a shit. Who does it hurt? The players? Yeah, well, so does can their diet but we don't make Ben & Jerry's illegal... thank god.
And that got me thinking about other kinds of drugs.
And this is what I'd like to suggest. (Not that it will be worth piss.) Legalize all drugs. All of them. Heroin, crack, acid - everything. The act of ingesting a drug should not be a crime in and off itself.
Now, if that person kills someone - that's a crime. If they rob - that's a crime. A crime is the violation of someone ELSE'S rights - and not their right to decide what YOU do. So, if someone commits a crime while on drugs, then charge them for the crime. Fine.
And, I can hear it already - Using drugs lead you to committing crime. Oh really? Funny. I see plenty of people who aren't stoned committing crimes all the time. Remember Kenny Lay? Tom Delay? George Bush?
... oh, wait. That could explain everything...
Friday, July 14, 2006
City of Heroes... Garage of Nerds...
Okay, so I recently switched (temporarily!) from World of Warcraft to City of Heroes. I thought I'd let you know how things were going.
Playing from the deep recesses of my garage, the first thing I did was create a character named after Phil Hartman and my wife. His name is Vicqui. He's manly, purple, and named after a girl... a lot like John Wayne.
In the beginning, I was lucky to stop a purse-snatcher. Then, I moved up to muggers, car thieves, and even gangs! It wasn't easy. The bad guys in CoH aren't dumb. If they have a gun, they'll run away and shoot at you from a safe distance. If they have a knife, they'll follow you while you run away.
When Vicqui started, he was already pretty tough. He could jump over cars. Come on! How many of you can do that? But I wanted more. I really wanted to fly!
... but that ability is not available until level 14...
... and I just got to level 9...
... it's going to take a while.
On the up side, I actually jumped from rooftop to rooftop last night, a lot like the Tick! (He, of course, is more purple, more manly, and... not named after a girl.)
I always entered an area called The Hollows. The thing about CoH is there are load times between zones, something you never have to deal with in WoW! Anyway, The Hollows is a pretty tough area. There was a big, BIG fight there once and the landscape is broken into cliffs and chasms. Once horizontal streets need to be climbed vertically! It's pretty cool. Vicqui, of course, got killed pretty quickly but he's getting tougher!
In a few levels, he'll be flying across that landscape. You just wait.
Let's hope I can do all that in two months. That's when my account runs dry...
Playing from the deep recesses of my garage, the first thing I did was create a character named after Phil Hartman and my wife. His name is Vicqui. He's manly, purple, and named after a girl... a lot like John Wayne.
In the beginning, I was lucky to stop a purse-snatcher. Then, I moved up to muggers, car thieves, and even gangs! It wasn't easy. The bad guys in CoH aren't dumb. If they have a gun, they'll run away and shoot at you from a safe distance. If they have a knife, they'll follow you while you run away.
When Vicqui started, he was already pretty tough. He could jump over cars. Come on! How many of you can do that? But I wanted more. I really wanted to fly!
... but that ability is not available until level 14...
... and I just got to level 9...
... it's going to take a while.
On the up side, I actually jumped from rooftop to rooftop last night, a lot like the Tick! (He, of course, is more purple, more manly, and... not named after a girl.)
I always entered an area called The Hollows. The thing about CoH is there are load times between zones, something you never have to deal with in WoW! Anyway, The Hollows is a pretty tough area. There was a big, BIG fight there once and the landscape is broken into cliffs and chasms. Once horizontal streets need to be climbed vertically! It's pretty cool. Vicqui, of course, got killed pretty quickly but he's getting tougher!
In a few levels, he'll be flying across that landscape. You just wait.
Let's hope I can do all that in two months. That's when my account runs dry...
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Sent your Tivo, DVR, or whatever
I know that we will...Global Warming. There are also some really good links for science articles regarding the crisis.
I'm off to study now...
I'm off to study now...
I read the news today... oh boy...
This started as a result of listening to Ed Schultz during lunch. He kept talking about the middle east as if... is something happening over there?
Of course, there is.
And it's been happening for decades.
As Vicky so astutely pointed out, any war in the middle east is bound to have the born-against smiling, waiting for their rapturous... what do they call that again? Of course, I had to point out that anyone jubilant over the deaths of thousands of people... may be stopped on their way to heaven for some serious cross-examination.
"I didn't kill anyone but I loved it when other people did!"
Yeah... they may have to wait.
So, what has been happening?
As you know, we (known the world over as US) invaded a sovereign nation because, well, the fall line-up on the major networks just weren't too exciting that year or something - and we've been doing a great job of a) killing lots of innocent people, b) creating lots of hate for US and lots of terrorists, and c) misspending just a FUCKLOAD of money. Would any of this make anyone hate US? I'm stumped.
But it appears they do. It might also have something to do with our anal obsession with backing Israel. Now, listen, I have nothing against Israel... you know, as a concept. But they're like the kid on My Bodyguard - you know, the one who can act like a bully because he has an even bigger bully to back him up. We (US) are the bigger bully.
So, Israel goes around killing people and bombing people... and I'm just saying they probably wouldn't be so quick to do it if US weren't here, backing them up every step of the way.
I mean, hell, when Israel started flexing their militaristic imperative this time, bombing the shit out of Palestine and Lebanon - and getting just a pee stream away from Syria. The UN wanted to sanction them. We (US) vetoed it. Why? Because Israel was just defending themselves because one of its soldiers was taken prisoners.
Let's see. On one hand, one guy gets taken prisoner. On the other, a whole lot of people get bombed to shit. Sounds fair.
And, mind you, this is just THIS TIME.
Of course, we (US) can't do too much because we have long lost the moral high-ground. (Committing acts of aggressive war, breaking the Geneva Convention, and crimes against humanity tend to do that.)
