Bacon Bits

Since I'm moving in real life this month, I figure that it's also a good time to move in the virtual world.

My blog continues on at LiveJournal, where all the cool kids are at:

"okay with my decay"

Bacon Bits was already taken at LJ, so I had to borrow a Grandaddy song title.

See you there.

Okay, I'm a total geek but I had to go see the new Star Wars movie today. Aside from the first one (or "fourth one" if you're a storyline timeline traditionalist) I've been at every opening day for every film in the series. When "Return of the Jedi" came out my Mom actually waited in line for us so we could still go to school. She's good like that.

This time around I bought the tickets online, weeks in advance. Sam met me at the Cinerama about an hour before the show. We were closer to the back of the line than the frothy front, but we still scored decent seats.

I guess the movie has already been leaed to the internet. But I can't imagine there'd be much of an audience out there in webworld, as virtually every computer nerd around was at the theatre today. Who else would stand in the hot sun for three hours in a full Darth Vader outfit?

Even better than the acne-prone types in costumes was this large woman who waddled away from the concession counter toting a large drink, box of red vines and a HUGE bucket of popcorn. She appeared to be alone as she shuffled over to the napkins and self-serve butter dispenser. Shoving her popcorn under the butter spigot, she jammed her thumb on the button, watched as the butter started to flow and then, with her thumb still attached to the machine, actually started looking around the lobby... like she was pumping gas and gonna be there for a while. Or maybe she was looking for someone to help her eat all that food?? I was waiting for her to actually start whistling.

The movie was good and I already want to see it again, maybe in a month or two. My sky-high expectations weren't exceeded, but I'm happy they were at least met.

What rocked about Coachella 2005:

-Beating all the traffic on Friday and heading straight to El Mirasol for food and margaritas when arriving in Palm Springs.
-Ray’s backstage parking pass, resulting in a fast and pain-free journey to and from the show.
-Scoring VIP wristbands for myself, Brad and Lisa for both days. Thanks Allison! (again)
-Walking into the Sahara tent early on Saturday for Tiga and immediately getting a full-body rush (while completely sober) as everyone started going nuts.
-The 2.5 songs I saw The Kills perform. Holy fucking shit were they good. And sexy as hell.
-Misha making a fake wristband from a piece of pipe tape and using it to get in VIP the lounge all night.
-Bauhaus opening their set with “Bela Lugosi’s Dead,” the entire song performed by Peter Murphy while hanging upside down like a freaky bat.
-Perfect weather: mid/high 80s during the day, mid 60s at night.
-Staying in shorts all day and night.
-Brad bullshitting someone at the gate to get us past the clusterfuck crowd and into the URB and SPIN afterparties.
-Scoring a free pair of new Jack Purcell shoes at the SPIN party.
-Sooooo many hot, shirtless guys.
-Not having to deal with being the hotel room wrangler.
-Hearing some big news from some close friends and managing to keep it a secret all weekend long.
-Miss Kittin surprising everyone with a kick-ass set.
-Café Tacuba’s extended synchronized dance moves executed by all five frontline players.
-New Order playing a killer Joy Division trifecta: Atmosphere, Transmission and Love Will Tear Us Apart.
-Discovering much more than hype behind Bloc Party and The Bravery.
-That incredible green floppy hat worn by Megan's friend from NYC whose name I know I'd spell wrong.
-Finally finding Lydia just before Nine Inch Nails and dragging her deep into the crowd for a slow dance to “Hurt.”
-Making a last-minute decision to stay for the triumphant return of The Prodigy, who closed out Sunday night by making the entire Sahara tent go absolutely apeshit.
-High-fiving, handshaking and hugging total strangers who you just happened to be having the time of your life with.
-The girls who directed me into the ladies room trailer to use the “secret urinal.”
-Not getting sunburned.
-Better art, slightly smaller crowd.
-The post-Coachella pool party where Tabitha won the “Never Laughed So Hard in My Life” award.
-Lots of quality time with my unbeatable L.A. friends.

