Well, I guess it was bound to happen. After Mother's Cookies went belly up last year - and after I devoured several metric tons of animal cookies, believing I'd never eat them again - Kellogg bought them up and put them back on the shelves! Those bastards!!
Oh well. I guess it's just time I become resolved to being fat...
(Side note: You should have seen Vicky zoom in on them at the store. For those who have seen the trailer for UP, it was like that dog: SQUIRREL!)
Friday, May 29, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
The wisdom of the tooth…
This all started because of ice cream. Damn you, ice cream! Damn you to hellllll….
… oh well.
You see, I was getting a twinge in my tooth when I ate ice cream and that had begun to worry me.
… So, I ignored it.
But that didn’t stop the twinge of pain in my tooth. Funny how things work.
Finally, I made the mistake of telling Vicky. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Marriage 2.0, it is “Never tell your spouse what’s on your mind. It’ll only get you into trouble.” No kidding. Things like “Hey, look at that blonde with the big tits. She’s hot.” or “I’m thinking of shaving my head” or “My tooth hurts” – it just never ends well.
So, I told Vicky and right away she over-reacted. “You should see a dentist.”
Crazy talk!
And every time I complained about the pain, Vicky would started talking nuts: “Go to the dentist.” Seriously, the girl needs help.
But I did finally go to the dentist. I was there yesterday. The cleaning went very quickly – I was happy. The x-rays showed nothing more than a cracked, old filling that needed replacing – I was happy. And then, she was poking around the back of my mouth when her metal poker stabbed right through my jaw!!!
Ouch!!
I motioned to her to stop and she said, “Really? That was your wisdom tooth,” as if to say, “Silly boy, wisdom teeth don’t cause pain – not to those stupid enough to still have them at 43 years of age – you know… like you… moron..” And then, as if that was enough, she moved her hands back towards my mouth! No! You don’t get it! I’m in pain here!!
You see, I was one of those “lucky people” whose wisdom teeth grew in straight. Great. Fucking party. Now, at 43, it looks like I’ll need one – maybe two – removed. I’ve got to wait a week for it, too – cause, you know, with something like this you want ANTICIPATION!
But I think there’s a play in there somewhere, just the same…
… oh well.
You see, I was getting a twinge in my tooth when I ate ice cream and that had begun to worry me.
… So, I ignored it.
But that didn’t stop the twinge of pain in my tooth. Funny how things work.
Finally, I made the mistake of telling Vicky. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Marriage 2.0, it is “Never tell your spouse what’s on your mind. It’ll only get you into trouble.” No kidding. Things like “Hey, look at that blonde with the big tits. She’s hot.” or “I’m thinking of shaving my head” or “My tooth hurts” – it just never ends well.
So, I told Vicky and right away she over-reacted. “You should see a dentist.”
Crazy talk!
And every time I complained about the pain, Vicky would started talking nuts: “Go to the dentist.” Seriously, the girl needs help.
But I did finally go to the dentist. I was there yesterday. The cleaning went very quickly – I was happy. The x-rays showed nothing more than a cracked, old filling that needed replacing – I was happy. And then, she was poking around the back of my mouth when her metal poker stabbed right through my jaw!!!
Ouch!!
I motioned to her to stop and she said, “Really? That was your wisdom tooth,” as if to say, “Silly boy, wisdom teeth don’t cause pain – not to those stupid enough to still have them at 43 years of age – you know… like you… moron..” And then, as if that was enough, she moved her hands back towards my mouth! No! You don’t get it! I’m in pain here!!
You see, I was one of those “lucky people” whose wisdom teeth grew in straight. Great. Fucking party. Now, at 43, it looks like I’ll need one – maybe two – removed. I’ve got to wait a week for it, too – cause, you know, with something like this you want ANTICIPATION!
But I think there’s a play in there somewhere, just the same…
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Spinning...
Vicky and I just came back from spin class. She's been thinking of asking me for a while now and, when she did, I took her up on her offer.
Now, despite what you might have heard, spin class does not make you totally gay.
I am not totally gay now that I'd taken spin class.
But for those of you who know my history, you might appreciate that I close enough to being gay that I could probably have a child with my ex-wife now...
Now, despite what you might have heard, spin class does not make you totally gay.
I am not totally gay now that I'd taken spin class.
But for those of you who know my history, you might appreciate that I close enough to being gay that I could probably have a child with my ex-wife now...
