Murder on the Dancefloor

Subject:	"God, I promise to stop talking so much shit. I promise to stop spazzing out at awards shows."
Time:	9:09 am.

Kanye West + Rihanna + NERD + Lupe Fiasco = one of the best shows I've ever seen.

The conversation needs to stop being about Kanye's oversized ego and attention-seeking antics -- when he goes off about how great he is, just shut up, nod your head and pay attention. Genius is stubborn; genius is difficult. That's why we're paying them for the privilege to see and hear them.

In his show, [SPOILER ALERT!] when his spaceship Jane (!) says, "We need the brightest star in the universe -- we need you, Kanye," you just have to laugh, because that sort of boastfulness has become part and parcel to Kayne's schtick. Underneath all that big talk of being the greatest ever is a man who still believes he's the underdog, who has to go out night after night (and album after album) to prove his worth. It's Kanye against the world, and that's how he likes it. I have never seen a performer so driven, so fiercely focused. He knows he's not the most innately gifted, which makes him work that much harder to stay on top.

Daniel said it best when he said, "This wasn't a concert, it was a SHOW." And when you talk about shows, this should be the textbook definition. For sheer spectacle, it was just about perfect. To come up with a theme (Kanye, traveling through space, crashes onto a lonely planet and he has to, uh, sing his way back home. Oddly enough, not written and performed by Tracy Morgan) and then seamlessly work in songs from his catalog to drive the narrative, it was like what I imagine opera must be like. This wasn't 90 minutes of Kanye posturing, either. When his mother died, it humanized him. Having been so visibly fond of her, no matter what your thoughts about Kanye, you had to feel some sympathy towards him. The emotional highlight was when he launched into a reworked version of "Hey Mama" that added the lines, "Last night I saw you in my dreams, now I can't wait to go to sleep. This life, is all a dream, and my real life starts when I go to sleep. My m-m-m-m Mama", and you could see him trying to maintain his composure. Even if Kanye didn't quite get all weepy on us, some of us (ahem) in the crowd weren't quite as stoic. And after that song, in a moment of reflection when he took a seat (after performing non-stop for over an hour without a visible break for water; I was seriously concerned for his welfare at times), Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" came on. Then it was back to the mission at hand, and he closed out his set with a blazing rendition of "Stronger" (which had been teased at the very beginning of the set) and then after a quick wardrobe change (because he'd been able to power his spaceship home, you see), he finally took his well-deserved victory lap when he finished his set with Lupe on "Touch the Sky".

The whole thing was brilliant. My only mild complaint (and complaint isn't even the right word) is that for something called the "Glow in the Dark Tour", nothing really glowed in the dark! Sure there were incredible visuals, a stage that looked like the surface of the moon and pyrotechnics, but I wanted some crazy black-light shit too! Maybe he's saving that one for his next tour.

wanna dance?: 28 disco divas - step to the beat

Subject:	Hey, you gotta pay your dues before you pay the rent.
Time:	11:42 am.

It's the first day of spring, and also 3 months since I turned 27, and a random stranger has yet to inquire how old I am. That would explain why just the other day I had to pause and think about how old I was. The revelation came thusly: Oh shit, I'm not 26! It would seem that the older you get the less people pay attention to things like age. Sometimes I forget that some of my friends are, like, in their 30s! A few years ago that would've seemed so old to me, but when you're staring down the barrel of 30 it stops being so funny. (Also, you're reminded of how fast time flies.) Amazing how just a few years can entirely change your perspective. The good news is that age isn't important anyway, right? Right. But I will say that I'm (probably overly) excited that my friends and I are entering the "marriage/baby" portion of our lives.

I'm flying out to Jacksonville tonight. The reason I'm going out there this particular weekend is because one of Lindsey's friends is getting married and Lindsey really wanted me to be her date. Our first wedding together, aww. Seeing as how we're in a very serious relationship, I'm sure we'll both be taking mental notes and such. (Oh, and friends? The good news is that we'll have an open bar. The bad news is you'll have to fly to Florida.) We've both been to our share of weddings, but none of the ones I've been to have ever been for close friends. So I think it's interesting to note that even though we're about the same age (she's 6 months younger) that a good majority of her friends (who are the same age) are already married and in some cases pregnant. I don't know what it means (if anything), but fuck, my friends and I are totally lagging by comparison. I mean, sure, some of my friends are living with their SOs, but none of them are even engaged yet. I know it's going to start happening soon, though, but before it does I really, really want to start a betting pool.

So even though no one's married or knocked up (yet!), at least people are cohabitating, which is step one. Or step two after "being in a long-term relationship". I'll be joining the fray come July when Lindsey moves out here and I'm nothing less than completely fucking pumped to the extreme. Originally we'd discussed moving into a new place together, but ultimately we realized that it's way more practical for her to move in with me first. Coming to that decision was a huge relief, because as much as I'd like to live closer to my friends, I also love my apartment and being so close to work. Also, I loathe moving. Of course, this signals the end to my luxurious bachelor's life, but I suppose one can only maintain a college dorm decorating aesthetic for so long. I just hope she lets me keep my Alfie poster up. Maybe if I promise to get it framed?

When I was younger it never crossed my mind that cohabitation was taboo. I always figured I'd live with my future wife before getting married. It's sort of like how not having sex before marriage was the most ludicrous notion ever. That just seems like a recipe for disaster on every level. So to me, cohabitation is a logical progression. But that's because I'm not a religious zealot. I suppose that's where the term "living in sin" comes from. I checked, and did you know that it's still technically illegal to cohabitate in 7 states? Including Florida! I mean, no one's going to jail for it, but still, the fact that there are still laws on the books for this kind of thing in the year 2008 blows my mind.

Apparently there are all kinds of statistics that say couples who live together before marriage are more likely to break up or get divorced, or to interpret it another way, take a look at all the couples you know who live together and 4 out of 5 of them aren't going to make it. That may be true, but tell me it's not worth taking that risk in exchange for cheaper rent and morning sex? You can't.

wanna dance?: 45 disco divas - step to the beat

Subject:	Already losing touch with the kids.
Time:	11:18 am.

