Big Blog Day #4: And then there's this book...

Yes, that book. The book I'm not writing. The one I want to write so much.

This new book is a lot like that ugly girl you knew in college, or high school, or junior high... who fucked so well. The one whose phone number you kept but who's calls you wouldn't return. You know the one that I mean.

(If you're a girl, change gender... if you're into that. And if you're one of those people who doesn't know what I'm talking about, you'll never know how fortunate you are.)

Let's be clear. I like this book, all 900 words of it, this sliver of a book, this sampler of a book, but... well, this is where it gets hard to explain. I don't like the way it looks at me. I don't like what it says about me behind my back. No, this is not crazy talk! Writing a book is like vivisection, you open up your guts and (if you were me) look for the funny parts. (Spleens, for instance.)

And I don't like what I see.

This book has my number.

Here's why. I was doing some work on the protagonist. Being in first person, it's important to have this guy down, to know the ins and outs. (By the way, "doing some work" is a euphemism for listening to the voices in my head, letting them talk.)(That part is the crazy talk, I think.) He was married before. He was married to a woman who didn't like him very much. And I realized there's going to come a point in this book where he says that he married her because, "I wanted her to like me."

And that hurt.

Because it's true.

Well, partially true. You see, Vicky and I have learned a lot about my first wife in the last few months. We've learned a lot about who she's become since I tried to get back together with her, years ago, long before Vicky. She's become a horrid human being, and she went out of her way to cause me a great deal of pain. I won't go into details right here but the gist is that the repercussions are only now being felt, like ripples turning into tsunamis.

I had really wanted her to like me - but she never did. Or, if she did, I can't remember it. It's all gone now; the memories have gone to shreds.

The awful feelings that remain wash back upon me in the shape of this figure, this character, this guy who would marry someone because he wants so desperately not just to be loved but to be liked. It's not a comfortable place, but I don't mind that because I know that art should never be comfortable.

And speaking of uncomfortable, I still need to write the damned thing...

Big Blog Day #3: Podcasts...

(Oh, another thing I can't do: Draw. Swear to God, I suck! And I really admire that ability in people who can do it well.)

(But that's not what this is about. This one's about...)

Podcasts!

Last week, while I was in San Diego, Vicky discovered this neat, little something on iTunes and started downloading away. She's got a few but her favorite, or so it seems to me, is the Happy Tree Friends podcast. For those of you not familiar with Happy Tree Friends, who are a phenom online and on G4, it's sick, disgusting, and absolutely hilarious. There's nothing more cathartic than watching the slaughter of wee fuzzy creatures.

But I digress...

This week, I found my podcast addiction and you might not see this coming. It's Wil Wheaton's podcast: Radio Free Burrito! This podcast absolutely kicks ass! Wil is funny and insightful and honest - he's everything I try to be and he's got a great voice. He doesn't sound like Wesley, which might say something about his voice work; he sounds, well, pretty cool actually. Yeah, I know. I'm "gaying" all over the place about Wil, right? But it's really something you should listen to - you might enjoy it.

(I just figured out his voice. He sounds like my brother Dwight might sound if he had something funny, insightful, or honest to say... and if you're reading this, Dwight, you can hit me later.)

I've always told Clostio that the difference between a gay man and a straight man is that when a gay man thinks "I want to be in him" and a straight man thinks "I want to be him". That one word makes all the difference! And, in this case, I want to be Wil.

I went home last night, after listening to Radio Free Burrito #3 on my way home, and told Vicky, "I would LOVE to do a podcast!"

And she replied, with her typical lack of concern for reality, "Why don't you look into it?" (I swear, when we have children, I'll have to watch her. The kid's going to say, "Mom, I want to be Spiderman," and she'll say, "Why don't you look into it?" And then, I'll have to keep the kid away from spiders...)

