floorpie

It’s raining here in the City of Angles; which means, undoubtedly, that Storm Watch 2005 is in full effect. It’s largely known across the nation that we, the Chosen, here in SoCal are given the gifts of Amazing Weather, Idyllic Environment, and Food Diversity as homage for our incredible worth to humankind. You have to take the good with the bad, though (at least some of the time), and for us that means that when it rains, all holy hell breaks loose. It’s as close to Armageddon as any of you will ever see in your lifetimes, I assure you.

I mean, have you seen what happens to gabardine when it gets wet?!

What I want to know, basically, is that if she was so against them, why did she even have any wire hangers in the house? I mean, that’s just asking for trouble.

Thing that floats through my head during the day #12153247

I wonder which thumb I use to hit the space bar while I’m typing? I usually have my hands in the proper “home position” and I therefore have a 50-50 opportunity to use either one.

Upon closer inspection, I use my right.

David Cross has this sketch where he’s talking about how hott young girls are these days. I think he’s specifically talking about the teenagers that don’t look like teenagers (like Britney Spears back in the day) but whatever the premise, the punch line goes something like: ‘Why should a 15 year old with acne be getting laid? I’m a grown man with skills!’

It’s all in the delivery.

The point being that now, as a 31 year old guy, I look back at my skills as a 15 year old guy with acne, and I just shake my head. Not that I have that much skill now either, unfortunately… but on a relative scale I’m some kind of Casanova now.

Granted, a Casanova without a girlfriend, but that’s hardly the point.

It’s funny how things like this come in to their own when it’s really beyond the best time to use them. They’re not useless, of course; but, if I was me-now when I was me-16, I would have had a much more interesting time in high school… or so I’d like to think.

What I’m really getting at, in a roundabout way, has nothing to do with the ladeez. It has to do with the slowly dawning realization of my own age… and not that I think I’m old, which I don’t. Instead, the dawning realization that other people probably think I’m old. I’m been invisible to little kids for some time now, high schoolers were unable to see me right about the time I graduated college, and now, I fret and worry, the 20-somethings are beginning to see me as only a shadow of my former self as I slowly, almost imperceptibly, edge towards being purely translucent.

As proof of my point, I’ll append a joke to that last little bit. Remember, I ended saying that I was slowly turning invisible… to which I would then jokingly add: “Like Marty in Back to the Future.” *ba-dum-dum-CHING!*
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And the 20-somethings born in the 80’s have no idea what I’m talking about. Gamesetmatch.

It’s been about two months since I’ve given up caffeine (more or less), and I’ve noticed some rather marked changes in my physiology:

For the last 15 years or so, I’ve had chronic insomnia; never being able to go to sleep quickly, waking up several times a night, having dreamless periods of fitfulness, etc, etc. I didn’t think this was directly related to caffeine, because I never was brushing my teeth with Pepsi before going to bed or anything… there were always several hours between my last drink and when my head would hit the pillow.

It would seem, though, that my veins were apparently coursing with caffeine in such high amounts that it actually was having an effect… but not as much as I had hoped. Now, I can fall asleep fairly quickly, don’t really wake up at night that often, and dream almost every night. BUT, I can still stay up all night without being phased and I still don’t sleep that much, only now I get all my sleep out of the way right up front, and wake up super early for no apparent reason… even on weekends… or after staying up until 3… or after (theoretically) running 10 miles. This morning, I woke up at 6:00 (my alarm is set for 7:30; which, by the way, I haven’t actually heard in weeks). I find this frustrating.

>The other thing I’ve gotten back after quitting caffeine is the aforementioned ability to dream. The only problem with that is that they have all, to date, been nightmares. Not chased through the woods naked and stabbed to death by a chupacabra nightmare, but the kind where I have horrible arguments with people I know and love (last night, Mom was featured). I invariably wake up with a sore jaw (from clenching?), my face in a scowl, and my hear beating quickly in anger.

It’s weird.