What sucked:

-Having paid for my tickets but never actually using them, as we walked in with Ray through the backstage entrance. Bright side: I never got searched.
-Never hooking up with my hot new buddy Bill after a valiant effort on both parts. Next time, my friend, you’re pitching a tent with ME.
-Finding out too late about Todd’s DJ set.
-Missing Kasabian, Ben Watt, Stereophonics and Coldplay completely.
-The Arcade Fire… though I’d give them another chance as my biggest complaint with what I experienced was the crappy sound, which may have been due to the wind that suddenly kicked up.
-Missing MIA, which I wasn’t bummed about since I’ll be seeing her next week but apparently the massive crowd she attracted was momentarily chased away by a swarm of bees, and that I would’ve liked to have seen.
-Not making it to the Grandaddy Talkscape Gathering house to meet a bunch of online pals, and also not making it to the B-sides house or the “much nicer yet cheaper” other house of friends.
-James Lavelle (aka UNKLE) making no effort to mix his records and ending with U2’s “Where the Streets Have No Name.”
-Not seeing Beck, for the first time ever at Coachella.
-The VIP food not cutting the mustard.
-Lack of quality starsightings.
-Never running into Kirsten, Gary, David, Allie, Todd, and many others.
-Shelley, Abe & Louie not being there.
-Tearing myself away from the pool to pack my bags.
-Carrying the new Fischerspooner record home after Megan gifted it to me.
-I wish my tan was a little darker.

I'm about one month away from going into production on my Market Report TV gig. Everything's looking good... except me. Not that I'm looking that bad; I've got a nice base tan, my beard is finally in shape (though I'll probably shave it off for the show) and my pal Lara at Baba Louise in Ballarad knows exactly how to do my hair. But I really need to shed a few pounds (okay, more than a few) to make up for the pounds the camera will undoubtedly add... and the extra pounds I'm showing without the aid of cameras.

Tomorrow I'm heading down to L.A. for a few days and out to Palm Springs for the Coachella fest and pool time with loads of pals. It will undoubtedly be a debaucherous week, even if I'm only sipping my favorite desert drink, the "Please Mister, Please" (vodka with half tonic half soda one lime and two slices of cucumber) that Shelley and I invented one spring after seeing Olivia Newton-John play the parking lot of an Indian casino in Desert Hot Springs. You can sip a LOT of those drinks when it's open bar at the after-party and you're off your face to start with. They go as well with sunrise as sunset.

So after I get back, it's time to get serious. Which means in addition to eating lots of celery sticks (and little else) I'll probably have to go on the wagon. So if you see me out and about with a beer in my hand, feel free to give me shit. Or, better yet, give me an ice-cold decaffeinated diet beverage. Or even your basic h2o. The one nice thing about the lame kidney stone I suffered through recently was learning to love water all over again. That and having a relatively pleasant experience at the Ballard Swedish Hospital emergency room at 4 am.

Also, I'll be spending even more time at 24 Hour Fatness. Which hasn't been that bad lately. Especially with classes like this..

Had a great time seeing VHS or Beta last night at a free Neumo's show with Electric Six and Mixmaster Mike. Abe got me into this band, due in no small part to their Duran Duran connection. I like their record but they sound even better live, very disco fun without the cheese factor. Even the hooded b-boys out for Mike were getting down, exposing a welcome amount of boxer-clad waistlines.

VHS or Beta get compared to everyone from Depeche Mode to The Cure to Daft Punk to Duran Duran, the latter of which they opened for recently. My analogy would be Rinocerose with Robert Smith as the lead singer... modern, funky French beats with lots of arena rock guitar, sometimes with very 80s sounding 'howl' vocals, sometimes no lyrics/singing at all. You'd never guess they were from Louisville... except maybe for the bass player, who didn't quite pull off the irony with his mullet and 70s cop mustache. In any case, a good time even with the hour-long wait for them to take the stage.

Later on the drive off of Capitol Hill, I was intrigued by a seemingly innocuous sight: a big yellow school bus. Kind of uncommon to see one rolling down Pine at the midnight hour. “Maybe it’s a field trip,” I thought as I pulled up alongside. At first I couldn’t see anyone aboard the brightly lit bus, then noticed two older gentlemen sitting in the second and third rows. And all was explained when I spotted a sign in the front window: NW Bears Spring Thaw Shuttle Bus. How sexy is that, being driven between homo hotspots on a big ol’ bright yellow school bus? Guess you’d have to try it yourself to know for sure. I’d at least ask them to turn the interior lights down…