So, the whole place is one, big, shitfest. It's like the apartment of your average 20-year old after payday... but with bombs.
Meanwhile, back home, the House is still debating if black people should still be allowed to vote.
Check, please!
Of course, there is.
And it's been happening for decades.
As Vicky so astutely pointed out, any war in the middle east is bound to have the born-against smiling, waiting for their rapturous... what do they call that again? Of course, I had to point out that anyone jubilant over the deaths of thousands of people... may be stopped on their way to heaven for some serious cross-examination.
"I didn't kill anyone but I loved it when other people did!"
Yeah... they may have to wait.
So, what has been happening?
As you know, we (known the world over as US) invaded a sovereign nation because, well, the fall line-up on the major networks just weren't too exciting that year or something - and we've been doing a great job of a) killing lots of innocent people, b) creating lots of hate for US and lots of terrorists, and c) misspending just a FUCKLOAD of money. Would any of this make anyone hate US? I'm stumped.
But it appears they do. It might also have something to do with our anal obsession with backing Israel. Now, listen, I have nothing against Israel... you know, as a concept. But they're like the kid on My Bodyguard - you know, the one who can act like a bully because he has an even bigger bully to back him up. We (US) are the bigger bully.
So, Israel goes around killing people and bombing people... and I'm just saying they probably wouldn't be so quick to do it if US weren't here, backing them up every step of the way.
I mean, hell, when Israel started flexing their militaristic imperative this time, bombing the shit out of Palestine and Lebanon - and getting just a pee stream away from Syria. The UN wanted to sanction them. We (US) vetoed it. Why? Because Israel was just defending themselves because one of its soldiers was taken prisoners.
Let's see. On one hand, one guy gets taken prisoner. On the other, a whole lot of people get bombed to shit. Sounds fair.
And, mind you, this is just THIS TIME.
Of course, we (US) can't do too much because we have long lost the moral high-ground. (Committing acts of aggressive war, breaking the Geneva Convention, and crimes against humanity tend to do that.)
So, the whole place is one, big, shitfest. It's like the apartment of your average 20-year old after payday... but with bombs.
Meanwhile, back home, the House is still debating if black people should still be allowed to vote.
Check, please!
Dreams of "me"...
So, I had this dream last night...
My son says to me, "(Someone) and me are going out."
"(Someone) and I," I reply.
"Huh?"
"It's (someone) and I," I tell him.
"Why not (someone) and me?"
I explain to him, "Whenever you're in doubt, just remove the part before I or Me. 'Me are going out' sounds stupid. The goal with grammar is to not sound stupid. Sounding stupid is a bad thing. It makes you appear stupid. In fact, it makes you stupid be default."
Which is when I woke up, thinking, "So don't be such a fucking retard, kid."
Yep, leave it to me to mix dreams of parenthood with a diatribe on grammar...
My son says to me, "(Someone) and me are going out."
"(Someone) and I," I reply.
"Huh?"
"It's (someone) and I," I tell him.
"Why not (someone) and me?"
I explain to him, "Whenever you're in doubt, just remove the part before I or Me. 'Me are going out' sounds stupid. The goal with grammar is to not sound stupid. Sounding stupid is a bad thing. It makes you appear stupid. In fact, it makes you stupid be default."
Which is when I woke up, thinking, "So don't be such a fucking retard, kid."
Yep, leave it to me to mix dreams of parenthood with a diatribe on grammar...
Some batshit-crazy liberal idea about the new AIDS drug...
Just thought I'd prepare you.
So, the new AIDs drug, Atripla, was approved by the FDA yesterday and should be available next week.
Progress, right? We're finally getting AIDS to the point where it's a disease you can live with, just like Diabetes, Arthritis... or Mormonism.
That is, if you're rich. Yes, that's right - the new drug is going to cost and cost big. At $1,100 each month for the prescription, it's more like blood money than drug money.
And I can't help think that isn't fair somehow. Is that where we live? In a world where only the rich survive? Sure, it is! But it doesn't need to be that way.
And in case you're wondering what I'm talking about, let's run the numbers. Let's say you live an average life without any extra expenses.
Rent: $1000 (That's cheap, even in Southern California!)
Utilities: $400 (That's electricity, phone, water, and gas - not even basic cable!)
Food: $200 (Let's hope you live alone.)
Transportation: $400 (That's a cheap car with the bare minimum for insurance.)
Gasoline: $100 (Okay, so we forgot that with transportation, but who thinks of the details?)
Atripla: $1100
Keep in mind that those with AIDS often incur a host of other expenses for care and medication - but we'll leave those things out, too. Cause, honestly, the Republicans do, too.
So, that gives us a total of $38,400 in expenses for one year, with no luxuries like the medical care that keeps you alive. Just to stay alive, you'll need to make over 50 GRAND each year, thus eliminating anyone making minimum wage... and most others as well. This is how the Republicans move their agenda of keeping AIDS patients dead right along.
Now, why is this? Well, it's because pharmaceutical companies enjoy little or no federal regulation, which is thanks to the hard work of their lobbyists who provide money that gives hard-ons to politicians - and most of them are Republicans. (Who do you think coined the phrase "Fuck Regulations"?) This massive deregulation isn't helping AIDS victims or, well, anyone - but it is helping their CEOs line their pockets, which is what matters most.
Again, it doesn't have to be this way... but it will be, anyway.
So, the new AIDs drug, Atripla, was approved by the FDA yesterday and should be available next week.
Progress, right? We're finally getting AIDS to the point where it's a disease you can live with, just like Diabetes, Arthritis... or Mormonism.
That is, if you're rich. Yes, that's right - the new drug is going to cost and cost big. At $1,100 each month for the prescription, it's more like blood money than drug money.
