Talk to you later...

When Vicky and I get off the phone, it's always the same thing. "Love you, talk to you later, bye!" Now, we've been saying this for a while so it speeds through our mouths like nothing.

In fact, it sounds like nothing.

It sounds like we're trying to politely get the other person off the phone.

"Love you, talk to you later, bye!"

And we miss it. We miss the meaning behind it all, that tells us that we're not alone and that we're in love and that it's become so commonplace that we no longer mind letting the other person go for a while.

I think back to when Vicky and I were first dating, and when it was difficult to get off the phone. We never knew if that would be the last time we spoke. It still could be... but we're so secure with each other, the thought never occurs to us.

So, I thought I'd drop this note for Vicky.

I love you. I'll talk to you later. Bye.

Oh that Bush!...

People take politics about as seriously as a sitcom these days, so why don't we check in on what Shrub was doing just before Katrina hit, courtesy of some inconvenient (for the Repug's, at least) video tape showing Shrub and his cronies before the hurricane...

Let's watch...

At the August 28th briefing, the president was told exactly what to expect:

• The chief scientist of the National Hurricane Center warned that a major levee breach was "obviously a very, very grave concern." Bush lied to the entire nation about this point just five days later.
• Michael Brown told the president that if New Orleans flooded the Superdome emergency shelter would likely be under water and short on supplies, creating a "catastrophe within a catastrophe."
• Experts and officials implored the President to prepare for, as the AP described it, "devastation of historic proportions."
• President Bush didn't ask a single question during the briefing. In the next two days he campaigned, attended birthday parties and played guitar while the worst natural disaster in American history killed over 1,300 people and displaced hundreds of thousands.

Oh that Bush! He's funnier than that Yakoff Smirnoff the kids today love so much...

This is real, you can check it out at Snopes.

Jury Duty Scam

Most of us take those summons for jury duty seriously, but enough people skip out on their civic duty, that a new and ominous kind of scam has surfaced. Fall for it and your identity could be stolen, reports CBS. In this con, someone calls pretending to be a court official who threateningly says a warrant has been issued for your arrest because you didn't show up for jury duty. The caller claims to be a jury coordinator. If you protest that you never received a summons for jury duty, the scammer asks you for your Social Security number and date of birth so he or she can verify the information and cancel the arrest warrant. Sometimes they even ask for credit card numbers. Give out any of this information and bingo! Your identity just got stolen. The scam has been reported so far in 11 states, including Oklahoma, Illinois, and Colorado. This (scam) is particularly insidious because they use intimidation over the phone to try and bully people into giving information by pretending they're with the court system. The FBI and the federal court system have issued nationwide alerts on their websites, warning consumers about the fraud.

So be warned...

See I do post on here sometimes

March is the month for...

Well, March is here. March is upon us. Time is Marching on...

What's so special about March, you ask - as if you haven't heard me go on about this before? March, dear friends, is baby month!

... okay, maybe not so much...

But long before Vicky and I got married, we came to the decision (read: She told me) that come March we were going to hop on the baby bandwagon. After all, neither of us is getting any younger. It's high time... which is to say that time is upon us, not that it's time we got high... although...

No, no! No distractions! It's time to make a baby!

And after long hours of haggling, we have decided on the method by which we will make a little kidling: Fucking.

Yep, that's right. Fucking. Vicky and I plan to fuck a lot (well, I'm hoping that's the case - not to sabotage anything but I'd hate for us to make a baby at our first "at bat" - half the fun is in the making!) and keep on fucking until we are sweaty, exhausted, and out of PTO time!

I just love when people say they are "trying" to have a baby. In this context, "trying" means "fucking". You'd never use that meaning anywhere else... unless, course, you were "trying" someone's patience, something I'm quite adept at...

So, on with the fucking! Commence with the fucking!

The reason behind this One Path, in case you didn't know, is that I plan to hold on to these as a kind of time capsule for our child. Once they get old enough (4 or 5), they can read about how their parents fucked and fucked and fucked... which should really, um, try them up. You know?

(Last night, Vicky told me this is more my blog than hers... this is what she gets...)

It was bound to happen...

There stands the actor who is me...

How long have I been saying it? "I’m going to act again." It's usually followed by a list of projects I have to get done first. For instance, "I'm going to act again just as soon as I get With Eyes To See sold and start selling No More Blue Roses and start writing Wormfood. I will. Honestly."

For two years, I've been saying this. Sure, I've finished a lot of other projects but I've been ignoring my acting for some time.

So, last night, I decided to get off my rump (both literal and metaphoric) and go audition - for something! Anything! I went to the Huntington Beach Playhouse to audition for Moon Over Buffalo. (For those of you who haven't heard of it, all you need to know is that it starred Carol Burnett on Broadway. You gotta love that!)

The first thing that happened was good. I ran into Bob Purcell, one of my friends from my last play, Something to Hide. He was auditioning, too. The first bad thing I realized shortly thereafter: we were both auditioning for the same part.

He realized it, too.

And he became visibly nervous. Nice of him to do that.

But what he didn't know was that I didn't care if I got cast or not - it wasn't that kind of audition. I just wanted to get some practice in, since it had been so long since my last one. (You don't wanna know how long!)

We didn't get a chance to catch up with one another, though. Within minutes of my arrival, the director's assistant (a pudgy, young man with far too much enthusiasm) called us all into the room where the auditions are normally held. Normally, the director calls in groups at a time - here was the twist, we'd all sit in there. Within seconds, the room became dank and stuffy from too many people and their damp clothes. (It was raining outside.)

Soon, though, the director looked up from whatever he was doing and began to speak... and I began to get a bad feeling. He was doddery... he wasn't just old. He was a lame gazelle, ready for the hyenas. Truth be told, I got a bad feeling about him the minute I walked in.

He called us all up in teams, to audition for the whole group. I was called up almost immediately, to audition for George Hay. The audition notice had put him between the ages of 40 and 55. Being 40, I knew that meant I stood a snowflakes chance, but, again, the practice is what I needed.

He called, "Ken La - La - Salle?"

I walked up to him. "Hello," I said.

"You're Ken La Salle?" he asked.

"Yep."

"You're auditioning for George?" His incredulity was more entertaining that some shows I've seen.

I smiled. "Yep."

He looked around, announced, "I think I'd like to suggest to anyone in general who might be auditioning for the part of George that you might want to consider other roles as well."

Okay, old timer. I got the point.

And if that hadn't done it, the all over-50 group of possible leading ladies would have!

I read two, different scenes. How did I do? Well, I wasn't impressed, though I rarely am. Compared to the others, however... oh my god.

I'd forgotten that local theaters can attract some rather... shitty... crappy... well, you know.

One guy of no more than 18 thought that running from one side of the room to the other was the way to impress the director. Another, even younger and the side of a bus, tried to affect a Woody Allen impersonation... it hurt.

But the director didn't notice them.

In fact, I turned my attention from the bad actors to the bad director. And he was - he was a bad director, the way you might say a dog is a bad dog. He didn't just not notice the actors, he wasn't even looking at them. He alternated between talking with his assistant and reading something. This is one of the hallmarks of a bad director, the kind who pays no attention to their actors. They usually have their own ideas of what they want and, rather than finding it in the actor, they just make the actor do it. He was even telling one young man to sound like David Hyde Pierce (who, sadly, the guy hadn't heard of) - line readings at an audition.

Okay, I was nearly done. Bob Purcell was doing a fantastic job and I had never meant to give him competition. I slinked back to the door. He looked at me. I gave him a mock salute, which he returned. Then, I pointed to him and gave him a thumbs-up. The director didn't notice us. I don't think he would have had we yelled.

Time for another audition.

"D" for Dead...

Three more greats have passed into the great wormfeast.

Darren McGavin - whose Carl Kolchak taught me what you can do with horror more than anything by that King guy.

Don Knotts - one of the greatest comic actors of all time.

and

Dennis Weaver - who taught me "cool" as a child in McCloud and starred in one of the scariest pictures of all time, Duel.

Here's to you guys. Many thanks.

Everything is everything and everything else is nothing...

One is tempted to call this the "Modesto Adventure"...

(This entry includes the dreaded "R" word. Vicky hates when I mention the "R" word. But I tried to write this without it and realized that I couldn't. It feels like lying - and I'm not a big fan of that.)

Just so you know, I saw this coming. Weeks ago, I told Vicky that something was coming. And between my recent rash of sleepwalking and the insomnia Friday night, I should have realized...

Friday night was my last night at home. Vicky and I knew that. So, we decided to have a nice evening together before I drove up to Modesto. Sure, I'd only be gone for a couple of days but I knew I'd miss Vic. I love her so much and I know she loves me - sometimes it's hard for us to make it through the day without calling each other a few times.

We had dinner together at El Torito - not exactly a nice evening out but we were together, which is what mattered. Then, we went home. At around 9pm, I went up to the bedroom, ready for a proper send-off... Vicky was playing Sudoku. (This game is the DEVIL! Don't play it unless you want to become an addict! It's worse than heroin!) I knew she was in the middle of the game but I started talking to her - disturbing her - anyway. Next thing I knew, my head was being cleanly severed at the shoulders.

And, after she got mad, I got mad.

So much for a proper send-off...