Reading about SXSW is what I imagine being forced to watch a slideshow of someone elses vacation must be like. Or being the only sober person at a kegger. I'm sure it's fun and all, but it's hard to really muster up much enthusiasm to read about it. So I'm glad it's over now and that the onslaught of SXSW updates are going to start trickling to a close. I have read exactly one recap of the festival and it was in yesterday's LA Times. One point stood out to me above all the others: there was no Next Big Thing. I hadn't thought of that in a while and it got me thinking because unless I'm missing something, there really isn't a predominant trend in music right now, is there? You know, the one sound or geographical location that's in vogue where the record companies rush to capitalize on and the media shines their spotlights in order to generate hype to hopefully sell records and magazines. Without thinking about it too hard, this decade we've had garage-rock, electroclash, post-post-punk, freak-folk, Swedes, Seattle (again) and Toronto... but where in the cycle are we at now? For better or for worse, who's the next Strokes? For better or for worse, with the state of the record industry in freefall, will there ever even be another Strokes?

And it got me thinking about Vampire Weekend because I listened to their album three times yesterday. I tried and tried and I really can't understand all the hate directed towards them. I missed all the pre-release hype, so all I've read is the post-release vitriol. Until they came along I don't think I ever read a review of what's essentially a four-piece indie rock band's music as being described as "afro-pop". Maybe so, but that term just sounds pretentious. To me they sound like Paul Simon's Graceland and recently remind me of a less alt. country Actual Tigers. But whatever their influences, what's so bad about a band who makes jaunty, highly melodic pop music? It seems like they made exactly the sort of record they wanted and while it owes debts all over town, they're not exactly piggybacking onto anyones coattails. You can't even say that the singer's got a whiny, annoyingly affected voice a la Messrs. Gibbard and Meloy. So I just don't get it.

Whatever. I just bought the reunited Kula Shaker's new album last night so I don't even know what that makes me. Perpetually 17-years-old and hoping for a Mansun reunion? Probably.

wanna dance?: 62 disco divas - step to the beat

Subject:	We're gonna ride it till we just can't ride it no more.
Time:	11:20 am.

It's come to my attention that Los Angeles Magazine (a magazine focused on all things LA, naturally) decided to invite its readers to nominate their favorite things about LA, and took the top 64 responses and put them together in a "tournament" format pitting each thing against the other in the hopes of finding out what the best thing about LA is. First of all, I'm a huge sucker for brackets (there's also one where you can vote for your favorite Lost character), and secondly, I love Los Angeles, my home of 20 years, so this is of definite interest to me.

Still, as much as I consider this my hometown (even though I was born in Las Vegas), I feel like a bad Angelino. I've lived here most of my life (all over, in fact, with my formative years divided between the two Valleys (San Gabriel and San Fernando) and the Westside) and yet there are so many things that I've yet to see or do. Granted, this is a huge city and I can probably live here for a hundred years and still not explore it to the fullest extent possible, but I need to get started already. And I'm so excited that Lindsey's going to be moving out here in a few months, because I can't wait to go on all these adventures with her. As much as I like playing tour guide, there's something to be said about having shared experiences that will be uniquely ours. And even the things that I've already seen, I'll be able to appreciate them in a different light, and see them through Lindsey's eyes. In fact, as long as I've lived here, I still feel like I'm constantly seeing the city for the first time, and I feel like my appreciation for this city is just going to get deeper and more rewarding. Just the other day Lindsey emailed me and said that I needed to write out the things I wanted to do or see on a piece of paper so we could put them in a hat and draw one out whenever we were at a loss for something to do. That's such a great idea, and now I have this list to help guide me. Oh man, there are so many things I want to do!

As with anything of this nature, this list is by no means exhaustive -- honestly, there are a ton of omissions -- but it does a pretty decent job of culling together some of the Big Things that make LA great. That it just scratches the surface goes to show how awesome the city truly is. As far as the "results" so far, I'm a little dumbfounded as to how Vin Scully lost out to the Central Library. Or how San Gabriel Valley dim sum lost to the Capitol Records building. I mean, yeah, it's a nice building, but, uh, what? And everyone knows Pink's is overrated! But I'm glad the weather, taco trucks & PCH prevailed. There are some intriguing second round match-ups though, like Amoeba against In-N-Out, MOCA versus the ArcLight, and Disney Hall versus the Getty Center. I WONDER WHAT'S GOING TO WIN!!!!!

Okay, I'm done geeking out about this now.

wanna dance?: 45 disco divas - step to the beat

Subject:	Breaking/entering.
Time:	9:17 am.

February was kind of a rollercoaster. Lindsey visited twice, and those trips bookended a three-week span in which I was either suffering from the flu or pink eye. There was literally a one-day window in between illnesses where I was healthy enough to venture out of my apartment. So most of the month kind of sucked and I spent a lot of time laying on my couch, but fortunately I was malady-free by the time Lindsey arrived last Friday night and that's all that mattered.

I was a little tired that day thanks to being out extra late the night before watching British Sea Power (and getting my ear drums eviscerated in the process), but tired or not, I was totally pumped to see my girlfriend again. After I got home from work that day I tried squeezing in a power nap, but that was foiled because I was too excited to sleep. I took a shower which helped revive me, though, and I was looking and feeling pretty good at that point. When it was time to leave for the airport, I took one last glance at myself in the mirror, headed for the door, turned off my lights, locked the door, closed it, and then 1/1000th of a second later realized that I'd forgotten my keys.