Listen, as much as I might think I can do one and do it well, I don't see it happening. I mean, I did the CDs some of you might remember but, more often than not, nobody listened to them. I got no feedback. Nobody cared. And, hell, I have a hard enough time getting a handful of people reading this blog. Mostly, I do this for my own entertainment, edification, reflection - call it what you will.

So, in lieu of me, here's Wil's podcast. I know you'll love it. If you don't, I'll know you're crazy.

Big Blog Day #2: Today's Question...

Last night, I went upstairs and I saw that the bed in the guest bedroom had its blankets pulled back, just as you would if you were about to get in. I said to Vicky, "Are you planning on sleeping in the guest bedroom tonight?"

"No."

"Well, it looks like you are."

Then, she said to me, "Oh, the dog did that." And she was completely serious. I kid you not!

Did I believe her? Of course, not! Even if the dog did do it, I had to doubt her just on principle!

... mind you, she didn't think that was very funny.

So, I have to ask: If you saw the blankets pulled back on the bed and someone said the dog did it, wouldn't you be skeptical?

NOTE: Vicky doesn't see what's so funny about this and maybe I just have a twisted sense of humor. Either way, try to make your comments funny - she needs to get a laugh out of this.

Big Blog Day #1: Something I can't do...

Welcome to "Big Blog Day"... and let's see if that happens. I'm hoping to put up several entries today. Vicky says I'd probably get more comments if I wrote less, like she does, but I'm a writer and sometimes I just need to talk, which brings us to here.

Something I can't do? See, I was at the gym this morning and I saw something on TV and I thought, "You know, I never could do that."

There are plenty of things I can do and I do them well. For instance, I have a great sense of direction. I used to love taking long drives on surface streets for hours and hours and then work my way home. I thought that was fun because I knew, no matter where I was, I could find my way home. It was cool. The same thing happens when I go hiking.

I also know I can kiss. Between my marriages, I had the opportunity to kiss quite a few women, and I found out over and over that I was doing a pretty good job. It's nice to know I'm a good kisser because I'm pretty much done finding new women to kiss. Now, I've got my kisser for a lifetime - that's Vicky. She doesn't like to kiss as often as I do but I know she likes it, and that's a nice feeling.

Things I can't do? Well, I'm no athlete - we've established that, I think. And I can't dance to save my life.

The thing on my mind this morning is that I can't estimate distances. Some people can do that. They say, "Oh, that's 40 yards" or "that tree's 70 feet tall". I look at the same thing and say "that's 100 yards" or "that tree's about 20 feet tall". I just have no fucking clue.

I don't know if my brain has become so specialized over the years or what the deal is but I have to admit, I envy people who can perform this very simple task of estimating distances. Tim Murphy's pretty good at this. I remember driving up to his place and hearing him say on the phone, "Drive a couple hundred yards and turn right." I knew I'd be hopelessly lost - not that I told him that. Hey, I might suck but I'm not going to tell you, you know!

... except for now, right?

Trust...

I just saw this article on Yahoo. The headline reads: DP World Unveils Port Operation Sale Plans.

If you read the text, it states that the sale is to "an unrelated American buyer".

Who is this "unrelated American buyer"? DP World's American division!

Standing up and saying wrong is wrong...

I'm a skeptic. I think we're all pretty clear on that. A skeptic can be defined as someone who once had hope and had it taken from them. This is not to be confused with a cynic, by the way, which is basically the same person who doesn't care.

So, when I say the political climate in America is hopeless, a cynic would use that climate to fill his bank account. See the difference?

The reason I find the political climate so hopeless is because of the levels of - call it corruption, call it incompetence - I'll call it fuckupedness.

We have a president with downright enmity towards the American people, who busts our surplus, gives it away to the rich, starts illegal wars, feels it's his right to break the law by spying on Americans without a warrant he would legally be allowed to get AFTER the fact, etc. etc. etc.

Under that we have his evil henchmen.

Under that we have the Republicans.

Under that we have the Democrats.