In fact, I couldn't stand to be in the same room with her. I went downstairs, watched some TV, played some World of Warcraft... didn't sleep. Couldn't sleep.

By 4am, I decided to get an early start. I packed up my car, went up to say goodbye and apologize to Vicky but she was deeply asleep, and I was off.

I hate driving in the dark because I might as well be tucked in for all the help I get staying awake. I get very sleepy. The sun didn't even start to poke its head over the mountains until, well, until I was in the mountains! I was going through the grapevine!

And that's when the first hallucination came.

Now, this is where I begin to worry. Some of Vicky's friends may read this. They know me as this boring guy who considers himself a failure - which is my way of saying their opinion of me is low enough already, you know? Why should I make it worse? They don't know the guy who nearly killed himself or the guy who crashed a funeral... and on and on. But the older I get, the more I realize that's part of who I am today.

All I can ask them is "Be gentle", which is good advice the world over.

So, there I was, on the grapevine.

And I look over.

And there she is, sitting by my side just like she used to: Rosa. And I realize that I'm driving somewhere with her. I say, "I didn't expect to see you." And she begins to talk.

Her words are old, familiar. She's telling me about how my love is like a freight train. It's over powering, indomitable, terrifying. That's how she thinks of me.

And by the time she's gone, and I'm taking the 99 north to Modesto, I realize why Vicky snapped my head off, why she needs time away from me sometimes. I am over powering. I'm coming on like a freight train. And I need to stop that - or I'll turn her into Rosa - and I couldn't bear that.

Which is when I start to cry.

Now, it doesn't help that I'm listening to "The Time Traveler's Wife", which is this incredible book that reduces me to blubbering without the assistance of any hallucinations! I'm wiping tears from my face, not because of Rosa but because of Vicky and how I don't dare risk screwing that up.

My mind is an interesting place. Thankfully, it's not as interesting as it used to be - things get too interesting and you're fitted for a white coat. After my nervous breakdown, I was talking to people who weren't there for over a year. Now, it only happens rarely, which is a very good thing.

Saturday morning, it happened more than rarely.

I say this because, very shortly, my tears were met by another visitor: Sean Roberson. He and I were heading to Las Vegas to visit Tim Murphy. This was years ago... many, many years ago. But there we were. And when I say "there we were", it's not hyperbole. It's kind of like what happens when you zone off. But I don't freak out about it, I try to think of these things happening for a reason my conscious mind doesn't know about, as if my subconscious is trying to tell me something. So, I had told Sean to shut up at the beginning of our trip and we're nearing the end of our trip and I'm just figuring out why he wasn't talking and, soon, we were laughing our asses off. (The lengths that he went through for that one joke!)

And then, no more tears.

Seconds later, I'm lying in bed, several nights ago, and Vicky is kissing the back of my neck. And it made me feel so secure, so happy, and so loved.

And here come those tears again.

But then, it's over. I drive past Pixley, Fresno, and on and on. And I'm fine.

When the last hallucination hits, it's like a hammer. It's like one of those falling dreams... but I'm awake, right? One second I'm driving... and the next... I'm in my living room. I'm laughing. Two, little girls are running around and they are laughing. Vicky is looking at us like we're idiots.

And POW!

Children have always frightened me. They make me very uncomfortable. Vicky and I are supposed to start "trying" for a child in March. As it gets closer, I've been wondering how the hell I got myself into this and...

I realized I want children. Lots of children. I want lots and lots of children. And I know this because I have enough love for more than one person and Vicky is just the right person to be the mother. And everything...

Everything is going to be all right.

It hit me like a hammer to the back of the head.

Everything is going to be all right. I can do this. I don't need to be afraid.

Can you imagine me thinking that?

The weekend flew by, of course. I was visiting Keith and Julie and we had a lot of fun. I started working on the re-writes for "No More Blue Roses". I had a great dream about Vicky when I finally slept. Julie fixed me breakfast before I left Sunday morning and then... I was on my way...

I picked up some fig newtons at a gas station - god, those are good!

The car gobbled up miles of the 99 as I drove south, passing miles of homes. This region is no longer such a breadbasket. But then, I began passing trees - miles of blossoms - were they almonds? What were they? I don't know.

I just saw the blossoms.

Millions of them.

Showering down.

On me.

In the front yard of my old house. There I stood, with my favorite tree, a cherry tree. And then, more came down, and I was under the tree in front of the house where Vicky and I live, sitting with our little girl, drinking from a juice box.

That was the last solid hallucination. After that, they only brushed up against my face. Vicky. Ocean Beach. My old study. I was driving through them but they had no hold. I was feeling great. No cares. Just looking forward to seeing Vicky. Looking forward to March. Knowing where our lives might lead. Boy or girl, it didn't matter. It was going to be okay. Rosa thought of it as a freight train - but now I realized that this also meant that I have enough love for a child. I'll be okay as a dad. I actually might not fuck it up.

Which is when I felt it peel off me like a film, like Elmer's Glue... the failures of my family, the failures with children. Of course, I'd been afraid! My dad wasn't a great parent. My mom was left without support. My brother and sister sucked at it. I realized what it was... and it seemed so silly.

It also distracted me from my driving at the worst time. I was on the 210, in the worst possible lane, just as I saw the lane where it deviated to the right... and I was going the wrong way!

And it made me laugh.

I took a random turn. Then, another.

And I found myself on "Historical Route 66", which brought a smile to my face. After all, I was doing the re-writes on "No More Blue Roses", a book that takes place on "Historical Route 66". And I remembered the trip Vicky and I took out there - and she felt very close.

So, I headed home.

YOU MUST SAVE LOVE MONKEY!!!

... please?

Some of you may know this new show on TV. It's called "Love Monkey", a little show about people you'd probably like if you knew them... well, most people would. It's a nice, little show... it's too nice... it's been cancelled.

SON OF A BITCH!

Vicky loves that show!

Now, I'm not normally the guy who posts petitions on this site but we gotta get the word out. Everyone! Spread the word - sign this petition - save "Love Monkey"!

Vicky'd be very happy if you did.


Edit: Here's another one! Please sign!

For those of you not in the know...

Tea is a drink with jam and bread.

... which brings us back to DO!

Hell is other people... winning things...

I should open this with a couple of disclaimers.

1. Vicky wins a lot of shit. She's amazing. Her luck is like a river of butterscotch pudding in which I can dip my tongue and... wait... now it's becoming pornographic... I'll just save that for later...

2. I had nothing else to write about... and this whole entry may end up making me sound a bit petty... blow me.

Sean Deyo won a TV the other day. Actually, it's a big-ass plasma TV. Actually, it's a whole, damn entertainment center with TV and speakers and stereo and sexual attachment... with lube! The bastard!

Sure, Vicky and I won that trip to Hawaii... and those trips to Dizzyland... and money... and God's left nut... but I wanted a TV!

So, of course, I started looking for ways to win one of my own. I did that thing online where you have to hit the whack-em-mole to win, but then you have to do other things as well, including this whole "contract in blood to our unholy Lord of the Depths" and I asked, "Who's blood, exactly?" They never wrote back.

Then, I got this email that said, I swear, "Claim your 42" Plasma TV!" So, I opened it. Sure enough, I had won one! But then, the fine print said I had to buy a certain amount of products from their site. Now, I don't know if they sold virgins or DVDs but the whole point of "winning" is that you don't have to "buy" anything, you know?

So, there you go.

Now, I'm sure this is going to be followed by comments about what you've won and how cool it was. Meanwhile, I'm going to suggest to Vicky that she win us a TV... COME ON, WOMAN! GET TO THE WINNING!

Fucked up things I read today...

So, there's this article on Yahoo about how poor kids aren't getting the help they need in school. I'm hoping we are all on the same page here as far as children being our future, no child being left behind, etc. etc. etc.

... sure.

And it's not the article itself that bugs me so much. It's this paragraph:


Low-income parents are supposed to get a free tutor for any child who goes to a school that gets federal poverty aid but has not made steady progress for three straight years.

Three YEARS without progress? That kid is fucked!

Which is why I never claim normality...

Lunchtime. Today.

The plan was that I’d hit Taco Bell for some absolutely repugnant food. (Taco Bell never fails to please.) The problem was that I was down to my last buck, and even TB that won’t buy you squat any more. So, I stopped by my local atm.

It wasn’t working… of course.

So, I figured I needed to buy something and get cash back… but where?... where?

There’s a Target nearby. Why not? So, I called Vicky and asked if she needed anything picked up at Target. I just wanted the cash back – to get lunch. Vicky had to think for a minute. Then, she replied, “Pick up some Quilted Northern, double roll.” Setting aside the fact that my wife scares me with her specificity for the moment, I didn’t want to buy toilet paper? I didn’t want to be the guy who went to Target just for toilet paper. Listen, being sent to the store for toilet paper is one step down from being sent to the store for tampons – and there isn’t a man alive who doesn’t cringe at the thought.

“So, your woman’s on the rag, huh?”

When you go just for toilet paper, you’re sending a message. “I gotta shit and I gotta shit bad. I gotta shit so bad, I’m buying extra toilet paper during my lunch hour to get ready.”