You know when you’re at a free five-course dinner in a circus tent with a bunch of wacky singing waiters and trapeze artists and Martha Davis of the Motels running her hands over your face and they’ve comped your bar tab too and you love that one crazy couple at your table but loathe the other two so you and your date and the cool couple just keep drinking and drinking and drinking, just for fun and because you can and kind of in spite of the lame couple (one of whom actually made ‘crucifix fingers’ at you when you said you were from L.A.) and you thought this whole thing might be torture but well over three hours later you’re the last people to leave and there’s a staff party going on in the lobby so you stay and start drinking champagne and checking out the busboys until you spill a second glass of bubbly all over your jeans and when you come back from cleaning yourself up in the bathroom and walk over to your table some random dude steps in and says “Excuse me” and takes away what you thought was your glass of champagne but leaves two behind so you might’ve been drinking his or he might’ve been cutting you off in the most discreet way possible and you’re too drunk to know for sure and definitely too drunk to care either way?

That totally happened to me last night.

I woke up naked, on top of the bed, all the lights on, tangled up in my bulky ProDJ headphones and iPod which had apparently been blasting "Since U Been Gone" by Kelly Clarkson over and over and over again, all night long. Which I'm guessing might be a situation that even more people could find themselves in.

Right????

I'm stealing this item from a post Marc Spice made on Friendster, but I'm sure he'll support my rebroadcast as it it's totally worth repeating.

"Grace goes OFF!"

I'm finally home for good after two months away. (Until next week, when I'll be heading back up to Birch Bay to see my parents.) I'll probably be spending a lot more time up there, as the Bunkhouse will soon be liveable with a myriad of small/medium projects to go. My brother and I did get a lot accomplished in a week, even with me having tons of "work work" and instant-turnaround deadlines while up there. I'd wake up in the morning, check my email, do some work, walk up to the cabin, do some work up there, go back to my other work, on and on. There were several days that I spent all day at the cabin, then would work until midnight on my stuff for clients. I'm still exhauseted.

I don't think I've ever spent that much time alone with just my bro, it was an interesting experience. We are very different people but somehow got along very well. I was more 'concept' and he was more 'execution' but we worked well together and had some fun. The most fun I had was when we decided to paint the whole place one night after dinner. I just function better at night. Or maybe after a martini, as we'd had before eating. It was fun doing something even semi-creative as opposed to scrubbing, scraping, hauling, etc. And it turned out great. Meanwhile, my brother was ripping apart the bathroom and re-building an entire wall. He wins the Bob Vila award for this round.

I wasn't planning to do anything today but wound up having brunch with Diana and dinner with Paula & Mark. Paula busted out the PAAS egg dyeing stuff and that was fun to mess with while the champagne flowed. I taught them the ancient Bacon art of "egg butting." Paula was the champ, knocking me out in the second round. Sorry Mark, maybe next year.

If I didn't have a 9 am meeting tomorrow I would SO be at the Eagle right now. Instead I think I'm off to bed. I can already feel a nasty headache coming on from too many "Jelly Bird Eggs," the only Easter candy that matters.

Tomorrow I finally get back to work on my farmer's market report, starting with a 9am meeting with someone who will either make or break this project. Why I scheduled such an important meeting for 9am is beyond me. I was probably thinking, after a two-month postponement, "the sooneer the better."

I'm back in Seattle, at least for the next three days. I'll be heading back up to Birch Bay on Saturday to join my brother in an attempt to get the new cabin in better shape. Naturally, now that I'm back home, the unsually warm weather has vanished. The same way the unusually wet weather followed me to California.

Oh what a massive mountain of mail was waiting for me here. Candace was kind enough to weed out all the flyers and circulars. But even I was surprised at how many magazines I've subscribed to. Damn those direct marketers!

One periodical I never tired of is the monthly Eagle Magazine, sent to members of the Fraternal Order of the Eagles. And yes, that would include me. It was a Christmas present, years ago. For whatever reason, I keep renewing my membership. Wait, here's a good reason: when visiting an Aerie more than 50 miles away from your "home Aerie" (the one you're a member of) your second drink is FREE! Hooray for subsidized alcoholism with a salty salute to drunk driving.