And I can't help think that isn't fair somehow. Is that where we live? In a world where only the rich survive? Sure, it is! But it doesn't need to be that way.
And in case you're wondering what I'm talking about, let's run the numbers. Let's say you live an average life without any extra expenses.
Rent: $1000 (That's cheap, even in Southern California!)
Utilities: $400 (That's electricity, phone, water, and gas - not even basic cable!)
Food: $200 (Let's hope you live alone.)
Transportation: $400 (That's a cheap car with the bare minimum for insurance.)
Gasoline: $100 (Okay, so we forgot that with transportation, but who thinks of the details?)
Atripla: $1100
Keep in mind that those with AIDS often incur a host of other expenses for care and medication - but we'll leave those things out, too. Cause, honestly, the Republicans do, too.
So, that gives us a total of $38,400 in expenses for one year, with no luxuries like the medical care that keeps you alive. Just to stay alive, you'll need to make over 50 GRAND each year, thus eliminating anyone making minimum wage... and most others as well. This is how the Republicans move their agenda of keeping AIDS patients dead right along.
Now, why is this? Well, it's because pharmaceutical companies enjoy little or no federal regulation, which is thanks to the hard work of their lobbyists who provide money that gives hard-ons to politicians - and most of them are Republicans. (Who do you think coined the phrase "Fuck Regulations"?) This massive deregulation isn't helping AIDS victims or, well, anyone - but it is helping their CEOs line their pockets, which is what matters most.
Again, it doesn't have to be this way... but it will be, anyway.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
There's been something I've been meaning to say...
And this probably isn't it.
But bear with me anyway.
We were in the desert, feeling the rush of the wind as it carves its manic arc into the depths of the canyon and out before us to high above.
We enjoyed some great sushi just before the champagne was brought out and I got on one knee.
We stood in a particularly wet evening mist outside of Portland, while I did my usual "let me entertain you" mumbo and she looked on like I was nuts.
We sat at a very small table at a dive bar & grill in Ocean Beach, down in San Diego, drinking... a lot and laughing our asses off.
We got up WAY before the ass crack of dawn, walked down to the shore, dragged some beach chairs to the water, and waited and waited, and watched the sun rise over the serene Atlantic.
We hiked through a very youthful primeval forest on the central Californian coast, careful to avoid banana slugs, holding hands.
Dressed in plastic, we dashed through torrential rains in Hawaii, hurrying back to our hotel, splashing and laughing like little kids.
We've fought at the very worst times.
We made out like teenagers... very recently.
After you've been with someone a while, it becomes difficult for "I Love You" to sound any different from "I'm on the phone" or "Can you do the dishes". There's nothing special about it. And shouting it from the rooftops or saying "I REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY LOVE YOU!" seems kind of silly; you already got her.
Vicky is a horribly frustrating bitch at times. She's crude and she's insensitive and she's picky and... well, she doesn't get my jokes. It's really hard to explain how someone who pisses you off can be someone you care about more than anything. How someone who can downright embarrass you is someone you are dying to kiss. But I've spent a lot of time lately, thinking about just how lucky I've been to find her and how very much I love her. And I just wanted to let her know...
I think a few of those memories might help.
But bear with me anyway.
We were in the desert, feeling the rush of the wind as it carves its manic arc into the depths of the canyon and out before us to high above.
We enjoyed some great sushi just before the champagne was brought out and I got on one knee.
We stood in a particularly wet evening mist outside of Portland, while I did my usual "let me entertain you" mumbo and she looked on like I was nuts.
We sat at a very small table at a dive bar & grill in Ocean Beach, down in San Diego, drinking... a lot and laughing our asses off.
We got up WAY before the ass crack of dawn, walked down to the shore, dragged some beach chairs to the water, and waited and waited, and watched the sun rise over the serene Atlantic.
We hiked through a very youthful primeval forest on the central Californian coast, careful to avoid banana slugs, holding hands.
Dressed in plastic, we dashed through torrential rains in Hawaii, hurrying back to our hotel, splashing and laughing like little kids.
We've fought at the very worst times.
We made out like teenagers... very recently.
After you've been with someone a while, it becomes difficult for "I Love You" to sound any different from "I'm on the phone" or "Can you do the dishes". There's nothing special about it. And shouting it from the rooftops or saying "I REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY LOVE YOU!" seems kind of silly; you already got her.
Vicky is a horribly frustrating bitch at times. She's crude and she's insensitive and she's picky and... well, she doesn't get my jokes. It's really hard to explain how someone who pisses you off can be someone you care about more than anything. How someone who can downright embarrass you is someone you are dying to kiss. But I've spent a lot of time lately, thinking about just how lucky I've been to find her and how very much I love her. And I just wanted to let her know...
I think a few of those memories might help.
President Copperfield... or Creutzfeldt ...
And the Amazing Deficit Trick!
(Keep in mind that while they call the Democrats "Tax and Spend", all they do is "Spend Spend Spend"...)
Now, see if you can follow me on this. First, Shrub says the deficit will be $423 billion. Then, he says it's actually only $296 billion! Wow! Much lower! Guess those Republican policies of granting massive tax cuts to the rich and overtaxing the poor and what's left of the middle class and cutting social programs to benefit those Christo-fascist friends of his really really worked! It really has! It's amazing!!!
... You know, except for the fact that the government had a surplus before this bonehead fucked everything up.
So, thanks Shrub. Thanks for running up only the FOURTH largest deficit in history... after you ran up the THIRD... and the SECOND... and the FIRST...
You must be so proud.
(Keep in mind that while they call the Democrats "Tax and Spend", all they do is "Spend Spend Spend"...)