Friday, May 22, 2009
Telling someone off…
I finally told someone off today that I’ve been wanting to tell off for over twenty years. I told him he was a rude and insulting prick, and it felt really good. I mean, you’d think it wouldn’t actually feel so good but, sure enough, it felt really good. This is coming from a guy who hates conflict and does everything he can to avoid it. I mean, I’m normally a very level-headed, even-tempered guy who treats everyone with kindness and care – but some people are just rude, insulting pricks, you know? So, after more than twenty years, I finally told him. That’s right.
It still counts if I did it over the phone, right?
It still counts if I did it over the phone, right?
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Writing and Studying and Neither…
So, here I am. Another sleepless night. Suki was scratching, which is her way of saying, “Dude! My eyes are turning yellow!” Vicky didn’t really want me to get up because I think she knew that once up I’d stay up but up I went and out we walked and after Suki peed and we came back… I was up. Again.
But that’s okay. I’ve got a lot to do.
Finals are coming up. Per usual, my philosophy instructor has sprung a surprise on us and I have no idea what she wants in this final. So, my strategy is to just hit as much as I can and hope for the best. So, I’m reviewing all things Nietzsche and trying to drill them into my head, if only for the few hours I’m writing my final exam.
At least, that’s what I should be doing. Because even as I study, something else is going on. I suppose I should have seen it coming and I should be grateful it waited. But the writer inside is waking up again. Like some leviathan, it rises from the depths of my subconscious and won’t be ignored until I write something and maybe even something else. Placated, then, maybe it’ll return to the recesses… and shut the hell up…
Right now, it’s feeding me all kinds of lines for a couple of plays I want to write. I try to be philosophic about it. Although I’ve met little success of late, you never know what’ll happen next or even if a joke might make Vicky laugh, which is worthwhile in itself. Now, I should probably return to a couple of books I’ve been picking at but, honestly, Vicky hasn’t proofed Daughter of a One-Armed Man, yet. I wrote that a couple of years ago and can give her another book when she’s through, so it’s not as though I’m in need for any new material there. (Once she finishes Daughter, I’ll be ready to work on selling that – but it’s the next one, Last Ditch, that’s the real killer. I can’t wait for her to read that!) The bottom line, really, is that no matter what I should do, the writer inside of me wants to write these plays.
I already mentioned one, Sometimes We Find Our Way. I’m intrigued with this character of Jimmie Fatovich. Fatovich just sounds funny to me; I don’t know why. But I have this scene stuck in my head – these things just pop in on their own – where the woman he picks up at a bar tries to analyze him: “And Jimmie – you’re a grown man and you still call yourself Jimmie! You’ve been so dominated by your parents that you can’t escape this childish name, this schoolyard name, this boy’s name. Jimmie!” When, of course, he just likes the name. I’m beginning to see the play as a series of miscommunications, of people not really understanding what the other person is saying, which is something of a metaphor for our relationships. I mean, how do we know we understand another person? We just have to assume it and hope for the best.
The other play is this monumental reach into absurdity I can’t even begin to explain. It’s one of those “You have to see it” things. But it begins with a husband and wife:
Wife: Did you eat all the ice cream?
Husband: Yeah, I needed to check my tooth.
Wife: With the ice cream?
Husband: I think I have a cavity.
Wife: And you did that with –
Husband: My tooth’s been very sensitive so I had some ice cream to test it.
Wife: So, you ate the whole –
Husband: I wanted to be sure!
Mind you, those are probably not final lines. They’re just the ones revolving in my head. The play includes murder, zombies, and the devil… Like I said…
And, in there, I need to study for my final exams. One exam, in my Kinesiology course, is a take-home. LOVE THAT! But I can’t escape Nietzsche… try as I might…
Well, I guess I should head upstairs and try to sleep some more. We’ll see…
But that’s okay. I’ve got a lot to do.
Finals are coming up. Per usual, my philosophy instructor has sprung a surprise on us and I have no idea what she wants in this final. So, my strategy is to just hit as much as I can and hope for the best. So, I’m reviewing all things Nietzsche and trying to drill them into my head, if only for the few hours I’m writing my final exam.
At least, that’s what I should be doing. Because even as I study, something else is going on. I suppose I should have seen it coming and I should be grateful it waited. But the writer inside is waking up again. Like some leviathan, it rises from the depths of my subconscious and won’t be ignored until I write something and maybe even something else. Placated, then, maybe it’ll return to the recesses… and shut the hell up…
Right now, it’s feeding me all kinds of lines for a couple of plays I want to write. I try to be philosophic about it. Although I’ve met little success of late, you never know what’ll happen next or even if a joke might make Vicky laugh, which is worthwhile in itself. Now, I should probably return to a couple of books I’ve been picking at but, honestly, Vicky hasn’t proofed Daughter of a One-Armed Man, yet. I wrote that a couple of years ago and can give her another book when she’s through, so it’s not as though I’m in need for any new material there. (Once she finishes Daughter, I’ll be ready to work on selling that – but it’s the next one, Last Ditch, that’s the real killer. I can’t wait for her to read that!) The bottom line, really, is that no matter what I should do, the writer inside of me wants to write these plays.