Anyway, my favorite feature in Eagle Magazine actually appears in the pages for the Auxiliary (that's the ladies) members. Right next to the smiling face of P.G.M.P. Linda L. Heffner, Assistant to the Grand Madam President, Grand Auxiliary Office Coordinator (she writes the column "Auxiliaries Want To Know" answering all your protcol questions) is the monthly "Cook's Corner" column. It never ceases to amaze me. The majority of the recipes that appear are of the "no bake" variety, and commonly include frightening, mass-produced ingredients such as Velveeta, Miracle Whip and canned vegetables. I really need to clip and save them all.

Here's a start for your own files:

APPLE DUMPLING

2 Granny Smith apples
2 tubes crescent rolls
1 1/2 cup sugar
2 sticks butter
1 teaspon cinnamon
12 oz. can Mountain Dew soda

Peel apples and cut into 1/8s. Wrap each section in a crescent roll. Place in baking dish. Mix butter (melted), sugar and cinnamon and pour over the dumplings. Then pour Mountain Dew over everything. Bake for 45 minutes at 350.


I definitely want to try pouring Mountain Dew over everything!

Greetings from beautiful Birch Bay, WA. I arrived back in Seattle on Friday to find that my kitchen was still under construction, contrary to previous reports. So I spent the night at Diana's, then came up to the beach this evening. Hopefully it will all be done by Monday. It had fucking better be!

Anyway, I'm up here all by my lonesome, which is actually great after a solid month of being a houseguest. One of my favorite pastimes up here is to read every and any local newspaper or magazine. Often interesting, usually informative, and almost always including something hysterical. The Northern Light, a local weekly focused on Blaine and Birch Bay, usually comes through in the laughs department thanks to the Letters to the Editor and Police Reports sections. But this week's winner comes from the Whatcom Independent classifieds:

WANTED: SOMEBODY TO GO BACK IN TIME WITH ME
This is not a joke. You'll get paid after we get back. Must bring your own weapons. Safety not guaranteed. I have only done this once before. 201-5045



That's the 360 area code for potential/willing time travelers.

On the road again. Stopped last night in Redding and wound up randomly selecting a hotel. Having an on-site restaurant was one of the selling points. And wow did they sell that point. The following is the restaurant’s manifesto that appears in the Guest Directory and on the menu cover:

C.R. GIBBBS AMERICAN GRILLE

“Where Rumors End and Legends Begin”

The American Grille is a place to enjoy great food or a casual drink in a fun, fast-moving atmosphere. Our staff will not only give you great service but they will show you the meaning of

“EATERTAINMENT!”

With an open exhibition kitchen, you can watch our Chef and his staff prepare your favorite wood fired pizza or rotisserie cooked chicken. [KB: Don’t chickens take hours to cook on a rotisserie? Would it even be that exciting to watch in less time?] You might even catch a glimpse of the magic flame, as one of our culinary artists deglazes a pan with his favorite liqueur, on his way to creating the evening special.

From a pint of “Guiness” to an icy cold “Budweiser” or a “Downtown Brown” our bar offers over 15 selections of beer and micro brews on tap. Our carefully selected wine list offers you a variety of California and Imported wines to satisfy the most sophisticated palette. [Yes, sic. They’re referring to the wooden shipping/bonfire material here.]

So come in, sit back, relax and enjoy the one place in Redding…
“Where Rumors End and Legends Begin”


I don’t have too much time to get into all of my own observations, but there was plenty more to keep me entertained, from the trying-way-too-hard food (I’ve never seen crushed pistachios dumped into an oil & balsamic bread dip… on purpose) to the singing kitchen staff.

I did ask the hostess, Amber, about the slogan “Where Rumors End and Legends Begin.” “What kind of rumors are you referring to,” I asked. “Did something awful happen here?” Amber laughed and tried to elaborate. “It’s like, when you asked me earlier what I liked on the menu, and I told you that I take the fish and chips home every night. So, now there’s a rumor you’ve heard that the fish and chips are really good. And you or someone else might hear that and try them, and then find out that the rumor is true.”

Let the Legend begin.