Now, see if you can follow me on this. First, Shrub says the deficit will be $423 billion. Then, he says it's actually only $296 billion! Wow! Much lower! Guess those Republican policies of granting massive tax cuts to the rich and overtaxing the poor and what's left of the middle class and cutting social programs to benefit those Christo-fascist friends of his really really worked! It really has! It's amazing!!!
... You know, except for the fact that the government had a surplus before this bonehead fucked everything up.
So, thanks Shrub. Thanks for running up only the FOURTH largest deficit in history... after you ran up the THIRD... and the SECOND... and the FIRST...
You must be so proud.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Recipe du semaine...
This week, I'm going to give Jenn a break. She's given me this crazy stew-like concoction to make so, I figure, if I go easy maybe she'll give me toast next week... you know, something I can cook!
So, here's the deal this week. Gather yon spaghetti, yon penne, yon linguini - cause we're making tomato sauce! Yep, I've been making my own for years; it's time you joined in. This recipe is pretty easy. But, don't worry, it'll get more difficult when we get to bolognaise!
BASIC TOMATO SAUCE
1 Spanish onion, cut into 1/4_inch dice - if you can't find one, use a nice, big, red one!
4 cloves garlic, thinly sliced - I prefer to go crazy with the garlic, throwing in a nearly a dozen!
3 ounces virgin olive oil (extra if you got it)
4 tablespoons fresh thyme (or 2 tablespoons dried)
1/2 medium carrot, finely shredded - the finer the better
2 (28_ounce) cans of tomatoes, crushed and mixed well with their juices
Salt, to taste
Saute the onion and garlic in the olive oil over medium heat until translucent, but not brown (about 10 minutes). For this, you'll want to go with a low heat and take your time (not thyme - that comes later). You're looking for translucence here.
Add the thyme and carrot and cook 5 minutes more or until the carrots are nice and smushy.
Add the tomatoes. Bring to a boil, lower the heat to just bubbling, stirring occasionally for 30 minutes.
Season with salt to taste. You can also kick it up with a little essence. The beautiful thing about this recipe is you can add anything you want. Add meat for a meatier sauce. Add veggies. Add a bunch of mushrooms!
Serve immediately, or set aside for further use. The sauce may be refrigerated for up to one week or frozen for up to 6 months.
So, here's the deal this week. Gather yon spaghetti, yon penne, yon linguini - cause we're making tomato sauce! Yep, I've been making my own for years; it's time you joined in. This recipe is pretty easy. But, don't worry, it'll get more difficult when we get to bolognaise!
BASIC TOMATO SAUCE
1 Spanish onion, cut into 1/4_inch dice - if you can't find one, use a nice, big, red one!
4 cloves garlic, thinly sliced - I prefer to go crazy with the garlic, throwing in a nearly a dozen!
3 ounces virgin olive oil (extra if you got it)
4 tablespoons fresh thyme (or 2 tablespoons dried)
1/2 medium carrot, finely shredded - the finer the better
2 (28_ounce) cans of tomatoes, crushed and mixed well with their juices
Salt, to taste
Saute the onion and garlic in the olive oil over medium heat until translucent, but not brown (about 10 minutes). For this, you'll want to go with a low heat and take your time (not thyme - that comes later). You're looking for translucence here.
Add the thyme and carrot and cook 5 minutes more or until the carrots are nice and smushy.
Add the tomatoes. Bring to a boil, lower the heat to just bubbling, stirring occasionally for 30 minutes.
Season with salt to taste. You can also kick it up with a little essence. The beautiful thing about this recipe is you can add anything you want. Add meat for a meatier sauce. Add veggies. Add a bunch of mushrooms!
Serve immediately, or set aside for further use. The sauce may be refrigerated for up to one week or frozen for up to 6 months.
Sunrise/Sunset...
I have to tell you about the sunrise I saw this morning.
For some reason, though or because it's been particularly hot, clouds had sunk down low right on top of Santiago Canyon, the road I take to work every morning. The road dips and weaves its way through some of Orange County's last remaining open space, making the commute seem more like a pleasant drive... until you realize where you're going.
This morning, as I entered the hills that Santiago Canyon took me through, the clouds enveloped me and I could barely see the car ahead. Then, taking a turn around a hill, it happened - the ineffable. Suddenly, the powerful, summer sun blasted through the clouds, creating a thick, murky haze all around. Immediately beside you, trees, grass, and rocks were covered with a sheen and everything looked like a memory. The thick haze seemed to block the world of reality. Time slowed.
And, for just a moment, I wanted to pull over and stop and stay in that realm of peace for just a moment, or a thousand years.
But then, I realized I had to return home. Vicky's there... and I also have City of Heroes.
What?, you ask. City of Heroes? What about World of Warcraft???
Yeah... that...
Yes, this weekend, I took the plunge and decided to try another game. After all, my WoW account was running out. The time seemed to be right. I've played other MMORPGs (Massive Multi-player Online Role Playing Games, for the great unwashed) before but nothing has held up like WoW. So, I chose CoH since that has had some nice things said about it, as well.
Playing CoH, you immediately realize what an incredible machine WoW is. WoW got so much right, it's just amazing. Don't get the wrong idea! CoH is a lot of fun. I have three characters set up: a purple behemoth named Vicqui (after my own Vicky but also recalling Phil Hartman), Captain Incongruous, and Commander Cathode. I can't fly, yet, but it's a lot of fun... the only thing is...
Well, there are little things they just didn't get quite right. Like the map and the way missions are given out and how some things just aren't intuitive enough. See, WoW is so god-damned polished, you just don't run into that. So, I've really gained an appreciation. And I'll play WoW again, to be sure.
Amazing how reality pulls you back into the world - and the things it uses as hooks...