I already mentioned one, Sometimes We Find Our Way. I’m intrigued with this character of Jimmie Fatovich. Fatovich just sounds funny to me; I don’t know why. But I have this scene stuck in my head – these things just pop in on their own – where the woman he picks up at a bar tries to analyze him: “And Jimmie – you’re a grown man and you still call yourself Jimmie! You’ve been so dominated by your parents that you can’t escape this childish name, this schoolyard name, this boy’s name. Jimmie!” When, of course, he just likes the name. I’m beginning to see the play as a series of miscommunications, of people not really understanding what the other person is saying, which is something of a metaphor for our relationships. I mean, how do we know we understand another person? We just have to assume it and hope for the best.
The other play is this monumental reach into absurdity I can’t even begin to explain. It’s one of those “You have to see it” things. But it begins with a husband and wife:
Wife: Did you eat all the ice cream?
Husband: Yeah, I needed to check my tooth.
Wife: With the ice cream?
Husband: I think I have a cavity.
Wife: And you did that with –
Husband: My tooth’s been very sensitive so I had some ice cream to test it.
Wife: So, you ate the whole –
Husband: I wanted to be sure!
Mind you, those are probably not final lines. They’re just the ones revolving in my head. The play includes murder, zombies, and the devil… Like I said…
And, in there, I need to study for my final exams. One exam, in my Kinesiology course, is a take-home. LOVE THAT! But I can’t escape Nietzsche… try as I might…
Well, I guess I should head upstairs and try to sleep some more. We’ll see…
Thursday, May 14, 2009
This is how these things work…
Today is the last day of instruction for this semester, meaning that next week I have finals.
Ugh.
The crazy thing about how my mind works, though, is that whenever I really need to focus on something – like, say, finals – I get an idea in my head about something I want to write. Mind you, I haven’t been having the best luck this year… or for a few years… I returned to writing plays because I had more luck with plays that novels. But, damn, so much for that idea.
This time, the idea is a play called Sometimes We Find Our Way, a comedy/drama about a mother and son who have just lost their husband/father. The son had moved back in with his parents to help take care of the dying old man and now feels stuck having to take care of his mother as well. One night, he brings a woman home who intercedes in the pending familial collapse by bringing it on much sooner…
Of course, I can’t write that. I have to study. As a result, it’s all I can think about… of course…
Ugh.
The crazy thing about how my mind works, though, is that whenever I really need to focus on something – like, say, finals – I get an idea in my head about something I want to write. Mind you, I haven’t been having the best luck this year… or for a few years… I returned to writing plays because I had more luck with plays that novels. But, damn, so much for that idea.
This time, the idea is a play called Sometimes We Find Our Way, a comedy/drama about a mother and son who have just lost their husband/father. The son had moved back in with his parents to help take care of the dying old man and now feels stuck having to take care of his mother as well. One night, he brings a woman home who intercedes in the pending familial collapse by bringing it on much sooner…
Of course, I can’t write that. I have to study. As a result, it’s all I can think about… of course…
Monday, May 11, 2009
Been searching…
So, I guess I should catch you up on the job search, huh?
It’s terrible. Absolute hell. Here’s a fact: 4 interviews in 4 months. It’s not just slow out there; it’s the Sahara.
Why is that? Well, there’s a few things going on that contribute to this aside from my lack of a Bachelor’s degree (5 courses remaining after this semester). First, employers seem to want the absolute most for their money. They want marketing writers with years of graphic arts experience or marketing managers with contracting licenses. In other words, conflicting skill sets. I’m sure they understand that most writers who are also graphic artists won’t be that good at either, but I’m also sure the pool they have to draw from is so full they can afford to be choosey. That’s another thing: money. I’ve seen marketing management jobs that pay $12/hour and writing jobs that pay $10. How do they expect people to eat on that or pay their school loans (since they also require bachelors or masters degrees).
The fact is, it’s a buyer’s market and it may be one I need to get out of. The fact is, I may need to find a job outside of marketing if I want to find a job at all. This is infuriating, considering all I went through to compile a marketing resume but it may be the sad truth.
I’ve got two more months of unemployment insurance. Time is running out.
It’s terrible. Absolute hell. Here’s a fact: 4 interviews in 4 months. It’s not just slow out there; it’s the Sahara.