Well, shit. I'd timed my departure so I'd be at the airport with plenty of time to spare in case I hit traffic, but I hadn't accounted for something like this happening. The thing is, this wouldn't have even been a problem had my apartment managers not moved to Montana a couple of months ago, leaving the other 11 tenants in my complex to fend for ourselves in times like this. If they'd been around all I'd have to do is walk upstairs to their apartment and ask them to let me in. This also wouldn't have been a problem if it were summer, because I most likely would've left a window open that I could climb through. In the four years I've lived there, I've locked myself out an average of once a year, and each time at least one of those options was available to me. But since it's February and all of my windows have been locked since November, I wasn't sure what to do. Time was ticking and panic started setting in so I tried my windows anyway, since I was fresh out of other ideas. I thought that maybe I'd be able to jiggle the window enough to loosen the little pin that serves as the lock. So I walked around to the back of my apartment building and stood in total darkness manhandling my window, trying to get it to open. I pushed and pounded on it a bit and the next thing I knew, shards of glass were raining down on top of me. Holy shit! I stood there for a few seconds, not quite believing what'd just happened. I'd broken my window! Next thing I know I hear this voice, but I'm not sure if it's coming from my upstairs neighbor or from the apartment building directly behind me. The voice said, "Hey bro, what's going on?" to which I replied nonchalantly, "Oh, nothing. I just locked myself out of my apartment and I'm trying to get back in." I was trying to act all casual even though I was seriously sweating. I didn't even try to look around to find the source of the voice, I just stared straight ahead and spoke calmly, as if breaking my window was all part of my plan and that I knew exactly what I was doing and had everything under control.

So there's glass everywhere -- in my hair, on my clothes, on the windowsill -- but at least now I could reach in and open my window. It took a few minutes to do a little housekeeping so I could climb through the open window without injuring myself on little pieces of glass, and once I was in, I went to the bathroom to wash myself off. A piece of glass knicked my forehead and my wrist and there was a little blood, but I was running too late to fetch a band aid.

Even through all of that, in the end, I managed to get to the airport with about 10 minutes to spare, so everything turned out fine. The next day I took my window to a glass place across the street and they installed a new piece of glass for $35. Thirty-five dollars! Dude, that's such a bargain! A locksmith would've cost at least twice that much! I don't know how they even stay in business when it's cheaper to just throw a rock through your window whenever you lock yourself out, but hey, keep that in mind, folks. The next time it happens to you, now you know.

But I think the best part was the following afternoon, about 19 hours after my break-in, when I heard an aggressive knock on my front door. It was a police officer who told me he was responding to a break-in report from the previous night. Okay, seriously, that's awesome that one of my neighbors (probably the "Hey bro" guy) was concerned enough about my suspicious activity to call the cops. ~~But the cops showed up a day later? In the event of an actual break-in, all of my stuff would've already been up for sale in a back alley somewhere Downtown.~~*** (Okay, on the real, I don't really have anything worth stealing, which I suppose is one of the great underrated benefits of being poor. When Brett first moved out, there were times when I was a little worried about coming home to find my apartment burglarized, but then I realized that I don't have shit burglars want, so the joke would be on them.) So I explained what happened to the officer and he asked, "So did anyone get in?" and I said, "Yeah, I did." I wasn't trying to be smart, I was just answering the question. He accepted my story and didn't even ask for my ID or try to verify that I was who I said I was, but I gave him my name and phone number anyway, just to appear more legit.

[*** Actually, I ran into my next-door neighbor this morning and he asked about my window and I told him I'd taken care of it already. Then he told me how the cops had showed up that night and there were like 6 of them patrolling the courtyard and banging on my door. I had no idea! So good job, Covina Police Department! I've never felt so safe.]

wanna dance?: 17 disco divas - step to the beat

Subject:	Los Angeles has the flu and we need to sweat it out.
Time:	11:08 am.

Eight weeks into the newish year and I finally went to my first show last night. It's a show that piqued my interest when I first saw it announced, but if it wasn't for Matt Peck being in town and suggesting we go, I probably would have passed on it. Glad I didn't though!

The show was Dean and Britta and Keren Ann. While I like both acts enough to own most of their discography, I don't ever find myself craving their records. When I do listen to them it's like, oh, yeah, this is nice, but it doesn't really stay with me afterwards. I usually put on a Luna or Dean and Britta record right before bed, because I think it's good sleepy-time music. So I knew going in that the show was likely to be the least-rocking thing I'd seen in a while, and I was mostly right. Dean and Britta rocked in their own low-key manner; most songs were hazy and restrained, but occasionally Dean would stretch out a solo and coax some vigor out of a song. I love how their voices contrast with one another. I love that they're married and it's awkward to look at Britta because I feel like Dean's going to jump down into the crowd and punch me in the face. Anyway, I really enjoyed their set and I'm glad that I finally got to see them. (I always forget, but it's worth mentioning that Britta was the singing voice of JEM.)

Keren Ann was somewhat of a surprise. I'd always figured her to be more of a chanteuse, a pretty voice surrounded by polished session musicians and pristine production. I guess I didn't pay enough attention to the liner notes or her press materials, because she's actually a folky singer-songwriter... of which they're about a dime a dozen. Her set-up was sparse, just a drummer and a multi-instrumentalist who played bass or secondary guitar. The effect was a little sleepy at times, with a few songs sounding like they were vying for a spot on a "Quiet Is the New Loud" compilation. It wasn't all nap time jams, though. She managed to crank up the volume and do a respectable job of rocking out for her last song of the main set, but that was out of character for her. Her music's intimate charm would've been better suited to a smaller room; the sparsely attended show made the El Rey seem especially cavernous. The songs she sung in English seemed particularly insignificant, and instead of reminding me of Feist (which I now realize is a terrible comparison), reminded me of a less ragey Carina Round. The songs in French, though, were more captivating. Probably because I didn't understand what she was saying. It was all very tasteful and well-done, though at the end of the night I would've been hard-pressed to pick any of the songs she played out of a line-up.

But yeah, Matt Peck! It was fun catching up on old times and reminiscing about the salad days of LJ. That discussion basically went like this: No one posts anymore. The Internet's changed. We're old now. Also, when was the last time any of us added a new friend? Seems like those days are long gone. Sigh.

wanna dance?: 25 disco divas - step to the beat

Subject:	The scandalous history of lactose intolerance.
Time:	9:46 am.