It was Wednesday night, it was El Coyote, it was Marty's birthday, it was a reunion of sorts, it was two groups of friends taking over the 'anything goes' back room, it was smoking in the girls room, it was throwing candy at strangers, it was way too many margaritas, it was making out on the sidewalk, it was when worlds collide and both turn out to be pinatas.

evidence

If you can picture myself, Megan, Tally and Abraham dancing and jumping and screaming our heads off in the very front row of Duran Duran's sold out Staples Center show on Saturday, you might be able to imagine how I'm feeling today.

I didn't wake up on Sunday until 11:20, already making me 20 minutes late for a brunch in my honor being held across town. And by the time I arrived it was 11:50 and I could barely focus or speak. Suddenly, an angel appeared in a hot pink wig to answer my prayers: unexpected guest Miss Megan MacEachern came walking up with two bottles of champagne and two even more unexpected guests visiting from Canada. Thanks to them, the focus was shifted away from me, and I slunk out of the spotlight, into the kitchen for champagne and talks with friends 2-3 at a time.

The champage kept flowing all day on a gorgeous afternoon. Finally it was time to leave for Brad & Lisa's Oscar party. More bubbly with a new crowd. Tivo is the only way to tolerate the Oscars or any awards show. And it also helps to have in your audience some sharp-witted friends. Watched the LIVE post-party report on the local news stations for a bit (only in L.A.) and finally got to bed around 1 am.

Today it's Monday and the events of the weekend are finally catching up to me. My back is sore from jumping up and down at the show. My head is foggy and my stomach feels weird from the nonstop booze and whatnot assault that started Friday and never let up. But it's not all bad. I break out in the giggles when I think about meeting Simon Le Bon, or Nick Rhodes leaving a message on Shelley's answering machine. And getting down on Danielle's dancefloor at the after-after party was memorably funny, as was seeing someone who I used to think was hot wearing a terrible outfit, and wondering later whether or not it was a good idea to make out with that guy with braces. And I can only imagine what sort of impression I made on my ex-boyfriend's current dude, who I finally met for the first time near the end of the night, a.k.a. start of the morning.

I did manage to make it to the gym today, and that helped shake off a bit of the aftermath. I'll be there every day this week, as tonight kicks off four solid days and nights of lunches and dinners with clients and friends.

I thought living in Los Angeles was tough... but visiting town might be even more extreme.

Just how boring has my life become here in San Diego? Here’s a perfect, hard-to-believe example: I’ve become a gym rat.

As a member of the 24 Hour Fitness chain, I can avoid working out wherever there’s a local outpost. I’ve avoided exercise everywhere from Honolulu to Houston. There happens to be a 24 Hour Fitness on Miramar Road, just about 10 minutes from my parents’ house. I’ve actually visited this gym a few times over the years, usually in a desperate effort to work off just one home-cooked meal.

But with the gym now being one of my few good reasons to leave the house, I’m really into it. It started slowly at first, a quick 30 minute workout on the cross-trainer. I was laughably sore the next day. But it also felt kind of good. So I went back the next day. And the day after that, until it became a daily routine. And once this week when I woke up unusually early, I actually went to the gym TWICE in one day.

The funny thing is, there’s zero incentive at this gym for anything other than working out. The clientele is not that hot, surprising given its location across from Miramar Marine Corps air station. But the Marines probably have their own concrete, steel and hidden webcam-studded facilities on base. I should borrow one of my parents’ cars with the military access stickers and do a little investigating. I’d probably be laughed right out of the building, if not actually thrown out for ogling. Or otherwise.

Back to my gym. It’s ugly, with whitish/pinkish walls. It’s not that big, only one story, about the size of a roller rink because that’s what this building used to house. There’s no pool. The steam room is decidedly un-titillating. There aren’t many TVs in the cardio areas and the few they have are tuned mostly to boring sports channels.

But have iPod, will work out. Thankfully I’ve got some really good breakbeat and hard house stuff on mine. It’s almost ancient in electronica terms, but it works.

I often wonder if people can tell that I’m actually kind of doing tiny dance moves in my cardio, or how clear it is that my pace and movements are tied to the music I’m listening to. At this gym, I couldn’t care less if anyone noticed. Maybe that’s why I’m having so much fun at the gym--- I’m following that horrible mantra seen on inspirational posters, greeting cards and online profiles: “dance like no one is watching.” Eeesh. I’d better stop thinking that way or I’ll never go back.