Why is that? Well, there’s a few things going on that contribute to this aside from my lack of a Bachelor’s degree (5 courses remaining after this semester). First, employers seem to want the absolute most for their money. They want marketing writers with years of graphic arts experience or marketing managers with contracting licenses. In other words, conflicting skill sets. I’m sure they understand that most writers who are also graphic artists won’t be that good at either, but I’m also sure the pool they have to draw from is so full they can afford to be choosey. That’s another thing: money. I’ve seen marketing management jobs that pay $12/hour and writing jobs that pay $10. How do they expect people to eat on that or pay their school loans (since they also require bachelors or masters degrees).
The fact is, it’s a buyer’s market and it may be one I need to get out of. The fact is, I may need to find a job outside of marketing if I want to find a job at all. This is infuriating, considering all I went through to compile a marketing resume but it may be the sad truth.
I’ve got two more months of unemployment insurance. Time is running out.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
On tomatoes and the growing of things…
I know. I know. I’ve been horrible about writing. I’m going to try to start making up for that. Honest.
Let’s start with the tomatoes. As you may know, I planted kind of a garden a few months back: three tomato plants, some herbs, and a jalapeno… something. This is a bit of an update.
Jalapeno… I think it’s a bush… could be a tree… Either way, it’s in FAR too small a planter to be any good and may get choked to death (as its roots coil around and around on themselves) before I get a bigger planter to transplant it to. It’s doing well, otherwise…
Herbs… Well, the basil got eaten alive by some bug or something within a week of planting it and the rosemary (which is known as a tough herb to grow anyway) disappeared beneath the tomatoes. I should have known better than to expect them to get sun under tomato bushes.
About them tomatoes… they were doing great. Just great! That is, until the painters came in to paint the exterior of our building and STOMPED ON THEM. One bush got knocked akimbo. The other one, they pretty much broke in two. Vicky was kind enough to try and stake one of them back up but it’s not looking very good to say the least. I’m doubling my feeding schedule, trying to kick-start their growth but I just don’t know.
Not the best news, huh… Sorry. Well, it’s my first year back to gardening and sometimes you just gotta take your lumps, right?
Finals are coming in two weeks but I am going to try to get to at least a bi-weekly schedule shortly thereafter. A job would be nice, too. (Oh right, I should tell you how that’s coming…)
Let’s start with the tomatoes. As you may know, I planted kind of a garden a few months back: three tomato plants, some herbs, and a jalapeno… something. This is a bit of an update.
Jalapeno… I think it’s a bush… could be a tree… Either way, it’s in FAR too small a planter to be any good and may get choked to death (as its roots coil around and around on themselves) before I get a bigger planter to transplant it to. It’s doing well, otherwise…
Herbs… Well, the basil got eaten alive by some bug or something within a week of planting it and the rosemary (which is known as a tough herb to grow anyway) disappeared beneath the tomatoes. I should have known better than to expect them to get sun under tomato bushes.
About them tomatoes… they were doing great. Just great! That is, until the painters came in to paint the exterior of our building and STOMPED ON THEM. One bush got knocked akimbo. The other one, they pretty much broke in two. Vicky was kind enough to try and stake one of them back up but it’s not looking very good to say the least. I’m doubling my feeding schedule, trying to kick-start their growth but I just don’t know.
Not the best news, huh… Sorry. Well, it’s my first year back to gardening and sometimes you just gotta take your lumps, right?
Finals are coming in two weeks but I am going to try to get to at least a bi-weekly schedule shortly thereafter. A job would be nice, too. (Oh right, I should tell you how that’s coming…)
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
FCU: Fact Checkers Unit...
It just does my heart good to know that Bill Murray drinks martinis while watching M*A*S*H...
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
An update on that whole "unemployment" thing...
It sucks.
What? You wanted more?
For the past few weeks, I've been interviewing and communicating with a company about a position as Marketing Manager. I knew it was a longshot. After all, I still don't have my degree. Sure enough, today I got word that they went with someone else. And it hit me pretty hard. Actually, much harder than I expected. I was one of the final four candidates and I knew I had a good rapport with the person who would have been my boss. Now, I've got to stop crying and pull myself back together to go to school and suffer through a pre-test review on Hegel. Cause I'm really into that...
I think it hits so hard because I was so close. Also, it's just another reminder that I am jobless, useless, and unwanted. It's a blow economically, of course, but it's also a blow to the ego. I want to be useful. I want to be doing something with my life.
So, the whole "unemployment" thing isn't work out very well. I've just got to keep plugging away...
What? You wanted more?