While I was clipping coupons a few weeks back I came across an ad for a free sample of lactose intolerance pills. Since I'm lactose intolerant and like free things, I sent away for some in the hopes that perhaps one day I'd be able to eat pizza and ice cream (not at the same time) and not feel a little alien growing inside my stomach afterwards. (Apparently the thing that sets these pills apart from "the leading brand" is that it contains "patented healthy bacteria" that gives you the freedom and convenience to take a dose in the morning and not worry about every bite of dairy throughout the day. Set it and forget it!)

Written on one of the flaps of the sample box is a "lactose intolerance fact sheet" which was highly informative. I learned that 90 to 100 percent of Asian Americans are lactose intolerant. I knew Asians had a higher instance of lactose intolerance, but I had no idea it was that high. The lactose intolerance rate in Hispanics, African Americans and American Indians is also really high. What I gather from this is that all delicious dairy-based foods were created by the white man as part of an insidious plot to wreak havoc on the digestive tracts of foreigners. What an ingenious method of warfare. Well-played, white man.

Admittedly, I know very little about lactose intolerance other than eating dairy makes my stomach hurt, but beyond the obvious like milk and cheese, I never really considered how many other things have lactose in them. Check out this list: bread and other baked goods, soups, lunch meats, candies and other snacks, mixes for pancakes, biscuits and cookies. Um, that's pretty much a list of the things I eat on a daily basis. No wonder my stomach is always fucked up.

Anyway, I only have enough pills to last me until Saturday, so we'll see if this works or not.

wanna dance?: 58 disco divas - step to the beat

Subject:	Sing some strange verse from some strange song of vines.
Time:	11:03 am.

A summary of my life lately:

- Obsessing over Bank of America's "Keep the Change" program. I've been substituting using my check-card instead of cash lately on all purchases in order to reap maximum rewards. And when I fill up my car I top off to .01. (I just realized that I should be getting gas and doing this EVERY DAY instead of once a week.)

- Saving money. It's kind of addicting to put money into savings. I want to try and live a more frugal lifestyle, except, I don't want to make too many sacrifices. So we'll see how that goes.

- Checking my credit score. From 0 just 18 months ago to 686! This doesn't mean much right now, but I'm planning for the future when it comes time to get a loan and buy a home. At the moment I have zero debt, and I just got a couple of credit-line increases so I'm up to $3000 in credit spread across three cards. Fiscal responsibility for the win! (For now, at least. I'm definitely going to start using up some of that credit for plane tickets and to fix my car.)

- Watching Law & Order: SVU or Criminal Intent every single night. As much as I love detectives Goren (<3<3<3 Vincent D'Onofrio forever) and Eames, I've really started warming up to Logan and his rotating cast of partners. I think Wheeler's my favorite so far.

- Clipping coupons. Saving money on things I already buy just makes so much sense.

- Learning to cook. This is a pretty big deal for me. I've only made two meals in two weeks (shrimp pasta and sausage pasta), but that's two more meals than I made in all of 2007. (and 2006, and 2005...) I'm starting to get the hang of making pasta (which is to say, I can boil water), but I want to try and make other things too. I finally dusted off the four cookbooks I own; cooking's not as scary as I thought. (But what I really want to make is SHAKE N' BAKE and HAMBURGER HELPER.)

- Reading supermarket circulars for what's on sale.

- CURLING UP ON THE COUCH IN MY SLANKET!!!! I was going to get this for Lindsey for Christmas, but they were SOLD OUT, so I decided to get this for her another time. Turns out she tried to get me one for Christmas too, and I just got it last week. Still, the dream of his n' hers Slankets is still alive. (Okay, I know I look like a complete tool in my Slanket, but it's perfect for the cold and dreary weather we've been having.)

Man, and you guys thought my life wasn't a non-stop party anymore!

wanna dance?: 112 disco divas - step to the beat

Subject:	Happiness, more or less.
Time:	12:38 pm.

Shoot, January's almost over? But I haven't even posted about Christmas or New Year's! Raise your hand if you want old and/or redundant news! *crickets* Oh. Well, regardless, I need to step up my posting game, so here goes.

You probably know by now that Lindsey spent the holidays with me -- 17 amazing days that flew by -- vacationing in my apartment and generally being a kept woman. Unfortunately, I wasn't on vacation, so getting out of bed to go to work each morning was rough; blowing this joint at 6pm on the dot Flintstones-style and racing home to see her was by far the highlight of my work days. I mean, there were lots of other highlights, too. I thought we maintained a nice balance of social engagements and quiet, alone-time.

You might've already seen all the pictures, but if not, Lindsey took hundreds of them while she was out here. In no particular order, there was my friends' post-Christmas gift-exchange/poker party at my place, which was SO MUCH FUN, save for the fender bender I got into when I went across the street to pick up pizza. [Additional photographic documentation provided by April and Jose can be found here and here.]

We also got serenaded by Thai Elvis and went to karaoke for Jose's big 3-0 birthday happy celebration fun times.

But before all of that, there was Elan and John's [winter holiday] [dinner party].

And squeezed somewhere in between all of that we went dancing, and celebrated some holidays, among other things.

Obviously, having a live-in girlfriend for 17 days = pretty awesome. I was slightly worried that by the end of our time together we'd be sick of each other and I'd be pulling up to the airport and dropping her off at the curb and hightailing it home, but oddly enough, it was the opposite of that. I was all sad to see her go! I guess that's a "good sign" as far as our "future potential" is concerned. Whew! She'll be back to visit, and then be here permanently soon enough, but all that time together totally spoiled us. Now that she's gone, living solo has kind of lost its appeal. Sure, everything I do is still fun and I'm content, but it'd be more fun with her.

At the moment, our long-distance dating schedule looks like this: She'll be out here again in a little over two weeks, and then again three weeks after that. Then three weeks after that I'll be making a trip out to Jacksonville, and two weeks after that it'll be time for my semi-annual jaunt to High Point, NC, and she'll be coming up to visit me then. So that takes us through April. By the time May rolls around, we'll be gearing up for her big cross-country move. So things are in motion, and we're both really, really happy and completely smitten all that good stuff. We just closed the book on our first six months together, and we couldn't be more in love.