So, there I was. And I didn’t want to just get toilet paper. So, I started looking around. Target sells these multipacks of Cheetos that are pretty damned bad for me… that I love, so… but they were out. Bastards! No problem, though. I went to the DVD/Videogame/CD/Book… the “guy” section…. And didn’t find a damned thing. Bastards! Fine, I thought. I’ll buy clothes! That’s right! I sank down to the point where I was going to buy myself some fucking clothes from Target!!!!

… nothing.

Son of a bitch!

Resigned, I approached the register.

There was a guy there who grew a worse beard than me (no kidding) and had a worse haircut that me (seriously) and he had this look. The look said, “Gotta shit, huh? Yeah, I bet you really gotta shit.” It was a look that laughed… and it made me want to punch him in the face.

So, I’m repressed. So what?! Listen, I was raised in a time and place where people didn’t refer to bodily functions, they referred to toilet paper as “TP”, they ran the water when they went. Listen, I didn’t even know there were words for it until I got older! In my home, they were numbers, okay?!

I waited behind this woman with her child. “Can I pay part of this with cash?” she asked.

Say NO, I thought. Say NO.

She did, and all the while this child (baby, really) fought and screamed. Why? She wanted to put the atm card in the machine. This kid of no more than one or two years old was having a tantrum over economics. Tell me we don’t live in a society that worships money – TELL ME!

As this woman fought with her purse and her child, I was finding relief… wait… wrong word. I found other things I could buy, so I wasn’t buying only toilet paper. Oh, thank heaven for impulse aisles! (And 7-11…) I grabbed some chips and some cookies and put them on the counter. “Before… and after,” I thought.

When the guy looked back at me, after the woman and her nutjob baby were done, the smirk was gone. It worked!

I got my cash back and headed to TB. (TB… TP… I should have gone to Wendy’s!) As I placed my order, I mentioned, “By the way, your hot sauce container is almost empty.” Suddenly, the woman at the register started screaming at the guy beside her. His name was Thomas… and he HATED his job. He screamed back about how much he hated the place and how he didn’t need this job and how he should just walk…

… until she asked how he was going to have his mom pick him up in the middle of the day.

I felt bad for the guy. We’re all such fucking sheep; it was nice to see a little rebellion. But, no. He went and filled the hot sauce – smashing the packets in with a force sure to rupture several, or several dozen, of them.

And I went back to my own job. It was a goofy lunch but there it was. I’m not Thomas. I’m not Mr. Smirk at Target. I get to write for a living, even if it is mostly garbage. Sometimes, I have to go buy toilet paper… but I got a bag of chips and some cookies in my car. Sometimes, the small victories are just the ones you get.

Stupid Things I Hear at the Gym (another in a continuing series)...

So, I'm on the treadmill, next to this woman.

Physical Trainer walks up to her.

PT. So, what's in the news?
Woman. Oh, that guy who got shot by Cheney's had a heart attack. Bet they're going to blame that on him, too!

And just like that, the world changes...

By all rights, this should be fiction.

But it ain't!


Researchers at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute have developed a tabletop accelerator that produces nuclear fusion at room temperature, providing confirmation of an earlier experiment conducted at the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA), while offering substantial improvements over the original design.

No More Blue Roses!

No more!

Which is to say (drumroll please) IT'S DONE!

That's right. I finished the initial draft of my (wait for it) ELEVENTH novel today and I couldn't be happier. This is not only the funniest book I think I've written but it's also the most moving and most caring, I think.

There's something else about this book, though. This is the only book I've ever written that I'm completely unsure about. I like that. It makes it like a person - suspect but sympathetic.

Mind you, I still have plenty of rewrites to do - but I'm sure I'll be able to do that by March.

Yeah. Then the real fun begins.

But as I mentioned, I'm not completely sure about this book. So, I'm having people read it. Now, I already promised (matron-of-honor) Trish that she'd get first dibs. That said, who would like seconds or thirds? I figure I can send out a copy a few weeks after Trish gets hers. Any takers? Would anyone like to read No More Blue Roses?

I feel so good about this book, as I probably mentioned, that I'm going to let Vicky off the hook on this one. While she works on With Eyes to See, I'll take over sales duties on this bad boy. Maybe, between the two of us, we can turn things about..... maybe.....

Embarrassment comes to us all…

But for today, in particular, myself especially.

As readers of this blog know, I’ve never been the most successful person in life. Sure, I’ve had some highs but they’ve never been especially high… they’re more like “mids”. (And you can’t count my marriage – either one – because those aren’t personal accomplishments.) There have been many, many more lows. And I’ve accepted that. I’m not the most accomplished, the best looking, the funniest, the smartest. I am distinctively average.

But I’ve tried. I really have. I’ve written ten novels. I’ve written three plays. They’ve all been on stage. I’ve acted. I’ve directed.

And have been unsuccessful at all of these things.

… but today, it got worse.

Today, while out to lunch with Sean (who some of you may remember from the wedding), he informed me that people from high school – from my high school – people I went to high with – people I knew in high school – yes, those people – he told me that some of them read my blog.

My response? Complete emotional breakdown.

Those were the people who expected me to win a Pulitzer, to win an Oscar, to win a Tony, a Frank, a Jimmy, a Ralph…. Something! It’s not bad enough that I’ve done nothing, but now I know that they all know it! Remaining anonymous wasn’t good enough. It’s not enough that I know what a failure I am – now I know that they know, too.

I work for nice people… nice LUNATICS!

I suppose it had to happen… I guess. But I didn’t want it to happen so soon.

I started this new job hopeful that things would be different. And they are. The people are nice. My boss treats me well. So far, so good. Right?

But when I say things are different… there’s a dark side as well.

We’re horribly understaffed. Now, I knew this going in but I was in the same boat when I started at Linksys many years ago. We built that company and the marketing department slowly but surely. We didn’t start acting like we had a million dollar budget (the marketing department, that is) until we did. And this made sense – scary as that might sound. But after a while at my new job, I’m finding out that they want everything from our marketing department that Linksys has – with ten times the people and many more times the budget. So, what’s this mean to me? It means my workload is so astronomical that I not only have a pile of work so high I don’t know what’s in it but that I have work outside that pile that I don’t know about that is past due.

But it gets better.

I tried to talk to my boss about workflow today. My question: How do I know when something is due? Around and around we went – the final answer is that there’s no way to know when something is due. The only way I’ll find out is after the CEO finds out I didn’t do my job and comes screaming at me. (Yeah, I’ve been treated to that joy already…)

Oh, but it gets better still.

Working in high-tech shit, I’m in the fiber-optics business. For those who don’t know, fiber-optics transmit a light wave down a fiber – simplistically speaking. Well, our CEO has announced that we’re going to put all of our energy into what he has decided will be the next big thing: Power Over Fiber! There’s just one problem with this. It is impossible. Mind you, every engineer at the company told him this. Fiber-optics transmit light, not power. Power lines transmit power, you see.

So, I find myself in a place where I have an impossible workload, in a company determined to produce an product that cannot possibly work.

The difference between the new place and Linksys? Well, my boss is nice…..

(Stay tuned for the day when he quits…)

Another petition...

I also got this one, that I signed, and am letting all of you in on...


In order for our votes to matter, they must be counted accurately. We need paper-ballot voting. Unfortunately, the Republican leadership has resisted every call for real reform from Democrats like Rush Holt and John Conyers. Well, we can`t wait any longer for the Republicans in Congress to act. The only way to protect our elections is to go right to the source by reaching out to town and county election officials. In most areas, these officials have the power to ensure fair and accurate voting systems even if our elected officials in Washington won`t act.
Today I`m joining thousands of other Americans and calling on our county election officials to demonstrate that their systems allow voters to verify their choices and officials to conduct recounts. Please join me and add your name to the call for accountability:

Voting reform petition

Both the Government Accountability Office and the bi-partisan Carter/Baker Commission have resoundingly condemned touchscreen electronic voting systems as lacking even the most basic security and reliability. In one test after another, electronic voting systems are failing at rates of 30% or higher. Both reports recommend paper-ballot voting as the gold standard. Please join me and call for accountability:

Voting reform petition

Our friend Gail sent me an email today to sign a petition, which I did, and I am now letting all of you in on...

President Bush admitted to personally authorizing thousands of allegedly illegal wiretaps, and he doesn't plan to stop. Circumventing the Constitution is serious business.This is a big moment. People from across the political spectrum are standing together to protect the rule of law and the principles that are core to our identity as Americans.Can you sign this petition to show Congress that Americans want a thorough investigation of the president's secret wiretapping program? http://political.moveon.org/ruleoflaw/

If you believe as I do...that no one is above the law...then please sign the petition and do your part to make this administration accountable for its actions.

On the Moral Authority of Repugs...

The one (and only) defense I've heard so far for Shrub breaking the law and illegally wire-tapping the phones of law-abiding American citizens is, "If they did nothing wrong, they should have nothing to hide." This completely ignores the fact that privacy is a RIGHT - written in a little handbook called the Constitution. You know, the thing Repugnicans have so much fun SHITTING all over.

As much as I've never liked that defense, I've never come out with just the right answer at just the right time.

Tom Tomorrow has done just that. Read. Learn. Enjoy.