For the past few weeks, I've been interviewing and communicating with a company about a position as Marketing Manager. I knew it was a longshot. After all, I still don't have my degree. Sure enough, today I got word that they went with someone else. And it hit me pretty hard. Actually, much harder than I expected. I was one of the final four candidates and I knew I had a good rapport with the person who would have been my boss. Now, I've got to stop crying and pull myself back together to go to school and suffer through a pre-test review on Hegel. Cause I'm really into that...
I think it hits so hard because I was so close. Also, it's just another reminder that I am jobless, useless, and unwanted. It's a blow economically, of course, but it's also a blow to the ego. I want to be useful. I want to be doing something with my life.
So, the whole "unemployment" thing isn't work out very well. I've just got to keep plugging away...
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
Despite my recent lack of entries...
Can you believe I got a C on a test?
Can you believe I got a C on a test for not writing enough?
Can you believe I got a C on a test for not writing enough in a philosophy course?
Sum'bitch....
Can you believe I got a C on a test for not writing enough?
Can you believe I got a C on a test for not writing enough in a philosophy course?
Sum'bitch....
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Friday, April 03, 2009
The Groucho Marx Syndrome…
So, yesterday, I had my second interview for a Marketing Manager job. I’m not really qualified to work as a Marketing Manager. After all, I don’t have my Bachelor’s degree. I’ve never worked on TV commercials or event planning or nationwide media, which are things they’re looking for. But I made it past a screening and an initial interview to make it to round two… while hundreds of other applicants were winnowed away and the woman doing the hiring was left with just four.
What a mistake that was.
Consider this. If I don’t get hired, I’ll always wonder what qualifications the other three had that I don’t have. I’ll think about how close I came. I’ll fantasize about what could have been… if only… While if I do get hired, I’ll also be wondering. I’ll be wondering what kind of incompetent clod would hire someone so under-qualified. How shitty is this company that they pick the least qualified of the bunch? What are they trying to pull over on me? What’s wrong with this picture?
You see? Either way, I’m screwed.
And it gets worse because I’ve also been approached about another Marketing Manager position – and I know there’s no shortage of qualified Marketing Managers out there. So, what the hell???
It’s like the old line from Groucho Marx, “I wouldn’t want to be a part of any club that would make me a member.”
What a mistake that was.
Consider this. If I don’t get hired, I’ll always wonder what qualifications the other three had that I don’t have. I’ll think about how close I came. I’ll fantasize about what could have been… if only… While if I do get hired, I’ll also be wondering. I’ll be wondering what kind of incompetent clod would hire someone so under-qualified. How shitty is this company that they pick the least qualified of the bunch? What are they trying to pull over on me? What’s wrong with this picture?
You see? Either way, I’m screwed.
And it gets worse because I’ve also been approached about another Marketing Manager position – and I know there’s no shortage of qualified Marketing Managers out there. So, what the hell???
It’s like the old line from Groucho Marx, “I wouldn’t want to be a part of any club that would make me a member.”
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Riding and Writing…
Have courage.
I know I haven’t been writing much but this is what I have for you today.
Yesterday, I went on a 40 mile ride down the Santa Ana River Trail and up the beach to the Huntington Beach Pier and back again. The pier and the beach were lovely but, on returning, I headed into what I can only call a “light Santa Ana Wind condition”. And it sucks to say “light” because it was blowing my ass nearly backwards! I struggled for every yard on the way home and considered pooping out and calling Vicky (“Honey, please pick me up!”) many times.
This morning, Vicky and I hit the trail but the winds were starting early and we finally did poop out, turned around and rode the winds home.
We didn’t let it stop us and we’ll be back again for another ride.
And so, I say, have courage.
I came very close to finding representation for my book, Climbing Maya, this week. Sadly, though the agent loved the book, she felt that there wasn’t enough action in this philosophy book for the average reader. Let me repeat that. She felt there wasn’t enough action in this philosophy book. And, you know what, she may be right. Maybe popular philosophy is a misnomer.
But I didn’t let that stop me. Even though Vicky is still proofing it – and I’m beginning to think that Vicky’s lack of enthusiasm may be telling – I sent her a letter about another book, Daughter of a One-Armed Man. I did it because this is important to me. I believe I’m telling valuable stories that should be shared. That I and my books are worthwhile.
Sometimes things suck and you get the wind in your face and you have to fight for every inch. But have courage. I’m not saying you’ll win every time. I know I haven’t. But maybe it’s not about winning so much as fighting the fight. You never know what might happen.
I know I haven’t been writing much but this is what I have for you today.