Hm. The more I think about it, I really should try and enjoy my last few months of living alone. I want to say that EVERY WEEKEND FROM NOW ON IS A BACHELOR PARTY WOO HOOO but I know that's not realistic. I do want to make the most of the next six months, though. We'll see what happens.

wanna dance?: 8 disco divas - step to the beat

Subject:	2007.
Time:	9:05 am.

I know we're already into the second week of the new year and all, but I totally slept on posting my annual year-end poll, so here it is.

But first, allow me to reminisce a little bit. Looking back on 2007, it felt like a year of two halves, from January through July, and then August and everything after. It's trippy to think back to a year ago and try to recall where my head was at. I just remember so much uncertainty then. I felt so aimless, unsure of so much, stuck on the precipice between the past and the future, waiting for something to happen to give me the nudge I needed to propel into the next phase of my life. And it happened in the most unlikely of places under the most unlikely of circumstances, but it happened. On a trip I almost didn't take, I met a girl I almost didn't pursue, and then, slowly, the most amazing thing happened: things started falling into place. Not quite a complete metamorphosis or anything, but my life picked up momentum again and the future, once a vague, ill-defined concept, was coming into focus. Suddenly I had direction. Hey, the future that I've got mapped out actually is something to shout about! Awesome.

Don't get it twisted, though. It's not like I've got the next three to five years of my life down in permanent ink just yet. It's more like a very roughly sketched outline at this point. Ideas are still fluid at this stage of the game, but at least things are in motion. I'm extremely excited about what's to come, and I feel like I'm heading into '08 with positive momentum, which is a LOT more than I can say about this time last year. And yeah, okay, as great as that is, but believe me, I know the real heavy lifting is still to come. There's a lot of work ahead, especially over the next 8 months. And change isn't easy. It's not always going to be puppies and rainbows and cookies. It's going to get stressful at times. I know all too well that just when you think you've got it figured out, life has a way of throwing you a curveball, and also a way of balancing its books; I learned long ago there's no such thing as a conflict-free life. (When I was younger, I used to wonder why all movies had a villain. Like, why couldn't they just be all about happy good fun times? Then I realized how totally unrealistic and fraudulent that'd be. It's good to learn early on that life's not perfect and that there's always going to be a little tension to make things interesting.) With a new plan comes a new round of uncertainty, but it's different now. I'm done with being scared of change. I think I've finally figured out how to embrace it a little. I know everything that's going to be happening is for the better and that things will work themselves out. They always do. Yay optimism.

If I've learned one thing this year, it's that the old saying is true: it does happen when you least expect it to. It being love, obviously. I don't know how it happens, but it does, and it's amazing. It's one of the great mysteries of life, right up there with how airplanes fly and why the sky is blue. No one really knows anything, and if they tell you they do, they're lying.

...

Poll #1117747 2007
Open to: All, results viewable to: All

2007 was...

View Answers

better than 2006
23 (46.9%)

worse than 2006
8 (16.3%)

about the same as 2006
10 (20.4%)

the best year ever
5 (10.2%)

the worst year ever
3 (6.1%)

New Year's resolutions?

View Answers

Personal goals for 2008?

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Click here for previous years

wanna dance?: 9 disco divas - step to the beat

Subject:	Hitting my stride.
Time:	9:52 am.

I didn't plan a single thing for my birthday but it wound up being pretty fucking awesome. Lindsey arrived on Wednesday morning and that was really all I wanted for my birthday anyway. That night we went to say goodbye to Daniel and Dennis who were leaving early the following morning to spend Christmas in Hawaii with their family. Because of all the traveling I'd done the past few weeks, I hadn't been able to see him -- or anyone else -- so I was really looking forward to hanging out with everyone. And of course having Lindsey there made it even better because I really want her to spend time to get to know my friends. After all, they're family.

Daniel's birthday present to me was a gift card to Subway, which is perfect, obviously, since I eat there like 12 times a week, but what made it even better is the card was personalized with this picture on the front. Amazing, but HOW GAY! I'm not sure I can ever actually use it now. At least, not at my regular Subway. So, we're all drinking and laughing and having a great time and suddenly it's midnight and Esther buys me a shot of something delicious and lethal. It either tasted like cake or fruit... I can't remember. But it was good. And then I challenged Kelly to Guitar Hero 3 (apparently Wednesday nights at Capri is Guitar Hero night) and got wailed on. ON THE EASY SETTING TOO. So shameful. But good times.

Yesterday at work I got these beautiful roses from Lindsey, and then when I got home I got even more treats. One of them was this weird ping pong paddle... one side is all fuzzy though, which I don't understand. I mean, I like it, but I don't even play ping pong! I can't even talk about the other gifts, but I can say that I got a birthday lap dance that was a whole lot sexier than the one shown here, I promise. Fast-forward a couple of hours and we finally got around to ordering some take-out Thai food for dinner. We ate it in front of the TV while catching up on DVR'd Office episodes from months ago. And then we fell asleep on the couch around 10:45. I couldn't have scripted a better birthday. So happy. My 27th year has gotten off to a tremendous start.

wanna dance?: 23 disco divas - step to the beat

Subject:	The good life, let's go on a living spree.
Time:	12:30 pm.

I've never done any traveling around the holidays, so when I booked my ticket for Jacksonville a few weeks ago that included two connections, it never occurred to me that my plans might get stymied due to inclement weather. I also live in LA, and "inclement weather" just isn't part of the vernacular. My original itinerary was to go from LA to San Francisco to Dallas to Jacksonville, with a three-hour layover in SF and a 40-minute layover in Dallas. A 40-minute layover was cutting it a little closer than I would have preferred, but because it was the cheapest way to get out there, I rolled the dice and hoped for the best. Right off the bat my flight out of LA was delayed nearly three hours because our plane was somewhere running hopelessly behind schedule. If I hadn't happened to notice out of the corner of my eye that the next flight out from our gate was going to Dallas, I would've missed both of my connections, which would've meant getting into Jacksonville six hours later than scheduled. Luckily I was able to get on that flight, bypassing San Francisco altogether, and make my connection on time. I was sweating it pretty heavily for a while, but it all worked out.