For some reason, though or because it's been particularly hot, clouds had sunk down low right on top of Santiago Canyon, the road I take to work every morning. The road dips and weaves its way through some of Orange County's last remaining open space, making the commute seem more like a pleasant drive... until you realize where you're going.
This morning, as I entered the hills that Santiago Canyon took me through, the clouds enveloped me and I could barely see the car ahead. Then, taking a turn around a hill, it happened - the ineffable. Suddenly, the powerful, summer sun blasted through the clouds, creating a thick, murky haze all around. Immediately beside you, trees, grass, and rocks were covered with a sheen and everything looked like a memory. The thick haze seemed to block the world of reality. Time slowed.
And, for just a moment, I wanted to pull over and stop and stay in that realm of peace for just a moment, or a thousand years.
But then, I realized I had to return home. Vicky's there... and I also have City of Heroes.
What?, you ask. City of Heroes? What about World of Warcraft???
Yeah... that...
Yes, this weekend, I took the plunge and decided to try another game. After all, my WoW account was running out. The time seemed to be right. I've played other MMORPGs (Massive Multi-player Online Role Playing Games, for the great unwashed) before but nothing has held up like WoW. So, I chose CoH since that has had some nice things said about it, as well.
Playing CoH, you immediately realize what an incredible machine WoW is. WoW got so much right, it's just amazing. Don't get the wrong idea! CoH is a lot of fun. I have three characters set up: a purple behemoth named Vicqui (after my own Vicky but also recalling Phil Hartman), Captain Incongruous, and Commander Cathode. I can't fly, yet, but it's a lot of fun... the only thing is...
Well, there are little things they just didn't get quite right. Like the map and the way missions are given out and how some things just aren't intuitive enough. See, WoW is so god-damned polished, you just don't run into that. So, I've really gained an appreciation. And I'll play WoW again, to be sure.
Amazing how reality pulls you back into the world - and the things it uses as hooks...
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Things you don’t learn until you’re married… again…
There are things I should know, I really should know. I mean, you would think that, being in my second married, I would have an absolute advantage at this. I would medal.
But that’s not always the case.
You see, I’m learning that Vicky is undergoing some amount of stress as a result of her coming CLA exam.
“I’m stressed,” she says.
“I’m really fucking stressed,” she bellows.
“Blood! Now! I must feed!” Sometimes, it’s like she’s a different person.
Men and women tackle stress very differently, I’m learning. For instance, when a guy is stressed, he usually says, with a smile, “Yes, this is a very stressful situation. Thanks for asking. Love ya. Try the veal.”
But a women, in the same circumstance, is also likely to smile and rip your arm off… as a hint…
So, here’s what I’m trying to do for my bride. “Walking,” I suggested, to her overly unimpressed visage. “I could take you for a walk and, hopefully, lose some weight. I could take you for a walk and, hopefully, fit in my clothes again. It’s all for you.”
What I didn’t realize is just how stressed women get. Vicky was as stressed as a woman pregnant… for 17 ½ years. “Yes, I’m in my 53rd trimester – GET IT THE FUCK OUT! NOW!!”
She turned to me with this wild look in her eye, the kind you see hyenas give on nature shows. Scribbled notes and papers filled with highlighter marks flew around her. Her scream shattered the windows, next door. “You want me to walk?! I’m trying to create the world here! The world! And God didn’t leave his fucking notes!!”
I patted down my singed hair and backed away. “I’ll just let you study, then.”
But that’s not always the case.
You see, I’m learning that Vicky is undergoing some amount of stress as a result of her coming CLA exam.
“I’m stressed,” she says.
“I’m really fucking stressed,” she bellows.
“Blood! Now! I must feed!” Sometimes, it’s like she’s a different person.
Men and women tackle stress very differently, I’m learning. For instance, when a guy is stressed, he usually says, with a smile, “Yes, this is a very stressful situation. Thanks for asking. Love ya. Try the veal.”
But a women, in the same circumstance, is also likely to smile and rip your arm off… as a hint…
So, here’s what I’m trying to do for my bride. “Walking,” I suggested, to her overly unimpressed visage. “I could take you for a walk and, hopefully, lose some weight. I could take you for a walk and, hopefully, fit in my clothes again. It’s all for you.”
What I didn’t realize is just how stressed women get. Vicky was as stressed as a woman pregnant… for 17 ½ years. “Yes, I’m in my 53rd trimester – GET IT THE FUCK OUT! NOW!!”
She turned to me with this wild look in her eye, the kind you see hyenas give on nature shows. Scribbled notes and papers filled with highlighter marks flew around her. Her scream shattered the windows, next door. “You want me to walk?! I’m trying to create the world here! The world! And God didn’t leave his fucking notes!!”
I patted down my singed hair and backed away. “I’ll just let you study, then.”
Friday, July 07, 2006
Fat Daddy... not so much Daddy...
A couple of things...
Some of you may know I used to be an actor. I use the phrase "used to be", not because I wouldn't really love to act again, but because it's been so long - who am I kidding?
I've had a lot of excuses why I couldn't do any acting in a while. I've been very busy, for instance. I had a pending job, was another quality one. I forgot, was a perennial favorite.
Well, I have a new one. I got an email last night from Stephanie, telling me about an "honestly can't pass this up" kind of audition... and I honestly can't pass it up... except, there's one problem. I'm fat. I'm horrifically fat. I'm so fat that when I go outside in a yellow raincoat, people call out "Hey Taxi!" I'm registered with the National Seismological Institute as a possible threat. You see where I'm going with this?
And it's not I'm a pig. Hell, I've cut back significantly on my piggishness! I'm active. I eat right... ish. I hardly engage in "fatness inducing" behavior. All I can guess is that I have a horribly slow metabolism. I have the metabolism of a lazy snail... with absolutely no motivation.