Yesterday, I went on a 40 mile ride down the Santa Ana River Trail and up the beach to the Huntington Beach Pier and back again. The pier and the beach were lovely but, on returning, I headed into what I can only call a “light Santa Ana Wind condition”. And it sucks to say “light” because it was blowing my ass nearly backwards! I struggled for every yard on the way home and considered pooping out and calling Vicky (“Honey, please pick me up!”) many times.
This morning, Vicky and I hit the trail but the winds were starting early and we finally did poop out, turned around and rode the winds home.
We didn’t let it stop us and we’ll be back again for another ride.
And so, I say, have courage.
I came very close to finding representation for my book, Climbing Maya, this week. Sadly, though the agent loved the book, she felt that there wasn’t enough action in this philosophy book for the average reader. Let me repeat that. She felt there wasn’t enough action in this philosophy book. And, you know what, she may be right. Maybe popular philosophy is a misnomer.
But I didn’t let that stop me. Even though Vicky is still proofing it – and I’m beginning to think that Vicky’s lack of enthusiasm may be telling – I sent her a letter about another book, Daughter of a One-Armed Man. I did it because this is important to me. I believe I’m telling valuable stories that should be shared. That I and my books are worthwhile.
Sometimes things suck and you get the wind in your face and you have to fight for every inch. But have courage. I’m not saying you’ll win every time. I know I haven’t. But maybe it’s not about winning so much as fighting the fight. You never know what might happen.
Monday, March 16, 2009
I beg your pardon...
I may not have promised a rose garden but I remember saying something about vegetables!
In fact, of my two New Year’s Resolutions (Hit the Farmer’s Market & Grow My Own), this was one that is actually helped out by being out of work.
And so it was that Vicky and I went down to Armstrong Garden Center (the nice one in Tustin) yesterday for a variety of yummy plant life. We didn’t spend a whole lot and walked out of there with plenty of tasty treats.
Today, I planted them. We’ve got four varieties of tomatoes: the Better Boy, the Wadda, the Early Girl, and the Ace. Some mature in just a couple of months, meaning we could have a bounty of red beauties through the summer! I also planted a creeping rosemary and some sweet basil – yum! For Vicky, I planted a Jalapeno bush… hot stuff!
This is, of course, assuming I don’t have a dirt-brown thumb. After all, it’s been a while since I last had a garden. Different life and a different city.
We’ll see.
In the meantime, I’ll see if I can get Vicky to post some pictures!
In fact, of my two New Year’s Resolutions (Hit the Farmer’s Market & Grow My Own), this was one that is actually helped out by being out of work.
And so it was that Vicky and I went down to Armstrong Garden Center (the nice one in Tustin) yesterday for a variety of yummy plant life. We didn’t spend a whole lot and walked out of there with plenty of tasty treats.
Today, I planted them. We’ve got four varieties of tomatoes: the Better Boy, the Wadda, the Early Girl, and the Ace. Some mature in just a couple of months, meaning we could have a bounty of red beauties through the summer! I also planted a creeping rosemary and some sweet basil – yum! For Vicky, I planted a Jalapeno bush… hot stuff!
This is, of course, assuming I don’t have a dirt-brown thumb. After all, it’s been a while since I last had a garden. Different life and a different city.
We’ll see.
In the meantime, I’ll see if I can get Vicky to post some pictures!
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Facebook and Facing Up…
Self-loathing, meet Ken.
Ken, meet self-loathing.
Oh, you don’t need to introduce us. We’re well acquainted…
So, I’m getting my emails this morning and there’s a friend request from Facebook. If you’re not on Facebook, you should be. If, however, you want to remain undisturbed by the nightmares of your past, you shouldn’t be… really…
So, this person says to me, “You were the coolest guy I knew in high school.”
The coolest guy? Was this person on drugs?
On top of that, I have no idea who he is – so I don’t know what kind of person would send such a thing, would say such a thing, because I’m not cool – I never was! I’m an abject failure who never lived up to all of the…
Whoops.
All of these thoughts poured out of my head, just sitting there in front of the email.
Hate yourself much, Ken?
Is it possible not to hate yourself but just to hate how you turned out? If so, that’s me. And I can’t look at this email without thinking, “Liar.” This guy’s adulation looks to me more like accusation, like mockery, like the worst insult you could possibly pay. It’s like he’s saying, “You thought you were so cool back then but look at you now. You’re nothing.” And he’d be right.
So, what am I going to do? Ignore this guy, just like I’ve ignored the other people from high school who have found me over the past twenty-or-so odd years… and hope he goes away…
I don’t know. They say you have to be really tough to take all the rejection a writer’s life brings you but I’ll tell you the truth. After twenty-five years of almost constant rejection, living on unemployment checks and my wife’s good will, nothing more than a phantom of the person people expected me to be, I just want to crawl into a hole…
Ken, meet self-loathing.
