« August 2004 | Main | October 2004 »
Lucy is almost one year old.
(For those of you who do not have kids and tend to get sick of all of the kid talk from your friends who do have kids, I'd suggest skipping this blog entry. It may bore you. Before I had a kid, it would have bored me. Consider yourself warned.)
I'm a hedonist.
I had a brief period in my life when I compromised what I knew I liked for what I thought was good for me (I ate lots of tofu and green stuff and only drank water), but eventually that sucked. Ultimately, I missed coffee and donuts and mayonnaise and chocolate and beer and candy and soda and corn syrup and high fructose corn syrup and lik-m-aid and sweet tarts and peeps and cheddar cheese and ruffles with ridges and doritos and anything available at a gas station "snak shop" and croissants and real eggs and real butter and french fries and pizza and even stuffed crust pizza and jelly bellys and gummy worms and any sour gummy products and malted milk shakes and carbs. Sweet, sweet mother fucking carbs that every one else seems to be avoiding right now. You know what I say? Good. More for me. You'll be back when this fad passes.
I don't understand the philosophy of putting off pleasure or happiness. If not now, why? George Bernard Shaw said, "Youth is wasted on the young." I'm trying not to let that happen to me. I'll chew my gummy worms while I have teeth, drink my coffee while I have bladder control and eat eggs while the amount of exercise I do offsets the cholesterol in the yolks.
The other good news is that if I get hit by a bus while I'm skateboarding on the busy streets of Santa Monica, I'll have enjoyed life's sugary, oily, fat-laden delicious temptations.
Mmmm....oily.
2000 This year marks the end of my "real job" phase of my life in Los Angeles. Many of you read the story about how I got fired from the bellstand of the Park Hyatt for ALLEGEDLY sleeping in the Bellcloset (okay, fine. I was probably asleep) Shortly after that, in 1999, I got a job as a Doorman at the Regent Beverly Wilshire Hotel in Beverly Hills. You may know it better as "the hotel from Pretty Woman." It was a riveting job. I stood at the front door of the hotel in a dopey costume and hat and opened the door for everyone. I had a small little section in front of the door where I could hold cars for people if they wanted to run in. I made some money doing that, some money calling people cabs, and some money for storing bags and other bullshit stuff.
1999. Ten years after my high school graduation. Although in my mind, I've progressed beyond the fashion blunders of my youth, I buy a black beanie from The Gap that makes me look like a burglar from a cartoon. Even though I think I can pull it off, my friend Lucy laughs AT me one day and asks me what the fuck I have on my head. The beanie gets retired and I decide to stick to a mostly tee-shirt and jeans wardrobe. For posterity, I decide to keep the stupid black beanie in case it ever comes back into fashion with the Z Cav's, overalls and pegged jeans. It does not.
I just now finished catching up with all of my reading. I refer of course to my favorite blogs and comments and internet sites. For those of you who left comments here while I was gone, thank you. I did have a chance to peek in a couple of times from the road, but did not have enough time to respond. Ususally I was sneaking onto the web from borrowed computers on slow dial-up connections or taking my turn in a line of eager e-mail checkers at airport hotspots.
One of the blogs I check in on daily is Wil Wheaton's weblog, WWdN. Wil has more than quadrupled my daily traffic by plugging my blog at his site and during interviews like THIS one at Web Talk Radio. Thanks Wil.
Am I ever going to finish my 33 year timeline?
Yes. It's just that the 80s and 90s are funnier and more interesting than the last few years, and my memories are more intact for these last few too.
Okay. I'm off to a Bride/Cat show. Wait, I mean work.
Wyoming and Montana are breathtaking. It was an exceptional eight days away from Los Angeles.
I had a strange realization while I was gone. I don't know if it was related to the breaking of the spell that LA seems to have over me or if it was just related to me getting older, but it was very clear:
I get why bands break up.
I never got it. I never understood why a successful band making piles of cash would give it up. I used to think,
Just deal with it!
Suck it up and make the money!
That's what I used to believe.
It's the top of the ninth inning at Yankee Stadium in the Bronx, NY and the Yanks lead the Red Sox 2-1. 55,000 fans are anticipating a Yankee win, which would put a little bit of breathing room between them and the Sox. Just a month and a half ago, the Red Sox were battling for the Wild Card slot in the playoffs. Now, after an unbelievable streak of wins, their cursed collective breath is bristling the Yankees' necks at only 3 1/2 games back. Mariano Rivera digs in. As their star closer, Rivera is a force to be reckoned with. He is a future Hall of Famer. He rarely blows saves. The Red Sox' hope is waning.
Rivera walks Trot Nixon, bringing the tying run to the plate. Varitek whiffs, but Roberts, pinch running for Trot, easily steals second base. Millar steps into the box and guards the plate carefully as he eyes Rivera. Rivera looks nervous now; he knows that a good base hit ties the game. Rivera tries to pitch around him and loses one high and inside, popping him in the back. Millar is the go-ahead run now at first base, but a grounder to the infield is a game-ending double play.