I'm still unable to get much sleep on planes, so by the time I got to Jacksonville at 9:30am local time, I was ready for a nap. This was the day before Lindsey's mom's memorial service and Lindsey still had a few things she needed to finish up before her godparents (her mom's best friend for 43 years, her husband and their son) arrived to help decorate her Christmas tree, but we wound up oversleeping and being pressed for time, so the afternoon was a little rushed and Lindsey was a little frazzled, but it all worked out and the tree wound up looking beautiful. Since I never grew up with any Christmas traditions of my own, I really enjoy taking a back seat and observing how other families celebrate theirs; all the different little rituals fascinate me. Lindsey's family has a tradition of exchanging ornaments each year. They have so many ornaments, each with a story behind it, and Lindsey can recite them all. I love that. I really can't wait to establish our own traditions, incorporating some of the past along with some new twists. I am terribly excited for our first Christmas together.

Lindsey's roommate/BFF Taya had a friend in town and they wanted to go dancing, so even though I might've been a little tired, I found my second wind. I really love the club they go to (the Pearl) and wish there was a place like it in LA. There's a red telephone booth inside! There are trees in the middle of the club! It has a huge outdoor patio even though you can smoke inside! It's really a cute place, maybe a little bigger than Underground when it was at Tempest, and the DJ plays a good mix of indie and pop. I can't remember the last time I went dancing in LA, but I've gone to the Pearl twice in the past month! I love watching Lindsey and Taya do their routines to songs I don't even know. They're a little like me and Daniel, except way hotter. Dudes actually stop and openly gawk at them. (Well, come to think of it, dudes gawk at us too. Or maybe just me. Anyway.) At one point Dylan, Taya's friend, and I were off to the side while the girls were dancing, and he asked me, "as a straight guy", what I thought about guys leering at my girlfriend. I said I didn't mind. It wasn't making her uncomfortable, so they can look all they want because I'm the one she's going home with. Besides, she's hot! Some random guy actually came up to me a little later while Lindsey and I were dancing and mumbled something and gave me a pat on the back and a thumbs-up. We couldn't figure out what that was all about, but it was definitely a compliment of some sort. But was he saying "I love your sweet moves" or "hey bro, your girlfriend's hot, way to go!" Who knows.

Sunday was the day of the memorial service. We made our way out to the Comfort Inn near the beach and started setting up about an hour before it started. Lindsey had worked so hard planning everything. Among the many things she did, she made a slideshow of her mom culled from old family photos; she made cds of songs her mom loved; she made cards for everyone to take home so they could have time to reflect on a specific memory of her mom and then send them back, which I thought was a great idea; she put together the program; and she wrote out a speech on why her mom was the best mom ever.

As friends and family started filing in, I became a pretty popular guy. Almost everyone had heard of me (Lindsey's mom was like my publicist; everyone I spoke with told me how fond of me she was) and was curious to finally put a face to all the stories. It got a little overwhelming, though. I met so many people in such a short period of time and got so flustered that I actually said to someone, "nice to meet you Michael, I'm Paul. I mean, you're Paul, I'm Michael. Wait, yeah, that's right." Whew, it was rough! I really wanted to make a good impression on everyone but I wasn't sure I was doing a very good job, though Lindsey reassured me later that everyone had nothing but nice things to say. I think words like "dreamy" and "hunky" were bandied about, but can you imagine, me being called hunky? Someone also thought I was Italian! Someone else said I had a "touch of Oriental", hahah.

I'll be honest. At first I felt a little awkward and self-conscious, unsure of exactly what I was supposed to be doing. I totally felt like "the new guy". I was there to give Lindsey support, but I wasn't exactly sure how I was going to do that. I'd never been in that position before and I wasn't sure how I was going to perform. I wanted to be a good boyfriend but I didn't know what that entailed! When she got up in front of everyone and started reading and getting choked up -- it broke my heart to see her cry like that -- I knew that it was okay and that she had to let it out. She regained her composure pretty quickly, and this is cheesy to say, but it felt like her mom was with her giving her the strength to get through it. And when she finished I wanted to give her a standing ovation, but I wasn't sure if that was appropriate. After a few seconds people started clapping so I joined in. She did SUCH a great job and I was so incredibly proud of her. When she sat down next to me I put my hand on her thigh, just to let her know I was there. I didn't feel like I had to do much, because she's such an amazingly strong girl. I joked later that she would've been fine even if I hadn't been there, but she said that my presence was incredibly comforting. So, I guess I did a good job after all, even though I had no idea what I was doing.

The whole service was only a couple of hours long. So many people showed up that we had to haul in extra chairs from the empty conference room next door. It was all very thoughtful and tastefully done. Everyone who spoke said really beautiful things. Her mom wouldn't have wanted a depressingly somber affair, so even though there were a ton of tears and not enough tissue boxes to go around, the mood for the most part was one of fond remembrance. I didn't cry, though my eyes welled up a few times. All in all, it was perfect.

Lindsey had the great idea of booking a room at the hotel so we could stay and decompress afterwards. I'd planned on using that opportunity to shower her with affection and make sure she felt pampered and loved. When we got to our room we talked for a while and then I gave her a really thorough foot and hand massage while watching the Steelers game and trying to explain the differences between a kickoff and a punt. Once the game got out of hand, we got, uh, distracted, and the next thing we knew it was time for dinner. After we got back from dinner we fired up the water and took a really relaxing bubble bath. I hadn't taken a bath since I was probably 5 years old, but man, I've been missing out! Of course, it wouldn't have been nearly as much fun if Lindsey wasn't in there too.

Lindsey had set the alarm the next morning for 9am so we could take advantage of the hotel's free breakfast -- they had a waffle-maker! It was so cute how excited about waffles she was, so we went down and ate and then came back up to the room to watch some daytime television. After a hilarious episode of Maury in which they revisited some of this year's most crazy teens, we had fun sexytimes. Except, I don't know proper hotel-etiquette and didn't put the "do not disturb" sign on the door OR lock the deadbolt, so our maid waltzed in and caught an eyeful of my pale ass. Lindsey and I laughed about it for a while, but the maid's probably scarred for life now. I hope the $5 I left on the nightstand with a thank you note eased her pain and suffering a little.