(The only thing he left out is A.G. Gonzales refusing to be under oath while lying to Congress yesterday... today... and far too many tomorrows...)

This is what happens when you have a whole country afraid of the BOOGEYMAN…

Terrorists around every corner?

Weapons of Mass Destruction?

A president who fear-mongers during the state of the union address?

… How about satan?

Parents in Colorado are certain their elementary school teachers are servants of the devil because they showed their children…. Gasp!... OPERA!

Yep, looks like the whole country has a real problem with reality. They would rather surrender their rights than risk a TERRORIST ATTACK. They would rather send their children to die than risk imaginary WMDs. They would rather have a president who breaks the law, violates the constitution, and sends our economy down the crapper than face reality. And they would also rather believe in a spooky religious figure than allow their children to see the opera, Faust.

And what’s worse, the teacher didn’t show the opera Faust – she showed a 33-year old children’s program in which they mentioned the opera, Faust. Oh no! We can’t mention music! We can’t talk about art!

Face it, folks. This is about as far removed from the real world as you can get. It’s not just in Colorado, either. And we tolerate this complete hijacking of common sense. We should all be very ashamed.

On books, exes, and phones…

Yes, this is one of those “catch all” kinds of posts. Ready?

BOOKS

I’m closing in on the ending of No More Blue Roses, only 17,000 words to go and I couldn’t be happier. With luck, I should be finishing up the first draft by the end of the month. Yippie!

This book has really taken on a life of its own and, as a writer, which makes things even more enjoyable. As I’ve been writing, I’ve been planting the seeds of things later on in the book. Now that I’ve reached “later on”, I’m seeing all the ramifications of these things, which just makes the journey more interesting.

It also makes things more difficult, of course.

Here’s an example. This book began as kind of an extrapolation on my own life. I posited that in my journey to the Grand Canyon, to kill myself, my dad came out of nowhere to try to stop me. In this imaginary world, my dad had been incommunicado throughout my life, that my mom had never gotten over the hurt he had caused, and that my brother and sister were jealous, even vengeful. Tracks like that provide power to the train – a good premise can provide power to a story. Of course, a story’s power is only as good as its characters. And I quickly learned that the story wanted the character of the brother to be someone else – not my own brother. The character actually turned out better than real life – “better” meaning more twisted, more bizarre. Fine. Great. But that means I’ll have to go back to when I thought I knew who the character was and rewrite him to who he actually turned out to be.

Now, this might all sound kind of weird but, long story short, finishing this book will be only the beginning. I’ll have some serious rewriting to do.

Trish isn’t going to like that very much. Trish is a friend of Vicky’s and I offered her the chance to read this book first (as Vicky and Billie were busy at the time helping me with the rewrites and proofs of With Eyes To See, my last book). (Programs! Get your programs here!) So, she read the beginning and, thankfully, loved it. And I told her she’d see the final draft as soon as I was done. Now, I realize that won’t actually happen. She’ll see it when I’m done… after I finish what I’ve finished… when I’m done with what I’m done with…

I’m not stalling, really.

EXES

She was my ex-girlfriend before she was my ex-wife before she was my ex-mistress before I was killed by my wife and before she bore my child… yes, Stephanie and I have had a relationship that can only come from the stage.

You see, she was my ex-girlfriend in my play, Atheists. A year later, she appeared in the role of my ex-wife in my play, Whatever Happened To Me. And, a year later, she performed with me in Something To Hide at the Newport Theatre Arts Center; she played my mistress who turned out to be pregnant with my child, born after my wife in that play killed me. Stephanie is three, three, three exes in one.

She’s a very talented actress and now appearing in A Doll’s House at the Newport Theatre Arts Center, which runs until February 26th. You should treat yourself and go to this – those who can. Vicky and I plan to go.

I was going to audition for this play, by the way, but I got caught up in a book idea – a book I am now 17,000 words away from finishing. So, see Stephanie, I’m doing something with my time.

All my actor friends (of which there are fewer every day) want me to return to the stage and, honestly, I plan to do that this year before I go back to school in the fall. As much as I enjoy writing, I am extremely jealous of Stephanie and all my actor friends. So, go! See her in this. Treat yourself.

PHONES

And, on an off note, Vicky sent me some info that I told her to post on One Path but I’m doing it instead. Vicky’s very busy these days, you see. She’s practicing a piece called To A Wild Rose, which she will be playing this weekend at Audrey’s funeral. I can’t wait to hear it. Vicky plays the piano beautifully and not NEARLY enough.

Oh, but what does this have to do with phones?

Turns out that, starting February 5th, telemarketers will have access to cell phone numbers. Yes, it’s another opportunity for you to be offered a cheaper calling plan, insurance, a better mortgage rate, etc. etc. etc.

Or, you can put yourself on the new, cell, do not call list. You can either call 888-382-1222 to put yourself on the list or go online to put yourself on the national do not call registry. I think you’ll be glad you did.

So, there you go. A little service along with some shameless plugs. All part of the tapestry we call One Path.

Keep reading. Maybe one day Vicky will write again… (Love you, Vic!)

Taking the day off…

I’m sure you’ll expecting some wittitude, wittisnarkism, witti – ah, something witty after last night’s FEAST OF DISGRACE some call the State of the Union Address but I just can’t. There’s too much shame. I feel dirty just knowing his approval rating is over 2% (with the exception of how he polls amongst black Americans, which is exactly 2%).

Instead, let me hook you up with this. While it’s not overtly about the (burning) Bush, there’s something going on there…

And now, Alito…

This won’t be long. My response to this is mostly exhaustion.

I find it mind-boggling that the Repugs can give the surplus to the rich, raid the budget, piss on human rights and the constitution and continue getting anything they want. People just don’t seem to give a shit any more and it hurts to think of my fellow Americans that way but there you go.

I just hope Vicky and I don’t have a girl. Fortunately, we’re white. After this new Supreme Court gets done with America, I’d hate to be anything other than rich, white, or male.

I have always said that things have to get a lot worse before they get better, referring to when people will wake up from this anesthetic regime of hate. Well, things get worse by the day. I just hope this is bad enough.

Eulogy...

Those of you who know me know there are a few consistencies there. One of them is that I hate old age. I don’t like the coming attractions, if you know what I mean. This tends to keep me from forming any bonds with elderly people – actually, for many years, they gave me the creeps.

But how things change.

With Vicky came Vicky’s grandmother, Audrey. And I didn’t just fall in love with Vicky. I also fell in love with her family, especially Audrey.

And Audrey died this weekend.

Vicky has a good attitude about it: they had a good relationship and now she’s happy that Audrey’s at peace. My attitude isn’t quite as accepting. Being the first old person I was close to and the first one who died on me (talk about inconsiderate!), I feel myself torn – I feel her loss.

And with her funeral coming up, I feel something else unique: the desire to speak.

Now, before you start laughing, listen. Funerals are the rare instance where I prefer not to talk. I am silent – mostly because I wish I could be anywhere else.

Not so much Audrey’s.

I told Vicky, adding that I’m sure it would be out of place and that I don’t expect to speak. I just feel the need to speak.

… and this is why we have One Path, isn’t it?

(No, the real reason is so Vicky can write but that’s a lost cause, ain’t it?)

This is what I would say if I were to speak:

Audrey had the same name as my mother and my sister. Maybe that’s why she felt so much like family to me. And that in itself is pretty strange because I’m not the kind of person who really understands that “family” feeling.

But I did with Audrey.

The first day we met, she was in the hospital – not in the best of sorts – but there was something about her that disregarded all of the minutiae. She had no airs, no defenses. She was without pretension. So, you can imagine my surprise, perhaps, when after knowing her for about an hour she took my hand and told me she approved. You see, she knew I was going to propose to Vicky that day. And I knew I was going to propose to Vicky that day. But I didn’t know that she knew I was going to propose to Vicky that day.

And before we were married, Audrey got out of the hospital. Vicky and I were visiting her in her new home. Before we left, she took my hand – I leaned in – and this amazing old woman proposed to me. She asked me if I would be her grand-son.

So, I’m proud to stand here as Audrey’s grandson. And I will miss her greatly.

Being an atheist, I can’t say for sure that there’s one more angel in heaven. But I do know there is one less angel here on earth.

Bronchitis… and other visitors…

My cold came back last week. It was Wednesday night and I was walking out of work when my chest went tight and I thought, “Oh no. Not again. I already played this game.” But, by Thursday, there was no denying it and, by Friday, I was at home for the day. Cough, lousy nose, fever… I was down and out.

This couldn’t have come at a better time, he said sarcastically. You see, Tim and Autumn had come down from Oregon and…

Do you know the story behind me and Tim Murphy? The guy’s like my oldest friend in the world and as valuable to me as, say, bad jokes – my own! Any chance to see him, I spring for. (Oh, and Autumn’s nice, too.)

So, there I was, half dead, when they came over Friday night for a little BBQ and visit, looking like an old piece of furniture you haven’t yet been able to dispose of. It was a short visit, the kind of visit where you only have time to make sure the other person is still alive and kicking... I met half those qualifications.

Saturday and Sunday were pretty much spent in bed.

When I woke up yesterday, I did what you’d kind of figure: I went to work. After all, my fever was down….