Under that we have the corporate owners.

Levels on levels. It would take several lifetimes to peacefully fix all these levels - the fast way you don't want. How can one person stand up against it? It's insurmountable.

But then, look at the times when things have changed. The only times things have changed is when one person takes a stand. That one person gathers others by their example. Soon, it's not one person standing up, but many, and they cannot be denied.

Maybe that's one way things can change.

Here are the facts. The FISA court, which has changed for Shrub five times since he took office, allows Shrub and his cronies to wiretap anyone, so long as they notify the court within 72 hours. Again, he can wiretap anyone. All he has to do is tell them within three days. But Shrub doesn't want to do this. He believes he's above the law so he doesn't notify the court and he breaks the law. Even when things are made this easy for his - he refuses to obey the law.

So, last night, I signed this petition. I signed it because it's a petition to censure Shrub for breaking the law. I don't think it'll do any good. I don’t thing anyone will notice. I'm sure the Republicans, who are towing the party line and lying for their leader, will win. But there does come a point where it's important for an individual to say, just so he can maintain his own integrity, just to keep from being an cynic for another minute, that wrong is wrong. Breaking the law is wrong. Wiretapping without a warrant is wrong and Shrub should be censured. Will he be? Of course, not. The Republicans are in charge and they will not do what's right. If you don't believe me, look at our war and the prisoners who are "renditioned" off for torture and those getting rich off stolen money and... Listen, if you don't believe me, you won't. That's it. The evil that's been done is too obvious...

But if you want to do what's right, if you want to stand up and say that wrong is wrong, even though it probably doesn't mean that anything will come of it, if you don't believe the President should be allowed to break the law without one person - you - standing up and telling him that he's wrong, at the very least, then here. Sign this petition. It'll do you good.

And, you never know what else...

Say it with me now...

Tennessee Democratic Senator Tommy Kilby filed SB3981 last week which would make it illegal to buy or rent a violent video game in the state. The bill defines the phrase "extremely violent video game" as "a video game in which the range of options available to a player includes killing, maiming, dismembering, or sexually assaulting an image of a human being," ...

Since when did pictures become sacred?

You've got idiots in America terrified about flag-burning. You've got religious idiots terrified at people drawing pictures of Mohammed. Now, there's this idiot in Tennessee!!

Say it with me people, "They're just pictures!!!"

And if that's not enough, shouldn't we focus our attention a bit more on the people actually killing, maiming, dismembering, and sexually assaulting REAL HUMANS??? I'm talking about you, Alberto Gonzales!

Adventures with the "Cable Guy"

Yes it is me, the other half of One Path. Ken, and Jenn in Seattle, keep commenting on my lack of participation with One Path. I just don’t have as much time to spend writing and besides, Ken is the one with the talent for writing.

As you should know, I am on the Board for our Homeowners Association. This means that I should know all of the Rules and Regulations, and as far as I’m concerned, we should be an example of a “good homeowner”. Well, for over the past year we have been in violation of the R&R’s. One violation that I won’t actively change is the fact that we have 4 pets…1 dog and 3 cats. Despite how much I complain about them almost daily, I will not get rid of them. The other violation is our satellite dish. The first time we had in installed, it was attached to our patio fence. We soon learned that this was a violation (we had no clue because no one provided us with the R&R’s when we moved in nor did we have any information telling us who to contact to get them). So, being the “good homeowners” that we are, we immediately scheduled to have the dish moved…moved onto a pole planted in a bucket of cement that the prior owner left on the patio for just such a use. The dish was just fine, but we had cables running along the outside of the building with a hole drilled into the wood siding for entry into the second floor. BIG violation according to the R&R’s.