And then just as soon as I got there, it was time to go home. Fortunately, Lindsey will be here in 5 days and staying for 17! She'll be here for my birthday, our five-month anniversary, Christmas and New Year's, and I have to say, I have never been happier. I can't wait to turn the page and start '08 fresh. Next year's going to have its share of cross-country adventures, I'm sure, but we'll worry about all of that later. I can't wait until she's out here so we can just relax for once.

wanna dance?: 45 disco divas - step to the beat

Subject:	The days get shorter and the nights get cold; I like the autumn but this place is getting old
Time:	11:59 am.

I traveled to St. Louis the other day on business and for 23 hours I played the role of a consummate businessman. In my head I kept trying to hype up what I was doing to make it seem more important and exciting than it really was. Like I was somehow an integral cog in the wheels of commerce, a mover and/or shaker for a Fortune 500 company, that selling furniture made a difference in the world. Oh the games we play with ourselves.

I guess I was a little excited, though. It was something different, and I got to go someplace I'd never been before (Midwest holla!). Experience points are invaluable. I bought a new briefcase just for the occasion. I rented a car. I stayed one night in a dumpy motel (ugh, Red Roof Inn, where I totally found MYSTERY HAIRS in my bed). I ate shittily (did you know that even though Hardee's and Carl's Jr. are the same company, they have pretty much completely different menus?) or not at all. I paid for expenses with my corporate American Express card. I traveled wearing a suit and tie. I closed a potentially lucrative deal. And I talked to my girlfriend from the airport on my way home on my little headphone/earpiece thingy. I wouldn't mind taking a couple of trips like this a year, but I'm definitely not cut out for a life on the road where the days all blur together and I'm constantly living out of my suitcase. It ain't glamorous like in airline commercials. And I'm sure it's just a mental thing, but I don't feel clean unless I'm showering in my own shower. Is that weird?

And now, a rant.

The folks at the TSA are retarded. This isn't exactly news, I know, but I wouldn't find the whole security thing so ridiculous and frustrating if they were just consistent about it. The procedures vary from airport to airport and even from screener to screener. It's almost like, what's the point? I have always checked baggage when I've flown, but since I was only going for a day, I just packed a day bag to carry on. Now most of you are aware of my, uh, extreme vanity and the number of hair-related products I use every day, so I was careful to review the TSA's pamphlet of what was allowed prior to packing. The benefit of always checking my bags was that I could pack my entire bathroom in my suitcase and not worry about it. But if you've flown on a plane over the past couple of years, you know about the rules on bringing liquids on board a plane. I know the rules, but I have this one container of wax that's 4 ounces and therefore exceeds their seemingly arbitrary 3 ounce limit on "gels and liquids", but since wax is a solid, I thought that maybe it'd be allowed. Not so much. I tried pleading my case with the screener, "But it's WAX! Not a gel or liquid! Come on!" and he was nice enough to wave a supervisor over just to be sure, but with one look and a shake of her head, she quashed my motion and seized my illicit contraband and placed it in a bin with a heap of other confiscated items. You know, real dangerous shit like toothpaste, deodorant, bottles of Head & Shoulders... everyone knows if you outlaw mouthwash, only outlaws will have mouthwash, man. Yeah, I feel safe. Thanks, TSA!

For the record, I do have a pretty strong sense of self-awareness and shame and felt like a complete tool for holding up the security line to plead for my wax to be allowed, but as any metrosexual (read: gay) man will tell you, that shit ain't cheap. I'm fully aware that the people behind me were all silently judging me, so I couldn't bring myself to actually make eye contact with any of them... but perhaps in an alternate universe they'd actually be applauding my efforts to illuminate how asinine our country's security laws are. I'm not saying I'm Rosa Parks, not quite, but how is it that I can bring scissors and razors and knitting needles on a plane but not pomade?

But fine, rules are rules, no matter how stupid. I'd given my hair wax a 50/50 shot of getting past security, so like any good boy scout*, I packed back-up hair products that came in smaller packages just in case. Always prepared!

Here's the funny part. On my way home, the screener in St. Louis (a really sassy black lady) detained me and said that all of my liquids and gels had to fit in a 1-quart plastic bag. "Don't you know the rules?" she said. Yes, I know that's the rule and all, but they didn't enforce it in LA. I had all of that stuff in my shaving bag and they let it fly. But she wasn't budging. Since I always pack enough toiletries to cater a small beauty pageant, clearly not all of it would fit in a 1-quart bag, so I had to play a little Sophie's Choice and have her toss all the cheap, easily replaceable stuff so I could keep everything else. Whatever. TSA employees need to start wearing buttons that say "$7.50 an hour and drunk with power."

* Never actually a boy scout

Other notes:

The high temperature in St. Louis on Monday was 40 degrees. When I got in on Sunday night it was 27 degrees and windy. I know that's not even that bad, but I will never complain about LA being cold ever again. I told the guy at the car rental place, "I don't have clothes for this weather!" to which he replied, "I don't think they even make clothes for this weather." It was 50 degrees at the airport when I got home and it felt downright balmy.

Things I didn't know they had in St. Louis: Del Tacos and a Hustler Hollywood store.

Thing I noticed that should not have been all that surprising: People really, really love their Cardinals.

Thing I wish I'd done: Hung out with

foxy_manacle's parents. At least then I could've gotten the authentic Italian meal I was craving all week.

...

I'm back on a plane Friday night to go to Jacksonville (via San Francisco and Dallas) for Lindsey's mom's memorial service. In all this year will have seen me take three trips to Jacksonville, two trips to North Carolina, and one trip each to St. Louis and Atlanta... I have been on more planes this year than any other, BY FAR. Whew.

wanna dance?: 45 disco divas - step to the beat

Subject:	Wendy Shearer Morrison, August 23, 1948 - November 26, 2007
Time:	11:27 am.