Before we got to lunch, I already had the entire office avoiding me. I could hear them muttering under the breath, “Typhoid Larry…” My boss came up to me and asked, “So, have you thought about seeing a doctor?”

(I should probably mention at this point all the times Vicky has told me I should…. Nah.)

“I’m thinking about it right now,” I told him.

So… here’s a tip for you. You know it’s a bad thing when the doctor stands at the door to the examination room and said, “Oh, dear. You’re very sick.”

Yep. Bronchitis. And that’s just to start! They’ve put me on steroid, antibiotics – even Vitamin E! – and if that doesn’t help… but, of course, it will. Nothing to worry about!

The steroid I’m on, Prednizone (don’t mind the spelling), is one Megan has taken so I called her and asked her what to expect. She said I might feel a bit “peppy” and maybe “jittery”. That’s how she felt. Mind you, she’d been hospitalized with leukemia. I was still mobile – so take that pep and those jitters and multiply them by about 1000!! And so, for pretty much the whole night, I twitched and shook – and felt so shitty all I wanted to do was sleep… and that was just from one of the pills…

Anyway, this is just a long way of say it’s been a bad start to what’s bound to be a long week. And, to Tim and Autumn, well, I told you I was sick…

Socialists...

As long as there is a lower class, I am in it.
As long as there is a criminal element, I am of it.
As long as there is a soul in prison, I am not free.

- Eugene Debs

Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.

- Jesus Christ

That next big book idea...

I've already said a few times that after this book, I'm going to stop for a while. I'm fresh outta ideas. I'm tapped.

Etc.

Then, today, the idea hit me. It's suspenseful, horrifying, dramatic, gripping... and, I wondered, is there any way to make it funny???

So, did I mention that after this book I'm stopping for a while?

And now, for a little politics...

So, I'm at the gym tonight and Chris Matthew, Republican stooge that he is, mentions what Hillary Clinton said today. Hillary Clinton commented that the federal government is run like a plantation (referring to Shrub at master of the house and the Congress doing his bidding) - which is pretty much the case.

So, Chris Matthews, Republican stooge that he is, says, "Plantation owners were white, southern gentlemen. Why does Hillary Clinton hate white people in the south? Why does Hillary Clinton hate America???"

... GOD! Who doesn't she hate? Right?! But people buy this bullshit each and every day. Just look at our society!

The main reason for this post, though, is to help you be aware of the concept of the Unitary Executive, wherein the Executive Branch becomes above the law. Alito is a big proponent of this theory. He thinks Shrub should be above the law. (If you don't believe me, look at his response when asked about this in the hearings.)

You must not allow Alito to be confirmed. Call the Senators in your state and tell them not to vote for Alito. If they ask why, tell them you do not believe in the concept of the Unitary Executive.

We didn't need the money anyway...

Looks like the war in Iraq could end up costing us as much as 1-2 TRILLION DOLLARS! (Shades of Dr. Evil, there...)

But, don't worry. That would only have been wasted on educating our children. Healing our sick. Cleaning our waste. Helping our poor. Caring for our elderly.

We didn't need it, right?

... but at least they could have faked some WMDs for that kind of money...

Did you catch Gore's speech?

Al Gore (you remember him? The guy who was elected President back in 2000?) gave a speech yesterday (introduced by Republican Bob Barr) that was pretty amazing. You should have seen it.

You can read it here but I heard some of it one the radio and it was something else. This isn't the same, bland politician; this man was on fire! (No, not literally... as much as Shrub might like that...)

Here's an excerpt:

A president who breaks the law is a threat to the very structure of our government. Our Founding Fathers were adamant that they had established a government of laws and not men. Indeed, they recognized that the structure of government they had enshrined in our Constitution - our system of checks and balances - was designed with a central purpose of ensuring that it would govern through the rule of law. As John Adams said: "The executive shall never exercise the legislative and judicial powers, or either of them, to the end that it may be a government of laws and not of men."

An executive who arrogates to himself the power to ignore the legitimate legislative directives of the Congress or to act free of the check of the judiciary becomes the central threat that the Founders sought to nullify in the Constitution - an all-powerful executive too reminiscent of the King from whom they had broken free. In the words of James Madison, "the accumulation of all powers, legislative, executive, and judiciary, in the same hands, whether of one, a few, or many, and whether hereditary, self-appointed, or elective, may justly be pronounced the very definition of tyranny."

Thomas Paine, whose pamphlet, "On Common Sense" ignited the American Revolution, succinctly described America's alternative. Here, he said, we intended to make certain that "the law is king."

Vigilant adherence to the rule of law strengthens our democracy and strengthens America. It ensures that those who govern us operate within our constitutional structure, which means that our democratic institutions play their indispensable role in shaping policy and determining the direction of our nation. It means that the people of this nation ultimately determine its course and not executive officials operating in secret without constraint.

The rule of law makes us stronger by ensuring that decisions will be tested, studied, reviewed and examined through the processes of government that are designed to improve policy. And the knowledge that they will be reviewed prevents over-reaching and checks the accretion of power.

Twas the day Ken finally realized he no longer works for Linksys…

Oh, right. I can say it now. Linksys! Linksys! Linksys! They’re not my employer any more! I won’t have readers threatening to expose me and get me fired and destroy my career! (Can you guess who my favorite reader back at My Side was?) I can talk shit about them now!

So… NOTE: DO NOT BUY LINKSYS PRODUCTS! EVER! (You’ve been warned.)

Anyway, readers might remember what a hellhole that place was to work at from my previous rants. (That’s not why you shouldn’t buy they’re shit. You shouldn’t buy it because they’re evil fucks who make garbage… but if you want to use that reason, that’s good too.) I had to try so hard for a chance to write for them – I eventually moved to my present job.

Cut to today.

This morning, I was invited to an International Sales Meeting, where I met all of our company’s sales force. And I was in prime form… well, I would have been had I been a Linksys employee. I was selling myself like a Tijuana hooker! If someone said they couldn’t understand the operation manuals, I’d start in with, “You know, that’s exactly why we’re doing such a major redesign, not just on what the books say but how they say it. Communication is more than words; it’s how the words are used.” If someone complained about how dry our data sheets were, I’d launch into, “You know, you’re right. We need to do more than just give specs; we need to put them into some context that people will know applies to their life.”

By the time I left, I’d sold them on revamps of current documentation, bold new paradigms, and creative, new collateral material. I actually said, “You’re in the unenviable position of the blind man who’s never heard of glasses.” I said that! I honestly said that! What the hell was I thinking???

And who’s the optometrist, you may be wondering?

Why, me… of course.

So, by the time I left, I had the entire sales force clamoring for new and exciting materials… that I would have to create…

WHAT WAS I THINKING???

I was thinking I was still at Linksys, of course, where I was told to make widgets and shut the hell up. That is far from the situation at the new job. Really, really far.

I get that now.

I’m gonna shut up.

Goofy Shit Alert!...

You must never click this. Never. You must never click this.

(... unless you want to see some pretty goofy shit...)

(Apologies to The 40 Year Old Virgin...)

What writing does…

(NOTE: This is the second One Path to compare Francis Ell and Victor Gabriel Marquez… I don’t know what this means…)

Sometimes, when I sit back and think about all the readers of this blog – none of whom have the decency to leave any comments, but we won’t mention that! – I’m often amazed at how many are people who’ve known me forever and at how many I’ve only recently met. This entry is meant for both of you.

I’ve been writing for so many years, it boggles my mind. Through my thirties. Through my twenties. Through high school. Even through Junior High. Before I was even a teenager, if you can believe that.

And I’ve always had all kinds of ideas about what writing meant to me.

It certainly didn’t mean making truckloads of money – this it has never meant! I wish!

There have been times when I thought that writing give me the opportunity to get ideas across, sometimes big ideas. And it does. There have also been times when I thought writing made me interesting. Well, maybe.

Even through all the years of being overlooked, the thing that’s kept me going is how much I love to tell a story. It doesn’t matter who reads it – though, you know, readers would be a nice addition – when I write a story, I want to know what happens, how it end. I’m enjoying the story as it’s told. I get front row seats!

But there’s something more than that.

I always thought that writing told you something about myself. It does… but there’s more.

Writing tells me about myself.

Sometimes, I’m embarrassed by what I uncover. Some I’m rather proud of.

Like this, for instance…

The name of my first book was My Side. (Ring any bells, folks?) In it, the protagonist, Francis Ell had a motto he carried with him through his years. It was “I don’t need you”. It was a statement of independence and self-reliance and strength. It also proved, in the course of the book, to be horribly wrong. But the thing is, that’s also how I felt, to a degree. I believed in personal strength, a sense of not needing anyone else, making my own way in the world.

You want to know how that turned out? I married someone who felt very much the same way, and when I realized how much we needed to work together, well, it was all over. Years later, we divorced. And it was horrible and it was painful.

Then, I met Vicky, who I knew I wanted to marry when she told Tim Clostio that she and I were “a team”.

Enter my new book (almost finished, honestly – I’ll hit 70,000 words today), No More Blue Roses. In it, a has-been writer of self-help books, promoting the blessings of self-reliance, grows up. He realizes that he’s not the rock he’d always believed. He needs people. We all do. You can apply that to your wife or your kids, your family, your friends, your company – but it doesn’t end there and I think that’s an important point.