It's sucks, is all I'm saying.
So, do I want to roll up onto the stage again, possibly threatening small children and structural integrity?
... We'll see.
And here's the other thing, which is in no way related (in case you're wondering), I really want to be a Daddy. Swear to God and what the hell's wrong with me?
The minute I can't have sex anymore - it's been like 50 or so years since Vicky's surgery - I want the one thing you get from really successful fucking. Ain't the mind a bitch?
I'm just saying.
Some of you may know I used to be an actor. I use the phrase "used to be", not because I wouldn't really love to act again, but because it's been so long - who am I kidding?
I've had a lot of excuses why I couldn't do any acting in a while. I've been very busy, for instance. I had a pending job, was another quality one. I forgot, was a perennial favorite.
Well, I have a new one. I got an email last night from Stephanie, telling me about an "honestly can't pass this up" kind of audition... and I honestly can't pass it up... except, there's one problem. I'm fat. I'm horrifically fat. I'm so fat that when I go outside in a yellow raincoat, people call out "Hey Taxi!" I'm registered with the National Seismological Institute as a possible threat. You see where I'm going with this?
And it's not I'm a pig. Hell, I've cut back significantly on my piggishness! I'm active. I eat right... ish. I hardly engage in "fatness inducing" behavior. All I can guess is that I have a horribly slow metabolism. I have the metabolism of a lazy snail... with absolutely no motivation.
It's sucks, is all I'm saying.
So, do I want to roll up onto the stage again, possibly threatening small children and structural integrity?
... We'll see.
And here's the other thing, which is in no way related (in case you're wondering), I really want to be a Daddy. Swear to God and what the hell's wrong with me?
The minute I can't have sex anymore - it's been like 50 or so years since Vicky's surgery - I want the one thing you get from really successful fucking. Ain't the mind a bitch?
I'm just saying.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
What the Schwarzen?...
How is it remotely possible that the Guvenator is leading in the polls for California Governor?
I mean, sure, we Californians have a tendency to like Nazis in the Governor's office - Reagan, the "Duke", Wilson - but, seriously, do people have to be so literal?
I mean, sure, we Californians have a tendency to like Nazis in the Governor's office - Reagan, the "Duke", Wilson - but, seriously, do people have to be so literal?
A fire next time?...
Not bloody likely, unless we get to nuke ourselves before we melt the icecaps... which gives us a couple of years or so.
... Possible.
Anyway, if you'd like to see the wonderful things massive flooding can do for you - be it through the mysterious hocus pocus of global warming or the HARD FACTUAL SCIENCE of GOD - check out this online tool I just found. It uses Google Maps to show you how much a given area would flood by just raising the sea level a meter or so.
Enjoy.
Don't forget your water wings!
... Possible.
Anyway, if you'd like to see the wonderful things massive flooding can do for you - be it through the mysterious hocus pocus of global warming or the HARD FACTUAL SCIENCE of GOD - check out this online tool I just found. It uses Google Maps to show you how much a given area would flood by just raising the sea level a meter or so.
Enjoy.
Don't forget your water wings!
A few other things this morning...
MSN.com leads off this morning by asking if seven is too young to have a credit card.
At what point did it become fashionable to ask stupid questions?
When I was a kid, you were told, "Don't ask such stupid questions." Then, as a young man, I heard, "There are no stupid questions." Somewhere during my adulthood, the chant changed to "Stupid questions? Bring 'em on!"
So, I was driving to work today and saw posters for a benefit concert in Silverado Canyon. The concert is to help preserve the last bits of open space in Orange County (the last few feet) and will be held on July 15th. I know there aren't too many readers down here in "the OC" but I thought I'd provide a link for you.
Now, if I can get Vicky to stop hating me by then...
So, I'm driving to work today and I notice several cars with the phrase "GO FRANCE" plastered onto their sides, backs, etc.
I nearly drove off a cliff... if I could find one.
Am I losing my mind or is the United States just losing its focus? Wasn't France just the enemy? Just a few minutes ago? Weren't we just selling "Freedom Fries" and "Freedom Toast" on Capitol Hill and scorning the French for their so-called sympathy for the terrorists? (I swear we were but the Internets appear to be expunged of such information.)
So, now France is out friend and... why? Because they won a soccer match. Well, hell folks. If we're going determine our allies by soccer match, we better get ready for a lot of middle-eastern countries. They play soccer, you know.
Or, perhaps, we should just admit how foolish we've been. And, while we're at it, stop giving seven year-olds credit cards.
At what point did it become fashionable to ask stupid questions?
When I was a kid, you were told, "Don't ask such stupid questions." Then, as a young man, I heard, "There are no stupid questions." Somewhere during my adulthood, the chant changed to "Stupid questions? Bring 'em on!"
So, I was driving to work today and saw posters for a benefit concert in Silverado Canyon. The concert is to help preserve the last bits of open space in Orange County (the last few feet) and will be held on July 15th. I know there aren't too many readers down here in "the OC" but I thought I'd provide a link for you.
Now, if I can get Vicky to stop hating me by then...
So, I'm driving to work today and I notice several cars with the phrase "GO FRANCE" plastered onto their sides, backs, etc.
I nearly drove off a cliff... if I could find one.
Am I losing my mind or is the United States just losing its focus? Wasn't France just the enemy? Just a few minutes ago? Weren't we just selling "Freedom Fries" and "Freedom Toast" on Capitol Hill and scorning the French for their so-called sympathy for the terrorists? (I swear we were but the Internets appear to be expunged of such information.)
So, now France is out friend and... why? Because they won a soccer match. Well, hell folks. If we're going determine our allies by soccer match, we better get ready for a lot of middle-eastern countries. They play soccer, you know.