Lindsey's mother lost her fight with cancer this morning; she was 59.

It all started almost exactly a week after I last saw her. Her breathing became difficult and labored last Sunday night, and the 'round-the-clock vigil began in earnest Monday morning. She had been unconscious for the better part of the past week. Lindsey had been scheduled to fly out Wednesday to spend the long Thanksgiving weekend with me, but when her mom's condition failed to improve, the decision to stay close to her mom was an easy one to make. Lindsey remained by her mom's side until the end.

It's still so surreal that she's gone.

I will always cherish our time together, just talking and getting to know each other. Mostly though, I would just listen. She was an extraordinarily articulate woman and I was easily captivated by her musings. She had a keen insightfulness and when she spoke, her words carried a kind of weight that's earned only through living through life's many battles. She was a survivor in every sense of the word, going 12 rounds and still standing until the very end. She was a teacher, and as much as I will never understand death, she taught me and everyone who came into contact with her so much about living. Our time together, just like her time on earth, was much too short, but I am grateful for even having the chance to know her.

If you can, keep Lindsey and her family in your thoughts today.

Here's a poem that I keep reading over and over. It's optimistic and comforting and makes me cry, which I guess is the appropriate emotional response right now.

Death is nothing at all. It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.
Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you, and the old life
that we lived so fondly together is untouched,
unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes
that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort,
without the ghost of a shadow upon it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you,
for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just round the corner.
All is well.

-Henry Scott Holland, "Death is nothing at all"

Subject:	Run from the pigs, the fuzz, the cops, the heat.
Time:	4:12 pm.

Up until a few months ago, I'd only gotten 2 traffic tickets over the course of the previous 7 years. I think that's pretty good, but I know there are some of you out there who are like, "Only 2 tickets? I've never gotten a ticket in my life!" and all I can say to that is don't worry, your day will come. But I've driven nearly 200,000 miles in those 7 years so the law of averages starts working against me a little more. But back to those tickets. There was the time 7 years ago when I was driving around Venice fruitlessly looking for some street parking and I kind of casually rolled through a stop sign. My infraction caught the eye of a cop who was already in the middle of writing some other poor schmuck a ticket and he waved at me to pull over. I did because I thought he was just going to tell me to turn my stereo down. If I'd have known he was going to give me a ticket I would've "pretended" I didn't see him and driven off. So that was lame. Then a couple of years ago I got pulled over on the freeway for speeding. Fine, whatever, I was due. Fast-forward to July, right before I left for my trip to Atlanta, and I got pulled over for stopping on railroad tracks. The area around where I work is flanked by railroad tracks and it's especially annoying at this one particular light because there's only room for about 3 cars to be stopped before you're on the tracks and it's hard to gauge when to pull up short until you're already stuck on the tracks. So I'm idling on the tracks for only about 30 seconds but that was just enough time for a cop who was driving in the opposite direction to stop in the middle of the street and yell at me through his loudspeaker.

"You in the silver Civic, please pull over into the next driveway"

The guy behind me was on the tracks too, so he got collared along with me. Again, lame. But whatever, traffic tickets are just another expense, part of the cost of living in Los Angeles. You factor it into your budget. If you get a ticket every couple of years and pro-rate it out, it only comes out to like an extra $10 a month. Just pennies a day for the privilege of driving our wonderful roads.

But if you get two tickets in less than 60 days, then you're kind of fucked.

I was leaving a bar after having about 5 cocktails over the course of a few hours. We were celebrating Daniel's birthday, I was celebrating new love; it was a good night. Well, up until I got pulled over by the Highway Patrol. Because of some stupid freeway construction I was forced into taking a detour that caused me to exit the freeway. When I got back onto the freeway I started my usual drift towards the far-left lane. Unfortunately, I was going a little fast and almost merged right into a Highway Patrol car. I mean, I saw him over my left shoulder before attempting to switch lanes, but I got nervous and hastily over-corrected back into my lane and abruptly reduced my speed by taking my foot off the gas. The cop must've noticed and a few seconds later I saw those flashing lights in my rear-view mirror. The first thing that raced into my mind? DUI. I wasn't drunk, but I got those shitty lightweight Asian genes, and I get all glassy-eyed and red-faced after eating tiramisu, so I'm sure the cop was going to take one look at me and haul me into the pokey for the night. My plan, then, was to be as honest as possible and hope the cop would take mercy on me. I mean, I obviously couldn't lie about having had anything to drink since it was so clearly written all over my face.

So when the officer came up to my window and started the usual procession of questions, I answered calmly and truthfully. I'd come from a bar, officer. Yes, I had a few drinks, officer. Oh, I only had 2 drinks, officer, and stopped drinking hours ago. So I might've been fudging the truth a little on that last one, but really, what he didn't know couldn't hurt him. The cop was pretty nice, but he still asked me to step out of the vehicle. This is where I started thinking, "please don't make me say the alphabet backwards" because I can't even do that shit sober. And "please don't make me walk any straight lines", ~~because I don't do anything straight~~ because surely being clumsy and unbalanced isn't a crime, right? Instead I got the "follow this light back and forth with your eyes" test, and I concentrated SO hard on not fucking up. I was still a little worried about it 'cos I wear contacts and I was afraid that they might pop out or something and I'd fail and it'd have nothing at all to do with alcohol. But after what seemed like an hour, I was told to go back and have a seat in my car. A few minutes later he came back and handed me a speeding ticket (going 75 in a 65 zone) and I breathed a sigh of relief knowing it could've been so much worse.

Then I got the notice in the mail and my fine for speeding? $400. Man. Still, it could've been much worse.

Anyway, the reason I'm posting all this is because I opted to do traffic school on my first ticket so I can get that off my record so I don't get totally reamed by my insurance company. I've never done traffic school before and wondered if anyone else has. I'm leaning towards doing it online, but, maybe there's a benefit to doing it another way? I don't know. Help!

wanna dance?: 41 disco divas - step to the beat