It’s not the main point of the book but it’s an important one. And it tells me something, too. That I’ve grown up, maybe a little bit. I no longer think like Francis Ell. Maybe I’m getting a bit wiser.

I’m not often very proud of myself, but I think I can be proud of that.

As we ignore the obvious…

I’ve been behind on the news of late, being sick and all. I’m sure you’ve heard about Alito’s evasions and Shrub’s illegal activities and the massive corruption within the so-called right wing. I’ll trust you to know that.

But did you know about this?

“Australia is being pressed to come to the rescue of drowning Pacific islands which face a homeless crisis due to rising sea levels caused by global warming.

With predictions sea levels could rise by up to 32 centimetres [more than a foot] by 2050, a number of Pacific islands could be rendered uninhabitable within a decade.”

Also at risk are portions of Papua New Guinea, Vanuatu, Tuvalu, the Marshall Islands, Kiribati, and Fiji.

None of us can say we didn’t see this coming. We’ve been warned for years.

But I guess if we can ignore the levels of our oceans, which are pretty damned big, we can ignore so many other things as well.

Vick’s new groove…

Vicky never writes on this site any more. Can’t blame her, of course. She’s a very busy lady. On top of her job, she’s a prolific housekeeper… Actually, she’s anal. But that keeps her very busy. So, I thought I’d write something for her.

Vicky and I went to a Clipper’s game last night. Vicky loves sports but those who know me know how mismatched we are. As I told Vicky, “I never got the sports gene. When I was learning basketball as a child, I just thought it was rude.” I’d been given the tickets by my new boss and Vicky was primed to go… so I went, too.

We started the night at the FOX Sports bar. I had reservations just because of FOX News, but Vicky was really hungry, so… I always enjoy watching people in LA, they just look different. So many more of them look like they have stories; they’re so interesting. So, as we waited for our orders (chicken sammach for Vick, pulled-pork for me), I people watched. Vicky watched the game on the big-screen. (As you can imagine, there were lots of big-screens in there.) We ate through most of the first half of the game – most of it was spent waiting, of course. Then, we were done. I had to take a quick trip to the bathroom and, on my way out, I sniffled. Well, I’ve been sick, you know? As I sniffled, I passed a couple who, oddly enough, were making out by the bathroom door. (Making out by the bathroom door? Yes, I wondered about the location myself. Then, I saw them return to a table with other people and realized they might not actually be a couple… if you know what I mean. Yes, people in LA have stories.) The woman turned her face at me and sneered, “You shouldn’t do coke in the bathroom! It’s tacky!” Yep. We were in LA.

Vicky said the lady was just angry that I didn’t share.

Into the Staples Center, we went. Our seats were certifiably nose-bleed, one row from the TOP. I said, “The players look like kids from up here!” Turned out, they were kids. The players weren’t out, yet. But then, the game began again in earnest and Vicky was having a great time. In fact, watching her have such a good time, I enjoyed myself more, too. That’s one thing I love about Vicky, how she can get caught up in the excitement. Me? I’m too suspicious, too leery. I want to know what I’m in for… but Vicky can have a good time and she’s fun to watch.

Too bad she so busy all the time.

And she’s just going to get busier.

You see, I’ve deputized her to sell my books for me.

I should probably explain that, huh?

Well, after writing eight novels and selling NONE, I finally had to come to the conclusion that I’m either a horrible writer or a horrible salesman. Vicky finished reading my latest novel this week and told me she thought it was great. So did Billie, who also read it. Okay, maybe it is. Maybe I’m just an awful salesman. But I am sick and tired of being an awful salesman. I’m sick and tired of not being able to sell my books. I’m tired of striking out.

Enter Vicky.

I told her that I want her to try and sell “With Eyes to See”. Maybe she’d have better luck. She asked me, “How do you do it?”

I told her, “I obviously do not know.”

Frankly, how could she do worse than me? It’s about time for a change. And I think I’m extremely lucky to have someone who would even consider it, someone who has enough faith in me to think it would be worthwhile.

I’m a lucky guy.

Hemp… and eating it…

A couple of weeks ago, I decided to go to the grocery store. Vicky and I don’t hit the grocery store very often any more. Nowadays, we’ll split most of our shopping between Costco and Henry’s. But the grocery store, with all the packaged, processed crap… we hardly ever get to that.

So, I did.

I went in with the idea that I’d pick up some soda and it grew from there. I actually called Vicky and said, “I’m gonna be a while.” I went up and down each aisle, just getting things we either hadn’t had in a long time or had never enjoyed before. One of these things was a box of cereal.

I thought it was pretty cool when I saw it. How could you not chuckle a bit? It was Hemp cereal. Cereal made from hemp. Vicky said she wouldn’t eat it but I thought it would be good to help promote hemp farming. If you don’t know the benefits of hemp, well, you should! And it was healthy, and I need to eat healthy!

Then, I ate it.

Now, I’m not going to say it tasted like bong water. Anyone who knows knows and anyone who knows no-no’s knows that hemp is not pot. It’s like cotton or flax or rye. No, it tasted like an inordinately old cotton harvest… from 1931… yep, we were bringing in the hemp harvest… bringing it into my mouth!

Where’s the crunch-berries???

Sick… no, not the new meaning…

I thought I’d get away from working with youngin’s once I left Linksys.

Then, today…

Coworker #1: You gotta see the trailer to this Prince of Persia game! It is sick!

Me: Really? Is it that good?

Coworker #2: It is sick! We were looking at it last week!

Me: Last week?

Coworker #1: Ken was out last week.

Coworker #2: Why?

Ken: I had a really bad headcold. Now it’s in my chest. Vicky thinks I should go to a doctor.

Coworker #2: Hacking up shit? That is sick!

Coworker #1: Yeah! Really sick!

Ken: (very confused by this point) Um… yeah… I suppose…

So, being sick can be really… um, sick… I guess…

(It hurts to be 40.)

Sick as a Suki…

Well, it’s been quite a week. Eventful and not.

Briefly, I’ve been laid up all week with a terrible cold, with which I should presently be in bed. The thing about staying in bed with a cold, however, is that you grow weary of bed and look for reasons to get out.

So, I thought I’d write.

The new year began with a snore, not a bang. That was fine by me, though. Vicky and I had partied last year. So, when she sadly asked if she could go to sleep, I had no qualms about it… and got to play a little World of Warcraft.

The next day, I mentioned that we might want to make some juice because I felt a cold coming on. I love our juicer, though, and will find any excuse to use it. But then, on Monday, I insisted that we should make some juice soon because a cold was indeed coming on. The tight retort of post-nasal drip was ringing upon the back of my throat.

And, sure enough, Tuesday morning came and I was sick sick sick… Vicky stayed far away from me, wouldn't kiss me for fear of contagium...

Turned out Suki was sick, too. (See, you thought the title was just a dog joke, huh?) Vicky brought her into the vet and, sure enough, she had an ear infection. So, we both spent the week crashed on the bed, sofa, etc.

Don’t worry, though. Once I’m up and around – and get a handle on all the work I missed – I’ll be sure to get back to this blog.

Not to mention Vicky and I have a lot of kissing to catch up on…

So... how's the life hanging?...

With the year ending, here's a short way to see how things are going so far: RATE YOUR LIFE!

(Quizzes were invented for slow blog days...)

Painting…

Vicky would write this but, as you’ll see, she’s busy… painting.

For about four years, I lived in an apartment in Santa Ana. Some of you saw it. Some of you survived it. One thing about it (pertinent to this blog entry), I never painted the walls. Nope. Not once.

I’m not big on painting. Never have been. In fact, when I owned my home with Rosa, I only painted one room and that was the kitchen and that was because it was yellow from years of chain smokers who lived there before us. Notice I don’t say I painted the room with Rosa. Actually, I painted it with Sean Roberson. If it hadn’t been for him, I wouldn’t have painted the ceiling! (He was tall, you see.) Sean was a huge help. He’d take me outside to have a cigarette every time I started ranting about how Rosa wouldn’t help.

Before that, all of my painting experience dwelled within my mom’s house. We used to paint very often when I was a child… and always white. My mom had an affinity for white; I don’t know why. We’d paint about once a year, it seems, and we’d always paint white.

How did we paint? With brushes and rollers, putting up a couple of layers and moving on along.

… which brings us to this week.

Vicky has a week off work and has decided to paint the guest bedroom/future-baby’s room. Words cannot express the attention she’s giving this room. She’s amazing. She has this single-minded energy… makes me wish I was a wall! She patches! She sands! She primers! She textures! She paints! On and On!

Me? I stand back and watch. I’m not getting in the middle of that!

Things work out this way...

A couple of months ago, Vicky and I took a trip down Route 66. We stopped in Oatman for a while, taking pictures. See, the new book was going to take place along Route 66 and I wanted to get some local landscape, local color, pictures of things I could describe in the book... filler. So, we took a few and got out of there.

When I started the book, I wasn't sure how this would all fit in. I figured the Hotel Oatman would be somewhere the characters would stay. I figured they'd go up the road that cut through town, that road being Route 66.