Actually, I’ve caught a few people checking me out. Not really in a “nice moves” kind of way…. more like, “Are you really a firefighter?” because I always wear a fire department t-shirt to the gym. It probably frightens people to think that I’m the guy coming to the rescue.

I was really looking forward to returning home with a Southern California tan. As we’ve had way more rain here than in Seattle, the only way that’s going to happen is if I pop into a Mystic Tan booth before I hit the road. Even a fake bake would look a lot better on a slightly tighter bod.

Besides the gym, I’ve been spending a lot of time online. So maybe my gym-going is also a result of wanting to have the kind of body that would allow me to pose shirtless on a webpage. Not that I would ever do that in a million years, at least not in some posed shot that I had a friend take for me, or the classic “headless man in the bathroom mirror” solo shot. But it would be nice to feel like I could do that, if I wanted to.

There is one nice shirtless shot of me up on the web for all the world to see. But in the picture I have the aesthetic advantage of being in a hot tub with my arm around a sexy, wet, shirtless and smiling guy. And I think the most attractive aspect of that picture is how happy and at ease we both seem, in general and with each other. I look at that picture when I want to remind myself how it feels to be truly comfortable, and how good that looks on me. It feels good to look good, whether from situps or satisfaction.

Will all this working out continue when I do get home? It had better. I’ve got televisions to appear on this summer.

The weather here in San Diego is behaving so much like Seattle’s. Rain one minute, blue skies the next. It’s kind of like that inside as well as outside, at least at my house.

The day I arrived back in San Diego (Tue Feb 15) was my parents’ anniversary. I got home around noon. On that day, Mom was having a lot of pain. But she didn’t want to take any pain meds because she was afraid she’d sleep through dinner with my Dad. And when she finally broke down to take the medicine, she also broke down to me, sobbing uncontrollably and begging me to make sure I stayed home for dinner so my Dad wouldn’t be alone on their anniversary. But I managed to calm her down and just stayed close to her and tried to convince her that everything would be okay.

Surprisingly to all, it actually turned out okay. The meds got her pain under control enough that she was able to take a snooze and later join Dad and I for dinner. My parents opened some anniversary cards and presents, including my contribution of a Ganeesh idol that I picked up at Uncle Jer’s in L.A. “Removes Obstacles” said the little identifying card next to Ganeesh, which of course made it the perfect gift. So now there’s a little brass elephant-shaped idol hanging out with all the other angels and totems and healing knickknacks that people have sent.

Ganeesh may have done the trick (or just timed his arrival right), because the next day was my Mom’s first pain-free day since November. And the day after that was pretty good too. We actually got out to run a few errands together, had some laughs over “The Office” DVD that I brought and had my brother and nephews over for dinner.

Now we’ve entered another phase, this one with its own unique mix of good and bad.

My Mom is currently riding high on steroids, part of the chemo regimen that she began again yesterday. This time they fitted her with a little “to go” type fanny pack (though she’s wearing it in a much cooler ‘messenger bag’ style) so the treatment is happening right here at home. And when Mom’s on steroids, she’s almost back to her version of “normal.” But in the immortal words of Dr. Kimberly Shaw, just before she blew up the building on “Melrose Place”--- “It’s not what you think. It’s worse.” Because my Mom, who has a tendency to overthink and fret over the tiniest details, is micro-managing every move my Dad or I attempt to make, and thinking aloud about people and places and dates to remember and notes to write and, above all else, things to buy. “We should get some daffodils from the farmer’s market.” “You should go to Costco, look at the tires, then go back tomorrow and get them.” “When I’m feeling better we’re going to eat at new restaurants, it’s time to break out of this rut. Let’s look at some menus now.”

While it’s encouraging to see my Mom in this energetic state, I must admit that it’s also annoying when she’s so overboard. And my poor Dad! He’s the one who does all the running around, as neither he nor my Mom seem to want me to ever leave the house. My main role is phone and door answerer, which keeps me surprisingly busy. And I do much of the housework. But oh my GOD would I love to be entrusted with something as minor as the grocery list, just to have something to do, a reason to go somewhere. I know my parents are just happy to have me around, but I’m starting feel like… a pet. Like a talking, colorful bird or a big lazy dog.