Oh, you don’t need to introduce us. We’re well acquainted…
So, I’m getting my emails this morning and there’s a friend request from Facebook. If you’re not on Facebook, you should be. If, however, you want to remain undisturbed by the nightmares of your past, you shouldn’t be… really…
So, this person says to me, “You were the coolest guy I knew in high school.”
The coolest guy? Was this person on drugs?
On top of that, I have no idea who he is – so I don’t know what kind of person would send such a thing, would say such a thing, because I’m not cool – I never was! I’m an abject failure who never lived up to all of the…
Whoops.
All of these thoughts poured out of my head, just sitting there in front of the email.
Hate yourself much, Ken?
Is it possible not to hate yourself but just to hate how you turned out? If so, that’s me. And I can’t look at this email without thinking, “Liar.” This guy’s adulation looks to me more like accusation, like mockery, like the worst insult you could possibly pay. It’s like he’s saying, “You thought you were so cool back then but look at you now. You’re nothing.” And he’d be right.
So, what am I going to do? Ignore this guy, just like I’ve ignored the other people from high school who have found me over the past twenty-or-so odd years… and hope he goes away…
I don’t know. They say you have to be really tough to take all the rejection a writer’s life brings you but I’ll tell you the truth. After twenty-five years of almost constant rejection, living on unemployment checks and my wife’s good will, nothing more than a phantom of the person people expected me to be, I just want to crawl into a hole…
Thursday, March 05, 2009
I was just in a collision… almost…
So, I’m on the 91 freeway. Stop and go traffic.
We stop. We go. We stop. We go.
It’s an old story.
This time, though, the woman behind me, driving what appears to be a Ford Explorer, has zipped into my lane at speed and someone forgot to tell her the “stop” part.
She slams on her brakes – I can hear them over Enigma playing on my car stereo – and she gets that rigored tight snarl stretched across her face, the one you get when you’re about to slam into some guy’s Honda Civic with your two-ton Explorer…
And I think about how I’m out of work and what little luck I’ve had with bringing any money into the house and how my unemployment insurance is about to run out and how I need to refile though I just lost my job about a month and a half ago… and how swell Vicky’s been and how horrible it’ll be to have to tell her that my car’s totaled…
And I can see the fear in this woman’s eyes as she’s about to plow into me…
And she doesn’t. She stops just in time.
Sometimes, the other shoe doesn’t drop… just yet, at least…
We stop. We go. We stop. We go.
It’s an old story.
This time, though, the woman behind me, driving what appears to be a Ford Explorer, has zipped into my lane at speed and someone forgot to tell her the “stop” part.
She slams on her brakes – I can hear them over Enigma playing on my car stereo – and she gets that rigored tight snarl stretched across her face, the one you get when you’re about to slam into some guy’s Honda Civic with your two-ton Explorer…
And I think about how I’m out of work and what little luck I’ve had with bringing any money into the house and how my unemployment insurance is about to run out and how I need to refile though I just lost my job about a month and a half ago… and how swell Vicky’s been and how horrible it’ll be to have to tell her that my car’s totaled…
And I can see the fear in this woman’s eyes as she’s about to plow into me…
And she doesn’t. She stops just in time.
Sometimes, the other shoe doesn’t drop… just yet, at least…
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Getting’ ready to ride…
I took a 21 ½ mile ride today, from home to the Pond (I know it’s not called that anymore), up to Savi Ranch, and back. It was great.
And now, I’m sore.
Used to be, 60 or so miles was a treat. Now, I’m so out of shape, 20 or so hurts.
Ugh. Time to get back in shape, Ken.
It was nice, though, to be back out there again. The sun was warm. I got a bit of a tan. The air was so clear, you could even catch just the hint of salt coming up from the sea. The mountains looked great with a little snow and everything felt right.
But, here’s the thing. There’s a chance my friend, and the hardest working actor in the OC, Bob, and I may begin riding together next month. This guy has done centuries… I’ve done a few weeks… I have this terrible feeling, he’ll start out with, “So, what do you say to 90 miles… as a warm-up?”
Yikes.
March is coming quick… I better get ready.
And now, I’m sore.
Used to be, 60 or so miles was a treat. Now, I’m so out of shape, 20 or so hurts.
Ugh. Time to get back in shape, Ken.
It was nice, though, to be back out there again. The sun was warm. I got a bit of a tan. The air was so clear, you could even catch just the hint of salt coming up from the sea. The mountains looked great with a little snow and everything felt right.