What I didn't know was that the main character's older brother would be, um... how do I say this?... confused about his sexual identity. I didn't realize that Matt, the character's name, would be giving blowjobs to anonymous dicks through holes cut in the stall of public restroom. I didn't realize that this would dovetail so well with a sister who used sex as a weapon and a brother so wrapped in guilt about a relationship. I knew these characters would all have problems, stemming from their very dysfunctional family, but I didn't know the specifics when I took the pictures.

So, it was that I wrote a scene today that took place in Oatman. Two of the the characters are looking for each other and find each other in front of the general store. I had taken a picture of the general store.

And when I looked at it, I saw the sign that bore the store's name.

The store's name?

The Glory Hole.

... so be careful what you name things.

Sure, but is it an orgasm on your tongue?...

Perhaps I should explain.

BANANA BREAD EGG NOG SOUP!

Vicky and I just got in from an afternoon with family to find that we'd left a piece of banana bread on the counter. It was pretty stale. It was really stale. The only thing that made it better was a swig of egg nog. Vicky said, "Why don't you just put it all in a bowl?"

OF COURSE! Why hadn't I thought of that???

So, here's how to make BANANA BREAD EGG NOG SOUP!

Take one piece of banana bread and break it up into a bowl. Pour in enough egg nog to cover. Then, let it sit and soak for a minute.

What you have then is, well, dare I say it? It's an orgasm on your tongue - that's what it is!!!

New Job News...

I can't believe it's only the end of the second day.

Yep, I started the new job yesterday.... oy. That's all I can say. Oy.

You know the old saying, "Be careful what you wish for?"

The grass is always greener?

I'm sure I won't hear the end of this?

Well... it turns out that the new place has been dying for a "top-notch writer" since their last one left some months ago. Their last "top-notch writer"? NO! Their last "didn't-know-what-the-fuck-she-was-doing writer"!

Now, I find myself not only cleaning up her enormous messes and a backlog that makes Katrina look a bit humid - but my new boss expects all kinds of shit from me and... well...

I may actually have to ... gasp ... work!

... son of a bitch...

The "I" Word!...

He really is a crook!

IMPEACH BUSH!

Remember what it's like to have a conscience!

Another Question of the Week...

Pathological Bias?

Or Racism?

Or just plain BULLSHIT?

Tell me again. The buck stops where?...

Looks like Shrub has come out and admitted that all the pre-war intelligence was WRONG.

... but thinks the war was the right thing to do!

No punchline here. It's revolting.

Let me play World of Warcraft or I'LL KILL YOU!...

(another in a series of bad entry titles...)

There's been a lot of hubbub lately about the "dangers" of violent video games. ("Hello, Senator Leiberman!") Well, this MIT professor has a thing or two to say...

Here's his take on violence (but the whole thing's a great read):

According to federal crime statistics, the rate of juvenile violent crime in the United States is at a 30-year low. Researchers find that people serving time for violent crimes typically consume less media before committing their crimes than the average person in the general population. It's true that young offenders who have committed school shootings in America have also been game players. But young people in general are more likely to be gamers — 90 percent of boys and 40 percent of girls play. The overwhelming majority of kids who play do NOT commit antisocial acts. According to a 2001 U.S. Surgeon General's report, the strongest risk factors for school shootings centered on mental stability and the quality of home life, not media exposure. The moral panic over violent video games is doubly harmful. It has led adult authorities to be more suspicious and hostile to many kids who already feel cut off from the system. It also misdirects energy away from eliminating the actual causes of youth violence and allows problems to continue to fester.

Global Warming? Shrub's got a plan...

Thank you, Will Farrell!

http://onegoodmove.org/1gm/1gmarchive/002648.html

(I don't know how long this clip will be up so check it out soon.)

(And, yes, it's a clip... so let's not view it on dial-up, okay?)

It's Obvious Joke Time!!!

(The obvious joke for this week comes to you from Bree Goldblum, Berkley, California.)

Bush wins Heisman!

... that guy will throw any election!

After Five Years, Ken Does The IMPOSSIBLE...

(As with all of Ken's stories, you must endure the "parable beginning"... sorry...)

So, I was driving into work today on the 55 freeway. Right around 4th Street, a car two lanes over gets a flat. His left-rear tire practically explodes! You can hear it thumpity-thump on the road - because he keeps going. Oh, there was a moment of swerving there but he stayed in his lane. He kept going.

We pass 1st Street. We pass the 5 freeway. Then, his tire just shreds off the wheel - it leaps right off - jumps into the lane beside me!

But, he keeps going. You can hear the metal screeching on the pavement. But he keeps going.

We pass McFadden.

Suddenly, he veers to the right and exits on Edinger.

True story.

And this is exactly how my life has been. About five years ago, I got a flat of monumental proportions... but I kept going.

And it's about damned time I got off the road.

What the hell am I talking about?

I went into my boss' office yesterday. I was hired over five years ago as a marketing writer and was asked to help with technical manuals. When this guy started three years ago, he decided that I would do NOTHING but write technical manuals. Oh, he didn't decide right away. I wrote some ads for him and he loved them. If he didn't, he shouldn't have had me do them over and over. But after about a year, a couple years ago, he told me, "We don't hire marketing writers. You're a technical writer. Your job is to make widgets. And you're going to keep making widgets as long as I'm in charge."

A few month later, he brought some friends on board... as marketing writers. The both sucked horribly. One of them even quit.

I went in, acknowledged the new opening, and asked him if, since I was hired to do that job, he would consider me for it. He said, "No."

But not right away.

First, he told me that the job was being "retooled". Its duties would now include managing the writing staff in addition to marketing writing. So, I wasn't qualified.

Did I mention I was also the manager of the writing department before he started? That I was removed because he didn't like my crazy ideas, such as "proofreading", because they were a waste of time? So, there are two jobs I've done at this company and have done well... for which I am not qualified.

Normally, this would devastate me. You see, the big secret is, I like my company. I think it's capable of being a first-class company with first-class products. They are the number one networking company, by virtue of the amount of cash they spend on PR, but they still put out a crappy product with crappy documentation (no thanks to my attempts to improve it - see "Proofreading") and crappy customer service. I want to help make it a good company. I'm just not allowed to help. I'm shut out of the process, which is a horrible feeling.

Normally.

I say "normally" because, yesterday, things changed.

I decided to leave my horrible, nightmare job.

I decided just a few minutes after getting myself another job.

I decided after getting a job that pays a lot more with people who seem (on the outset) to respect me and my abilities.

So, I looked at Mike, thanked him for his "honesty", and handed him my letter of resignation.

First, I'm rid of Rosa. Now, I'm rid of my nightmare job. What's next? A published novel?

... let's just be happy I found a new job for now.

Say it isn't so...

I was going to write something about politics this morning but, to be honest, I'm too disgusted. (Check out I'm Just Sayin' over on the right if you want some of that. He does a much better job than I ever could.)

Instead, let's talk about music.

I was driving in to work today and, as I'm listening to Stephanie Miller, my internal radio decides it wants to listen to something else. (Nothing against Steph - LOVE her!) What does it put on? Darryl Hall and John Fucking Oates! Swear to Gawd! I suddenly have "Say It Isn't So" going through my head!

And that's not the worst part.

Oh no, dear friends. I gets worse!

The worst part is... I'm liking it!

It's a kind of upbeat, peppy song. Sure. I can remember "back in the day", before it became fashionable to mock the Hall and the Oates, they had a certain cubic measurement of coolness. I even remember being in my first band and discussing the possibilities of adding a H&O cover. In fact, there was once a time when I very nearly got laid after singing "Sara Smile" at a karaoke bar. (I say "very nearly" because it was a very close thing... but I was married... so...)

Maybe, I thought as I drove, they weren't so bad. Maybe it's time to pull out the old "Hall & Oates Greatest Hit" CD that's hiding amongst the "H"s in the CD cabinet. Maybe...

Then, I got to work and, being the dolt that I am (don't laugh - I'm sure you're all adolts!), I decided to look up some lyrics online.


Say it isn’t so painful to tell me that you’re dissatisfied.
Last time I asked you I really got a lame excuse.
I know that you lied.
Now wicked things can happen...
you see ’em goin’ down in war.
But when you play in a quiet way that bites it even more.
[say it]
Tell me what you want yeah
I’ll do it baby I promise right now.
[say it]
Who propped you up when you were stopped low motivation had you on the ground.
I know your first reaction you slide away hide away goodbye.
But if there’s a doubt maybe I can give out a thousand reasons why.
You have to say it isn’t so...
[it isn’t so].


... oh ... my ... god...

Insipid doesn't quite cover it.

Lame? ... Close.

Re... volting?

That's it!

What was I thinking?! Hall & Oates did suck! And I was giving them air time in my mental radio?! (Ah, make that "neuron time") I felt so disappointed. What's next? "Man-eater"? "Adult Education"???

But then, I thought I'd try to redeem them...


Baby hair with a woman’s eyes
I can feel you watching in the night
All alone with me and we’re waiting for the sunlight
When I feel cold you warm me
When I feel I can’t go on you come and hold me
It’s you... and me forever
Sara smile

... not so bad ... almost good...

But you gotta be careful what you play, in your noggin or elsewhere, my friends. (And, seriously, BEWARE anything from Big Bam Boom...)

Snoopy... cicle...