Or, perhaps, we should just admit how foolish we've been. And, while we're at it, stop giving seven year-olds credit cards.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Making mistakes...
There's a whole lot I don't write about on this blog. Some things are best left private.
For instance, I don't talk about the inner workings of my marriage. As any married person knows, there's a reason why you don't want to know what goes into hot dogs. Am I right or am I right?
Well, fuck that for a second because I'm pissed.
I wrote an entry earlier about the recipe from last week. I wrote it and there was a mistake in it.
First, let me tell you about the mistake. I wrote "I'll spoil the surprise now and tell you that I used chicken, because I just find it easier to BBQ. " Now, this implies that I did the BBQ'ing. In fact, my wife did. She barbequed the chicken. Now, the statement is factually accurate - I did use chicken and I do find it easier to BBQ, I just prefer not to - but the implication, as I mentioned, was incorrect.
So, I'm sitting at my desk, minding my own business, when I get this phone call from Vicky (she was upstairs - don't ask), who just read the entry, just going off on me because I made that mistake. This is my wife, ladies and germs. She loves to point out my flaws and does it often and - it's times like this that I'm glad I'm not a religious man because I can avoid hypocricy - so help me I just want to smack her. I'm really glad I have a flight of stairs between her and me right now.
So, there you go. I told her I'd write a retraction for my grevious error and here it is... now, I'm going out to buy a pack of cigarettes...
For instance, I don't talk about the inner workings of my marriage. As any married person knows, there's a reason why you don't want to know what goes into hot dogs. Am I right or am I right?
Well, fuck that for a second because I'm pissed.
I wrote an entry earlier about the recipe from last week. I wrote it and there was a mistake in it.
First, let me tell you about the mistake. I wrote "I'll spoil the surprise now and tell you that I used chicken, because I just find it easier to BBQ. " Now, this implies that I did the BBQ'ing. In fact, my wife did. She barbequed the chicken. Now, the statement is factually accurate - I did use chicken and I do find it easier to BBQ, I just prefer not to - but the implication, as I mentioned, was incorrect.
So, I'm sitting at my desk, minding my own business, when I get this phone call from Vicky (she was upstairs - don't ask), who just read the entry, just going off on me because I made that mistake. This is my wife, ladies and germs. She loves to point out my flaws and does it often and - it's times like this that I'm glad I'm not a religious man because I can avoid hypocricy - so help me I just want to smack her. I'm really glad I have a flight of stairs between her and me right now.
So, there you go. I told her I'd write a retraction for my grevious error and here it is... now, I'm going out to buy a pack of cigarettes...
A wheel of wine...
This story goes back to somewhere around January 2003. I was dating Deanna at the time. Both of us were wine lovers and, for fun, she bought me a "wine wheel", which showed which foods went with which wines. It was really neat.
(Parenthetically, I should add that I tend to gravitate towards those kind of women - the wrong kind of women - the kind of women who would express their affection by purchasing gifts. I'll take a wet, sloppy kiss... I said kiss!... any day. I don't know why I tend towards such women but there it is. And, yes, Vicky is this way, too.)
Anyway, the wine wheel was very cool... and, of course, I lost it. DAMN!
And I could have used it this weekend, when we were eating a bunch of different stuff and paring our wines by selecting which was closest or which ones we weren't "saving"...
I told Vicky that I was sure they must have something like the wheel online and... you guessed it: HERE IT IS!
I hope you find it as useful as I... and I hope I don't lose it...
(Parenthetically, I should add that I tend to gravitate towards those kind of women - the wrong kind of women - the kind of women who would express their affection by purchasing gifts. I'll take a wet, sloppy kiss... I said kiss!... any day. I don't know why I tend towards such women but there it is. And, yes, Vicky is this way, too.)
Anyway, the wine wheel was very cool... and, of course, I lost it. DAMN!
And I could have used it this weekend, when we were eating a bunch of different stuff and paring our wines by selecting which was closest or which ones we weren't "saving"...
I told Vicky that I was sure they must have something like the wheel online and... you guessed it: HERE IT IS!
I hope you find it as useful as I... and I hope I don't lose it...
Recipe the second...
Yes, I'm back from a long Independence Day holiday weekend - that holiday in the US where we honor booze, slacking, and sleeping in...
We also made the recipe for the week, featured last week on Jenn's blog. (You're keeping up, aren't you?)
Here's the recipe, in case you forgot:
"Halibut" in Lemon-Ginger Marinade
2 lbs halibut steaks (1 in thick) - this might be good with chicken or salmon if halibut isn't on sale.
Lemon-Ginger Marinade
1T finely minced lemon zest
1/3 C freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/4 C dry white wine or dry vermouth
3 T flavorless cooking oil
2 T thin soy sauce
1 T Oyster Sauce
1/4 Tsp freshly ground black pepper
1/4 C Minced green onions
1 T Very finely minced ginger - for this Jenn used a Rachel Ray trick. She peeled the ginger (about an inch of ginger) then squished it with my knife to release the flavors and stuck it in the marinade. This releases all the ginger flavor without all the mess.
2 cloves garlic, finely minced
Combine all the marinade ingredients. At least 10 minutes but not more than 30 minutes prior to cooking, pour the marinade over the halibut and turn it to evenly coat. Keep refrigerated.
Cook "halibut" either via grill, broil, bake - however you want.
There you go... but first, a little background.
We cooked this on Monday night, which was not necessarily a great day for me. I didn't sleep the night before so my brain wasn't really what you might call "connected". So, I proceeded with caution.