But, here’s the thing. There’s a chance my friend, and the hardest working actor in the OC, Bob, and I may begin riding together next month. This guy has done centuries… I’ve done a few weeks… I have this terrible feeling, he’ll start out with, “So, what do you say to 90 miles… as a warm-up?”
Yikes.
March is coming quick… I better get ready.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Things I regret… these days…
Vicky will never understand why I got so drunk.
It was last Saturday night, Trish’s 40th birthday party. I had been warned about two things that don’t go well together but I had no idea how much. First, there would be a lot of booze. Second, there might be someone there I didn’t like.
His name was Ricky and he was a figure from high school. Like all high school stories, it’s a silly one but, basically, he shared a little intimacy with my first love, Teresa, and that’s enough for even the least macho guy to go a bit nuts.
But after a quarter of a century?
Sure.
So, of course, as it turned out, Ricky was at the party, being a friend of Trish’s, and the booze was there, too.
Standing by them, Ricky said to his brother, “Do you have any idea who this is?” He was referring to me. “This is Ken La Salle!” Now, here’s something you may not know about me but when someone recognizes me by name, I get two impulses. I think either “He must have seen one of my shows” (which is growing increasingly unlikely the longer I’m away from the theater) or “Someone from high school is about to find out that I never succeeded in life. I must kill him.”
Another high school story. Sorry. The short version goes like this: I was expected, by teachers and other students, to either win a Pulitzer Prize or an Oscar after high school. Other people’s expectations of me were so high that failure has always been painfully bitter. I’ve grown to loath those expectations and, peripherally, anyone related to high school.
And so, here was a guy who – if you picked one guy out of high school and asked Pacifist Ken if I’d like to kick his ass – here’s the guy. Only, Vicky was there. And her reaction to Ricky’s blood on my hands – and believe me, I could have taken him – might not have been too nice.
Instead, I did the next best thing and started beating the hell out of myself… with booze. I pounded so many drinks, I actually blacked out. Don’t remember a thing. And that’s honestly not something I do… ever…
I woke up at about 3am… on the couch. I was downstairs, resting between episodes of running to the bathroom just in case I was going to barf. It was cold and I was weak. Still dressed. A mess. Very, very disappointed in myself. I thought, “Ken, maybe it’s time you let a few things go. Maybe not everything. Maybe not your divorce. Maybe not the things you’ve done wrong in your adult life. But… seriously? Ricky? It’s time to let that one go.”
Vicky may never understand why I got so drunk but I am very glad I do.
It was last Saturday night, Trish’s 40th birthday party. I had been warned about two things that don’t go well together but I had no idea how much. First, there would be a lot of booze. Second, there might be someone there I didn’t like.
His name was Ricky and he was a figure from high school. Like all high school stories, it’s a silly one but, basically, he shared a little intimacy with my first love, Teresa, and that’s enough for even the least macho guy to go a bit nuts.
But after a quarter of a century?
Sure.
So, of course, as it turned out, Ricky was at the party, being a friend of Trish’s, and the booze was there, too.
Standing by them, Ricky said to his brother, “Do you have any idea who this is?” He was referring to me. “This is Ken La Salle!” Now, here’s something you may not know about me but when someone recognizes me by name, I get two impulses. I think either “He must have seen one of my shows” (which is growing increasingly unlikely the longer I’m away from the theater) or “Someone from high school is about to find out that I never succeeded in life. I must kill him.”
Another high school story. Sorry. The short version goes like this: I was expected, by teachers and other students, to either win a Pulitzer Prize or an Oscar after high school. Other people’s expectations of me were so high that failure has always been painfully bitter. I’ve grown to loath those expectations and, peripherally, anyone related to high school.
And so, here was a guy who – if you picked one guy out of high school and asked Pacifist Ken if I’d like to kick his ass – here’s the guy. Only, Vicky was there. And her reaction to Ricky’s blood on my hands – and believe me, I could have taken him – might not have been too nice.
Instead, I did the next best thing and started beating the hell out of myself… with booze. I pounded so many drinks, I actually blacked out. Don’t remember a thing. And that’s honestly not something I do… ever…
I woke up at about 3am… on the couch. I was downstairs, resting between episodes of running to the bathroom just in case I was going to barf. It was cold and I was weak. Still dressed. A mess. Very, very disappointed in myself. I thought, “Ken, maybe it’s time you let a few things go. Maybe not everything. Maybe not your divorce. Maybe not the things you’ve done wrong in your adult life. But… seriously? Ricky? It’s time to let that one go.”
Vicky may never understand why I got so drunk but I am very glad I do.
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