Now, before any of you say…well you’re on the Board, why not just have an exception made. All I can say in response is that this is how corruption in our leaders starts and I want no part of that! Plus, there is this retired gentleman on the board that is a “HOA Geek”. No kidding, the other day I must have gotten at least 15 emails from him which were just copies of the Civil Code. Now, they should all know that I work in a law department (I’ve told them this when I was running for the Board) so why he feels the need to send me all of this information that I readily have access to is beyond me. And his answer to everything is to pull out his highlighted copy of the R&R’s and point at it saying “It’s in the Rules and Regulations”. Simply, he just bugs me.

So back to the satellite dish…I finally decided that it needed to be moved (the Board has a walk thru scheduled this week which will be starting right across the street from our unit). I scheduled an appointment for this past Saturday for sometime between 8 am and noon. I just don’t understand why they have to give a 4-hour window…it completely messes up half of your day. Since Ken was in San Diego visiting Tim, I figured I wouldn’t have much to do that morning.

The satellite guy, Kris, got to our place at about 10:20 am. I told him what we wanted done. We walked upstairs and it was during our talk about moving everything that he told me they don’t run cables through the wall space, just from one side to the other…but I needed the cable to get from the second floor to the first. He said that he could run the cable along the floor of the stairs, along the floor of the living room to the living room TV. This just wouldn’t do…I certainly didn’t want the cable running along the floor all over our home. I then asked him about drilling a hole through the floor in one corner of the master bedroom down through the ceiling in the living room. He said he could do that if I was okay with him drilling the holes. No problem and he started the process.

First, he moved the dish from the patio to the roof. No problem there…he then had to feed the cable through a vent that went down into a second floor closet where the heating unit was kept. I helped with that…first I got an umbrella with a hook handled to hook the cables. He then went back onto the roof to feed the cables through while I pulled on them. He ran the cable from the closet into our bedroom and then around to the corner behind our desk. Now this desk is one of those corner desk that is a pain in the ass to move…so we had to crawl around under the desk to do the wiring. He went downstairs and drilled a hole into the ceiling…drilled into open space very easily. Later Kris said that he thought “wow, that was easy”. Well easy it was, because of the approximately 15 inches of space between the ceiling and second floor as we soon learned. Kris then got out this really long drill bit…it must have been a few feet in length. He successfully drilled through the ceiling and through the second floor. Then came the challenge of fishing the cable through the two holes.

He got out this long stick that he used to fish the cable through the wall and poked that through the ceiling…I went upstairs to see if the stick came through the floor. I could hear poking around under the floor, but no stick in sight. We decided to switch and he would poke down through the second floor. I went downstairs to wait. I was really watching for it, but next thing I knew this stick came falling out of the hole and I caught it on its way out. There was our first attempt.

We tried again. This time I successfully grabbed the stick before it went through the floor. Kris then tied the cables to the stick and I tried pulling it through the holes. Well, I pulled the stick through the holes, sans cables. Our second attempt…gone.

We tried for a third time. After poking the stick around looking for the hole in the ceiling, I grabbed it when it came through. This time Kris somehow attached the end of the pole into the end of the cable…smart guy, much smarter than the homeowner he was working with, me. This time I gently pull on the stick and the cable follows through after the stick. YAY! Success. I then start pulling on the cable as he is feeding it through the hole. Well, I honestly didn’t hear him tell me to stop and I thought I felt a push on the cable to I pulled some more. Next thing I know, the end of the cable comes through the ceiling. Yes folks…I pulled the entire cable through and we had to start over again…short-lived success that was!

We try yet another time. After finally getting the stick through with the cable on the end, I gently pull the cable through and STOP after an appropriate amount of length has come through the hole. I held the cable until Kris came downstairs and yes folks this time we succeeded! He finished connecting the cables and then wrote up the order.

It was about 1:10 when he finished…nearly 3 hours after he arrived! I felt so horrible for my lack of cable fishing skills that I tipped him $50. I think that made up for my ineptitude.

On Writing...

(Not to be confused with what I've heard is a very well thought out book by Mr. S. King.)

I'm a liar, a liar, a big, fat liar.