Nomar Garciaparra steps out of the on-deck circle and approaches the batter's box. Just before he steps in, he begins what has become a familiar routine of toe-tapping and glove checking that is charming when he's hitting well and almost unwatchable when he's in the tank. Finally, he completes the ritual that I assume appeases his OCD and steps into the box. Mariano Rivera checks the runner behind him at second and pitches from the stretch. It's a fastball and Nomar bites. He swings over the ball, driving it into the ground towards third. It's an easy double play and the Red Sox lose the first, most important game of the six game series against the Yanks, falling to 4 1/2 games back.
Except that didn't happen. Instead, Cabrera steps in and steps up. He drives in the tying run, which leads to a Johnny Damon blooper that sends home the winning run. The Red Sox win the first game of a crucial six game series versus the Yankees and pull to within 2 1/2 games. That's right. CABRERA. One of the guys we got for Nomar in a deal that had more than a few Boston fans livid at Theo Epstein.
Tonight, more than a few Boston fans are thinking,
"Finally; a GM who knows what this team needs."
Chicago-
You can have him. It's become apparent that the Red Sox not only don't need Nomar ("Mr. Boston"), they're better off without him. Maybe we'll see you in that last, big game.
As further proof that I went to school in the wrong decade, I read at Lorianne's blog that she is using blogging as part of her coursework in her Expository Writing 202 class at Keene State College. She has chosen to use Blogger, which I think makes sense. It's free, it's Google owned so it's not going anywhere, and the interface is simple. Where was Lorianne when I was in college? Blogging for college credit? Maybe I would have graduated in four years instead of the five that it took me. :-)
I was trying to convince my wife to do the same thing in her high school English class. I actually think it's an amazing teaching tool. It allows students to write at their convenience, post to an audience outside of their classroom and receive feedback from peers, a professor, and anyone else that happens upon their blogs. Lorianne's "teaching" blog is here, with links to her students' blogs on her blogroll.
First of all, let me say this:
I may have been wrong about the Red Sox. Obviously, I'm prepared for the usual crash and burn, but it's hard not to get excited by the fact that we've won 12 of the last 13 games. Oh yeah, and that's WITHOUT Nomar. If they take me to the end again this year only to break my heart in another crushing loss to the Yankees, I swear I'm switching to Hockey. Or Rugby. Or another sport I don't give a rat shit about so that when whichever team I pick LOSES, I'll be okay with that.
Cubs/Red Sox? Don't think FOX isn't praying to the baseball and television ratings gods for a chance to air that series. People talk about what's "good for baseball." Cubs/Red Sox qualifies.
OK, moving on to 1998 in my 33 year lifeline. A good year...
In a way, it gets easier to remember as it gets later in my timeline of life. The problem is, the last several years have been a blur. I have trouble remembering exactly what happened in what year.
That said, I'm going to push on and do my best to keep the years straight.
Forget about thirds or thirds and fourths of thirds. That system is out the window. I may do the rest in one post or one year per post or two or three. However it comes out is how it comes out.
1997 is next.
Oh, and here are some fashion moments from the years I've already mentioned that maybe I should have included:
1985: I go into a "jean jacket" phase and wear my denim Levi's jacket every single day. Its pockets inside (and out) appeal to me because I can store lots of things. It becomes the boy equivalent of a girl's purse for me, in that my most important possessions are kept in (or worn on) my jacket: my long handled comb, my rock and roll pins, my two or three dollars, my velcro Knight Rider wallet, assorted notes, pens, a swiss army knife, and of course, candy and snacks.
1991: For some still unknown reason, I decide to buy a pair of "Guess" Overalls. I convince myself that I can pull off wearing them, and actually do it one time, complete with the requisite "one strap undone." I am so severely ridiculed by my friends that I never have the urge to wear them again. Instead of returning them, I convince myself that overalls will come back and that I'll have the last laugh. It never happens, and I'm stuck with a $108 pair of foolish looking overalls.
1991: Same year. I buy a pair of "Z. Cavaricci's" that are tight at the top and look very MC Hammer. I wear them to an under 21 club called "Bahama Beach Club" in Nashua and realize that that may be the only place where I can get away with wearing what are basically, black clown pants.
1992: In another brilliant fashion move, I start pegging my jeans with short, Body Glove socks. I look like a goddamn fool, but none of my friends notice because they are wearing the same stupid thing. Luckily, I take lots of pictures of this year so that there is no way to forget my fashion sense.
Okay, I could go on for days about my style choices. Instead...
let's move on to 1997....
Is there anyone else out there who needs Gmail?
I have five invites, and I've tried to donate them to Gmail4Troops but I've heard nothing back.
So instead, I'm donating them to anyone who checks in here and wants or needs a Gmail account.
For more information about Gmail, go here.