This being a marinade, I just chopped, poured, and scooped everything right into a zip-lock bag. I'll spoil the surprise now and tell you that I used chicken, because I just find it easier to BBQ. (NOTE: Correction. See the "Making mistakes" entry later today.) We purchased a couple of these incredible, organic chicken breasts from Henry's and were good to go.
So, I began.
Lemon zest... how do you finely mince zest? It's tough! I took my smallest paring knife and just chopped the shit to death!
Lemon juice... having zested the lemon, I rolled it and squeezed the crap out of it - nearly 1/3 cup!
White wine... We picked up a bottle of Kendall Jackson chardonnay and found that it was more fruity than dry. Not a bad wine, though, and we used it anyway.
Cooking oil... pretty much self-explanatory.
Soy sauce... again, a no-brainer.
Oyster sauce... Vicky and searched the "asian foods" section of our supermarket and found two bottles hidden amongst a community of sauces. Not knowing what the hell oyster sauce is, we just bought the one that looked "more asian".
Black pepper... rather than buy another sauce, I threw in some black pepper and (diverging from the recipe) a heavy pinch of essence.
Green onions... chop chop choppity chop chop, and we're done.
Minced ginger... I had no idea what Rachel Ray's trick was so I took some fresh ginger and, again, chopped the hell out of it.
Garlic... yeah! Chopity fucking chop! Done!
So, all of this was thrown into a zip-lock bag, along with the chicken breasts. All the air was squeezed out and the whole thing coated the chicken. (And with how hot it's been in southern California, how dare I say "coat"!)
Following Jenn's instructions, I only let this marinade for half an hour - but I think I'll let it go for an hour next time for more punch.
These breasts barbequed up so nicely - plump and juicy - yum! We served it with some barbequed corn and had a nice dinner outside. Mind you, we ate around 9pm because that was when it was finally cool enough to go outside... hating this summer.
Stay tuned next week!
We also made the recipe for the week, featured last week on Jenn's blog. (You're keeping up, aren't you?)
Here's the recipe, in case you forgot:
"Halibut" in Lemon-Ginger Marinade
2 lbs halibut steaks (1 in thick) - this might be good with chicken or salmon if halibut isn't on sale.
Lemon-Ginger Marinade
1T finely minced lemon zest
1/3 C freshly squeezed lemon juice
1/4 C dry white wine or dry vermouth
3 T flavorless cooking oil
2 T thin soy sauce
1 T Oyster Sauce
1/4 Tsp freshly ground black pepper
1/4 C Minced green onions
1 T Very finely minced ginger - for this Jenn used a Rachel Ray trick. She peeled the ginger (about an inch of ginger) then squished it with my knife to release the flavors and stuck it in the marinade. This releases all the ginger flavor without all the mess.
2 cloves garlic, finely minced
Combine all the marinade ingredients. At least 10 minutes but not more than 30 minutes prior to cooking, pour the marinade over the halibut and turn it to evenly coat. Keep refrigerated.
Cook "halibut" either via grill, broil, bake - however you want.
There you go... but first, a little background.
We cooked this on Monday night, which was not necessarily a great day for me. I didn't sleep the night before so my brain wasn't really what you might call "connected". So, I proceeded with caution.
This being a marinade, I just chopped, poured, and scooped everything right into a zip-lock bag. I'll spoil the surprise now and tell you that I used chicken, because I just find it easier to BBQ. (NOTE: Correction. See the "Making mistakes" entry later today.) We purchased a couple of these incredible, organic chicken breasts from Henry's and were good to go.
So, I began.
Lemon zest... how do you finely mince zest? It's tough! I took my smallest paring knife and just chopped the shit to death!
Lemon juice... having zested the lemon, I rolled it and squeezed the crap out of it - nearly 1/3 cup!
White wine... We picked up a bottle of Kendall Jackson chardonnay and found that it was more fruity than dry. Not a bad wine, though, and we used it anyway.
Cooking oil... pretty much self-explanatory.
Soy sauce... again, a no-brainer.
Oyster sauce... Vicky and searched the "asian foods" section of our supermarket and found two bottles hidden amongst a community of sauces. Not knowing what the hell oyster sauce is, we just bought the one that looked "more asian".
Black pepper... rather than buy another sauce, I threw in some black pepper and (diverging from the recipe) a heavy pinch of essence.
Green onions... chop chop choppity chop chop, and we're done.
Minced ginger... I had no idea what Rachel Ray's trick was so I took some fresh ginger and, again, chopped the hell out of it.
Garlic... yeah! Chopity fucking chop! Done!
So, all of this was thrown into a zip-lock bag, along with the chicken breasts. All the air was squeezed out and the whole thing coated the chicken. (And with how hot it's been in southern California, how dare I say "coat"!)
Following Jenn's instructions, I only let this marinade for half an hour - but I think I'll let it go for an hour next time for more punch.
These breasts barbequed up so nicely - plump and juicy - yum! We served it with some barbequed corn and had a nice dinner outside. Mind you, we ate around 9pm because that was when it was finally cool enough to go outside... hating this summer.
Stay tuned next week!
Monday, July 03, 2006
Global Warming: It's not happening and look at all the benefits it brings!...
I hope you'll pardon the sarcasm but today's article on Yahoo made me want to wretch.
Global warming is a serious threat facing everyone on the planet and it's an insult to all those being adversely affected by it (ie. humanity) deny it, which politicians and the corporate media like to do, or to play like it is somehow a good thing.
One day, history is going to look back at us and our time, our waste and selfishness, and portray those of our generation as a pile of puke.
Global warming is a serious threat facing everyone on the planet and it's an insult to all those being adversely affected by it (ie. humanity) deny it, which politicians and the corporate media like to do, or to play like it is somehow a good thing.
One day, history is going to look back at us and our time, our waste and selfishness, and portray those of our generation as a pile of puke.
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