I don't know how else to put it.

I sat down at my computer today, sure I wouldn't start any new projects. I've started so many books that the number I've finished seems miniscule in comparison. Not only have I started them, I've then gone on to misplace many of them - those are lost forever. Pre-Vicky, I would start a book weekly and toss it aside and go again. So I always worry when I start a new project because I'm afraid I won't finish it.

To that end, I've laid down some ground rules. I have to know what I'm writing about. I have to have a story. I have to have an ending. It has to be compelling. On and on...

But I've had this urge, kind of like a writer's libido. I have an itch that needs scratching. I have to write.

So, I did. I sat down and did it. I don't know what will come of it or where it will go but I hammered out a few hundred words and here they are:




There are those who believe that when you die you are only in heaven a short time, waiting for your next incarnation to occur. Then, you travel down to earth to inhabit a new body and live a new life. The message here is clear: Heaven is for the dead.
And who wants to be dead?
I feel this same thing in my own life. A chapter ends and part of me dies and I am temporarily in another place - heaven or hell? I don’t know - until a new chapter begins and I am back again.
I felt this when my first marriage ended. I feel it now as my second one nears. And yet, it is with a certain foreboding that I know that heaven, that cold, blinding place, is not through with me. The angels won't retract their grip and I dare not pull away. God only knows how far I have to fall.
I look down from this dizzying height and see the object of my life far beneath. Bethany. She calls to me but I can't hear her. And it's not because I'm deaf, not because of some outside impediment. I refuse to listen. I continue to refuse.
She stands down there in that white dress we bought in Cabo, white cotton as thin as a lie, holding her tiny frame like Aphrodite in marble sculpted by tiny hands. Her pale skin in mineral. Her hair is as light like the sunset sun; it actually shimmers.
"Matthew!"
I should respond to her.
"Can you come down?"
I can't look over again. That one, quick glance was more than I - my doctor says it's more than simple acrophobia. It isn't just the heights that I fear. It's that parking lot and the street and the sky and the sun and the girl and - acrophobia with a hint of agoraphobia and a dash of aviophobia, garnished with venustraphobia and a bunch of shit you ain't never heard of.
And it's not as though I can't look at beautiful women. Not at all. Any touch of venustraphobia I suffer from is synonymous only with my Bethany. My fiancé. My love.
And ain't that a bitch?
It could be worse. My phobias don't come close to the apex, which is hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia, a fear of long words. Wouldn't it just suck to have someone ask you what your phobia is?
"I know you're up there, Matthew!" comes her voice again.
And then my phone rings.
And I pull it out of my pocket.
And it's her.
"Hi." It's all I can say, really. Having an anxiety attack on the night of your rehearsal dinner, keeping your fiancé waiting, you can never find a witty opening line.
"What is it, Matthew?"
I pull my voice from out of my pants. "I'm having a bad day."
"We're going to be late." She tells me this as though I were ten and I can't blame her. But I'm dressed and my hair is combed. I'm wearing her favorite, blue suit, the one that shines and I have no idea what it's made from, the one we go dancing in. And I can dance in it without fear because there are all of those people and they're right next to me and I can hear them breathing. It's dark and it's loud and I can feel that I'm in my place even when the music jumps like a drunken monkey over stones of trance, pop, hip-hop, and the odd punk, even when all they can play is Depeche Mode, even after all these years...
"Come on, Matthew. We've talked about this. You're going to be fine."
I know I will. So long as I stay put.




Mind you, I already had a complete outline to Wormfood. It was the logical choice.

But that's for later... Let's hope I finish this one...

Writing on...

The writer, having writ, writes on - Anonymous

Yeah, but it gets annoying - Mrs. Mous

Well, I'm sorry but that's how it works - Anonymous

Don't take that tone with me - Mrs. Mous

Watch it, bitch, or you'll catch one upside the head - Anonymous

Oh yeah? Well, I FAKED all those orgasms! - Mrs. Mous

Formal divorce proceedings with begin, er, proceed... um... proceedingly...