Sometimes, when people are involved in horrible accidents or witness incredible atrocities, they forget what happened to them for a while. Then, something jogs the memory and - BAM - they require therapy.

I'll give you an example.

And I won't have to go to extremes like the Holocaust or the Titanic (both the boat and the movie) to prove my point. I don't have to go any farther back than Saturday... at Knotts.

Because I just remembered the most horrible of all atrocities: Snoopy on Ice!

As previously noted, Billie and Dan went with a multitude of nieces and I went with Vicky. And they asked me, "Do you want to go on Snoopy on Ice?" and the preferable form, "Would you like to SEE Snoopy on Ice?"

They asked me over and over and over.

Believing that options suggest choice, I chose. I answered, "No." Why? I think it's obvious. Shows like Snoopy on Ice or Mickey on Steam are, by their very nature, children's shows. Can we agree on that? Okay. Well, I'm neither a child nor do I have a child. Vicky was free to see it but I just didn't want to. Not my cup of tea. Thank you. No.

And this brought the immediate response, "You know you're going to have to see this when you have kids."

I hate answers like this. I mean, what are they trying to suggest? That I should surrender my last few months of freedom just because I won't be free later? Hell, I might as well get a pacemaker now! Where's my walker?! Look, we're not even sure any child of mine would LIKE that kind of stuff. Try to imagine a little Ken running around - do you see him wanting to see Goofy on Mist? There's a chance he won't. Are we to force him, too???

Thankfully, Vicky's not the kind of person to guilt me into seeing stuff like that. (Not that she doesn't guilt me into other things - she IS a woman, after all.) She was happy with the Mystery Lodge... actually, that may be exaggerating...

Meanwhile, I'll bide my time in the hopes that by the time my child is old enough to go to things like Snoopy on Ice, the take out the ice skates and replace them with skis... at high speed... through a mine field! Now, that's family fun!

Knotts...

I know. I know. I'm a horrible, terrible person. I'm so corrupt, I'm practically a (burning) Bush appointee. I'm so jaded I could be mined... for jade!

But I can't help it. It's who I am!

So, we went to Knotts Berry Farm this weekend and I was, let's say, less than enthusiastic. I know I should have been. After all, we were getting in for $10 each, thanks to being a friend of a cop and a fireman. (That's Billie and Dan, in case you didn't know.) (Cop & Fireman... you know... public servants... people the Revolticons hate.) Billie was there with my book, With Eyes to See, telling me how much she LOVED it. What's not to like.

By the way, they were there with some nieces and... well, other nieces. When they asked what the book was about, Dan said, "It's about people who gouge their own eyes out." And these kids are TINY!... Granted, the book is about people who gouge their own eyes out...

So, we got inside and we're going from ride to ride and I am, let's say, underwhelmed. I'm grumbling in all the lines for the rides - though, I will say, there are hardly any! But, really, Knotts is the smallest amusement park in the world! If Disneyland was so small, they'd call it Disneyroom! If Magic Mountain was that size, it would be Magic Mound!

But I got better as the day went on and I even shopped with Vicky at all the little shops. Actually, it was mostly little shops. What the hell is with all the little shops?! We went from shop to shop to shop to... and my feet started to get tired.

All day long, I was trying to convince Vicky to go on Bigfoot Rapids, one of those white water because they put soap in the water kind of rides. One of those rides where they say "You will get wet!" and then turn a hose on you as you step off just to make sure.

Vicky was having no part of it.

Somewhere along the way, there formed an unspoken agreement that she would go on Bigfoot Rapids with me if I went into the Mystery Lodge with her.

We had an agreement.

So, Billie and some of her nieces went with us on Bigfoot Rapids. Vicky was grumbling through the whole line - a lot like I was earlier in the day. We get on and Vicky and I, both of us sadly the heaviest people on our innertube-like raft, are positioned right next to each other. Simply, grade-school science (remember? science?) tells us that we're gonna get very wet. We're hosed... or soon will be. Sure enough, Vicky gets hit by a big wave. This makes me laugh - but not for long. Because I get hit by a huge wave! Everyone else on the raft laughs, even me... but not Vicky. She's wetter than anyone else. She's wetter than the ride! She's wanting them to turn the hose on her just to dry off!

I felt pretty bad about that as we walked around the park. Sadly, that wasn't the worst thing to happen. Vicky got a call on her cell. Her grandmother was in the hospital, doing very poorly. She could die. The decision before us was if we should go and drive up to Lancaster to see her before she died or if we should stay and remember Audrey (her grandmother) as we knew her. Audrey was too far gone to recognize us if we did go and going there would just make that our last memory. And we didn't want that.

Give me just a minute here. The only grandmother I ever knew wasn't exactly what you'd call a nice person. On top of that, she liked Rosa... so meeting Audrey was a wonderful gift. I met her in a hospital. She's never been very well. She's old and frail. And I'm so grateful for meeting her. From only the few moments we've had together, I think she's an angel. And this is coming from someone who hates old people! (We'll get into that another time but let's just say I can't stand the coming attractions.) The thought of her dying just tore at my heart and there, amidst the crowded paths, Vicky and I held each other.

(Audrey is still in the hospital. She's doing very poorly but she's got a will like titanium.)

Since we were staying, it was time for the Mystery Lodge. I thought I'd gone on this years ago and I might have... but they must have changed it. Now, when you walk in, there's a large hall in which you're asked to wait. And so, we wait. As we're waiting, this announcer walks out and tries to warm up the crowd - the mystery here being who would ever think he's funny. The other mystery is when the show would start. Because we kept waiting. Another mystery: why weren't there any chairs? We had to stand... and wait... and listen to this chump's bad jokes.

And then, lightening flashed! And the lights changed!

And then the chump made some more bad jokes.

Finally, some doors opened and we walked into a theater where we sat on benches. The chump said a few things, which nobody listened to, and the show began. It was a special effects show, in a way, with an old Indian (an actor) telling a story. Now, to be honest, the show was pretty good. Cheesy but good. It would have been a thousand times better without the chump and his stupid comments.

After that, we went home. Wet and a little sad.

But we had a pretty good time...

Weekend things...

Yes, I'm back with another weekend prognostication... of sorts! You see, this weekend we actually have "planned" - the quotes make it flexible, as if to say "we have things we think we're going to do and might do and probably will do if we do them..."

First, I gotta tell you that as I was searching the web this morning I found something that got me laughing. Not a joke in the traditional sense, it's actually one of those things we used to joke about. Turns out there really is such a thing as Adult ADD! Honestly! Hey, the legal drug pushers wouldn't lie to you... would they? Take this pill - you'll understand.

Vicky and I are meeting Billie and Dan at Knott's Crappy Farm this weekend. I call it Knott's Crappy Farm because, well, it's pretty crappy. If you've never been there, you can cover the entire part, with all the rides and attractions in the time it takes middle-aged men to go to the bathroom. (Unless they've been eating a lot of cheese...) It's the single most boring "amusement" park... but Vicky wants to go see all the Christmas shops. So, that clinches it! NOTHING is as boring!

But I have to go. You see, Billie just finished reading my latest book, With Eyes to See. Since it's a horror novel with lots of, what I call, "cop stuff" (that being business in the book dealing with cops), I wanted to get her opinion on how very far off I was. Billie's a cop, you see. A Lieutenant. The big cheese! Well, I spoke with her last night and not only did she LOVE the book but she thinks I got the cop stuff pretty right. So, next it goes to Vicky for proofreading. Then, it's out to agents for rejection letters. Ah, how I adore rejection letters. That or sex - I don't know which is better!

So our Saturday will be spent at Knott's. Joy.

But we'll be back home Saturday night, which is good, because if we miss it tonight we'll have a second chance to catch HOMECOMING. What is HOMECOMING? HOMECOMING is a new movie by Joe Dante (of Gremlin's fame) for Showtime that you just have to see. The premise? In an election year, all the dead from the Iraqi Abomination rise from their graves to vote out the Republicans. Surely this can't be the only way we'll get rid of those fucking thugs! I figure that if Mr. Dante is sending zombies after Republicans - I gotta watch! And the great thing is that this weekend is one of those free preview weekends for Showitme so, if you don't have it, you get it this weekend. If you have cable (or, like us, satellite) you have no excuse!

Speaking of good uses for meat, we'll also be hitting Henry's or Whole Foods this weekend to pick up some steaks. Vicky got an early Christmas gift this year: a very nice barbeque. This weekend, we're breaking that bad boy in! Vicky is quite the barbequesse and I'm quite the fat pig... so things work out well.

We also might get a game of Scrabble going. Weekends seem to be the time for that. We play our Scrabble by slightly different rules - we allow the dictionary. Yes. That's right. I said it. We allow it. In fact, we encourage here. Want to know why? When you play without the dictionary (only using it to prove someone else is wrong, losing your turn if they're not) you discourage the learning of new words. By introducing the dictionary into our game, we have a more supportive environment. Not only that but when we have kids we'll get them involved with the dictionary, too, taking the taboo away. (You know, if they play with us.) Okay, so we're wimps! That's the bottom line! But we use more of our tiles, damn you!

We also need to start looking into this whole Christmas thing - buying gifts and cards and blah blah blah... Wasn't it just September?