My personal theory is that I have a backlog of 15 years of internal arguments to get through before I can get to the dreams where I’m a superhero saving the world and the Playboy Mansion from certain destruction, with sexy results.

In the meantime, though, I’m having a hard time resiting the motivation to fall off the wagon… if only so I can get a crappy night’s sleep again.

“What’s been going on in my life?” none of you are asking. Well, I’ll tell you: I’ve been going out a lot, working on getting a business started, working on a furniture project, doing some consultant work, mountain biking, holding on to summer, and proactively leveraging my synergies to break down the stove-pipes of the industrial complex to reach a slam-dunk well-matrixed solution.

All of this pales, however, to the news that Superman lives among us.

It’s become increasingly obvious over the years that Nicolas Cage is crazy as a Michael with a Jackson… at least when it comes to matters of the heart; and, for him to not only name his son Kal-El, but to also convince his young, 21-year old, wife to agree to it, only doubly proves it.

Don’t get me wrong, Cage is the man (reference previous statement about 21-year old wife). I am automatically a fan of anything and everything he does, no matter how bad he is *cough* National Treasure! *cough cough*. Such a fan, in fact, that whenever I actually evoke the name of Cage, I yell it with a ‘Dy-no-MITE’ kind of lilt to it. “Nick CAGE!” I scream. Friends say, “Nick Cage?” with the accent on the ‘Nick’ and their voices rising in question as if to ask why I think I get to call him Nick when everyone else is stuck with Nicolas. “Nick CAGE!” is my only reply.

To continue. Kal-El! In a normal situation, this kid would be as doomed as Gwyneth’s ‘Apple’ is going to be, but luckily, Kal-El is the son of Nick CAGE!, and for that reason saved from the wedgies and taunts of upper classmen. Not that people aren’t going to want to take a swing at him, of course, he’s Superman for crying out loud. It’s a burden.

The other thing we’ve learned from this experience: Nick CAGE! is an uber-nerd that reads comic books and probably went to Comicon 1982 dressed as Captain America when he was merely Nicolas Cagewalksi.

And I love him all the more for it…

Elegant, sophisticated, rebellious, alternative and eternally fashionable, black has become virtually synonymous with chic and style. But while this colour is often present in avant-garde creative work, no one has ever dared to use it for toilet paper until now. Black in the loo, how chic and sophisticated can you get?

And so there’s that.

You’ve probably heard by now that California is burning down to the ground again. Every season, California gets a little bit crazy and set itself on fire. The air begins to smell like smoke, the fog that is not fog begins to roll in, the sunsets become even more Baywatch-magical, and then you know that it’s the season for wildfires again.

My personal theory is that it’s karma for banning gay marriage… again.

What else? Tuesday was my 31st birthday (thanks for the well wishes, America). What a difference a year makes. This time last year I was living with ADG, a few months into a new job, and driving an ’88 Blazer. Now, I’m single with nearly no contact from ADG (even on my birthday… is that weird?), well into that “new” job I love, and driving a new truck. I’m healthier, a little more self-assured, and people say I don’t look a day over 31… wait, what?

And I have stories. Lots and lots of stories. Lots and lots of stories that I can only allude to due to the un-anonymous nature of this medium. And that’s only my fault, really. I had the choice, so many years ago, to start this blog up with a pseudonym, not tell anyone, and pour my guts out. Unfortunately, I took the opposite route, using my real name, telling a few people, and merely dripping my guts out. Thanks for coming by still, all the same.

Happy Birthday… to me

So that’s what 31 feels like.

I had a conversation with my neighbor last night where he basically correlated the senseless death and destruction that America has wrought in the Middle East with the direct karmic relationship to the recent spat of deadly hurricanes to hit our shores.

I can’t say I disagree with him.

One thing I’ve always remembered from my favorite uncle is his credo: ‘What goes around comes around’. Which, in this case, I would say is rather forcibly exemplified. Mess with the bull, get the horns, as They say.

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