Where was I?

When I started writing plays, I told Tim Clostio that it didn't mean I'd give up writing novels. And it's a good thing I said that because, in the last year, I've written FOUR!

Let me give you some idea of how unusual that is. In 17 years, from the time I started my first novel (1983) to when I hung up my hat (2000), I completed seven novels. That's about one novel every two and a half years. These last four were each done in about three months.

Honestly, I should take a break.

The only problem with that is that I have three ideas pounding on my skull - they want out.

First, there's the horror novel, which I'm calling Wormfood. It's based around the idea of people getting worm infections that turn them into zombies. It's not that far-fetched; people actually can get worm infections. This weekend, though, Clostio showed me the trailer for a new movie called Slither, which I have to admit does have some similarities. Still, it is compelling...

Then, I want to start the "Handbook for Life" book. I want it ready for our first-born. It's an idea that isn't out there, a collection of answers to the philosophical questions that we face in life: Why do we share? When is it right to fight? Ect.

Oddly, though, the one that's hitting me the hardest is a book written in first-person... and I don't even know what that one's about, really. But my head wants me to write it... whatever it is...

Any thoughts?

I'm thinking I'll probably be able to hold off on starting anything until after we get back from Hawaii, which is in a couple of weeks. (Don't worry. You'll hear all about it!) Those of you who asked for No More Blue Roses should see it in about a week. I can't wait to hear some feedback on that.

And, of course, Vicky and I will be working on selling both With Eyes to See and No More Blue Roses shortly.

So, that's where this Writer stands... fidgeting...

I saw the news today... oh boy...

Some things never change. In this case, familiarity breeds fear.

I remember it from childhood - the marching troops, the rows of tanks, the straining missiles, the primary colors... It was the Soviet Union in the 1970's being shown on the news in the same, old way. The news program was running old parade footage as if that was all the Soviet Union was, as if they were hell bent on destroying us... as if we didn't do the same damn things ourselves.

And then, this morning. I was at the gym, on the elliptical, watching the news. And there it was again - the marching troops, the rows of tanks, the straining missiles, the primary colors... but this time, it wasn't the Soviet Union. The Soviet Union's gone now and the men in charge need to provide us with a new enemy. They've gobbled through Iraq but now they have one they think will be even better: Iran.

Iran, the age-old enemy. Iran, the hater of America. Iran, the new and horrible threat.

Iran, the bill of goods. That's what they're trying to sell, and they're selling it in the same old way with the same old threats and the same old footage.

Are you going to buy it this time?

I won't.

Greeted with flowers - here's the thorn...

First Von Rumsfeld said we'd be greeted with flower as liberators of a thankful nation - and now, welcome to "The Long War". You asked for a war against nothing and you got it, America!

Now, I could go on and on but this time I think we'll go to the video...

Whatever happened to "Mission Accomplished", indeed.

All part of the service...

Over at Linksys, I was surrounded by VoIP products. (If you don't know what that is, this entry may not apply to you. On the other hand, you might find this handy... helpful, aren't I?)

Now, I'm not the biggest fan of VoIP but, then, I'm not a big fan of walkie talkies, which is pretty much as good as VoIP gets. Still, it's being touted as the wave of the future. (Yes, that wave.) A company called Vonage, which in ancient Aramaic means "dry butt fuck", wants to sound like the expert... they also want to steal all of your money while providing rotten service.

As I say, I'm no fan.

And then, this popped up. Free is good. It's certainly better than anything Linksys or Vonage can provide.

(NOTE: If you're not a fan of Microsoft, you probably won't like this much. Then again, Open Source and Apple probably already have superior software.)

Our greatest fears have been realized...

JIMMY is dead...

I guess that means the magic flute has fallen into the hands of Witchiepoo...

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…