At the same time, I’m really torn about leaving. I want to but I don’t. I need to but I can’t. I still haven’t told my parents that I’m probably leaving Thursday and probably not coming back. I might stick around longer based on my Mom’s condition, work stuff and other factors. But things have got to change. I’m just sort of stagnating here. I don’t have enough to do to help out at home, so I feel useless and bored. Meanwhile, I have tons of projects of my own that could use some attention, from my taxes to my TV show to my website. But it’s hard to even get started on them, especially without a place to really do any work.

I guess the numerologist lady was right on when she said that as a Libra, I need balance and control over my environment. But with my Mom going from meltdown to micromanagement over the course of a few days, it’s tough to feel like I’m on steady ground. Or know which way to turn.

put your hands over your face for Miss Jackie Stallone!

"Jackie pix"

She's giving Jocelyn Wildenstein (aka The Lion Lady) a real run for her money in the plastic surgery department.

The pix are from the recent celebrity version of "Big Brother," a UK reality-type game show that I got hooked on last summer.

I actually walked right past Jocelyn on the streets of Manhattan once... wow! I nearly had a heart attack. Right up there with meeting Tammy Faye as one of my most treasured/disturbing celebrity encounters.

Have to backtrack for a moment to relay something funny from Sunday.

I always attend the Stupor Bowl party (and have actually thrown it a few times) because it's the one party of the year where you know you'll see some old cronies who you won't see for another year. Strange how people always seem to return to it, given the Super Bowl association that the majority of my friends could care less about. But we always have great DJs... myself included!

Anyway, this year one of those 'once a year' people was Thea, an ex-girlfriend of Adam's. We said hellos at first, then chatted a bit later on, then found ourselves side-by-side on the dancefloor and had a hilariously good time bumping and grinding together.

And later, after the party was over and the lights were on, the guy who brought the sound system (old-school Moontriber Christian) came over to Thea and me and said, in all seriousness, "I really liked the way you guys were moving together out there." Which of course prompted us to fall all over ourselves in slightly self-conscious laughter.

One minute you're trying to remember each other's names, the next you're wowing the crowd with your synchronized dance moves. That's the kind of company I like to keep.

I’m in San Diego now with my folks. Spent Saturday and Sunday nights in LA at Abe & Louie’s fab new pad. The Stupor Bowl was a blast, a really good time and as usual a chance to catch up with some old friends. My DJ set was short but sweet, with a few choice tracks donated by DJ Freddy, King of Pants. Thanks Freddy! I got into some trouble that night. Good trouble! The kind of trouble where you're up too late and you do things that make you laugh and cringe a little the next day. But it was all good.

I was a bit of a mess when I finally woke up on Monday. After 15 minutes of quality pooch time with Spencer, I started running around the house, gathering my shit up. My Mom was still in the hospital, having been admitted Friday afternoon for a variety of reasons related to her cancer. She had made it clear that I was not to skip out on the Stupor Bowl, but now it was time to get my ass to San Diego and I was not in great shape.

Finally got my gear into my muddy, tape- and trash-littered truck and hit the road. In a classic flashback to my previous life in LA, the most pressing issue was finding gas and food and the shortest, fastest, most efficient way to get them and go. Just figuring out what to have for lunch is the kind of thing that used to take me hours in LA. I wound up sitting down to pad see yew at Mae Ploy in Echo Park, which was actually perfect as I didn’t realize until after I’d ordered and eaten that all my cash was gone. I forgot that I had given the last of my bills to Art for his post-party plans with some dude he'd met.

Afterwards it was my truck’s turn to get filled up. While pumping gas at a nearby station I was dumbstruck by just how LOUD everything was. I felt assaulted by a deafening roar of traffic, music, people, choppers, etc. It was really just a typical LA day, the kind of environment that I paid no mind to as an Angeleno. After less than a year away, I guess I’m already used to my quieter life on top of Queen Anne.

Finally made it to the hospital, just in time for my Mom to take a snooze. I went downstairs to the cafeteria and my phone rang. It was an agency I hadn't worked with in a while. Was I available for a meeting at 10 am the next morning? I kind of laughed and explained that I’d just left LA to be with my Mom in the hospital. “So…. you can’t make it then?” Uh, no. The only bad thing is that the project was for a client that had previously contacted me a few weeks ago to let me know they had a lot of projects for me between now and June. But this one just couldn’t be done.

My Mom finally came home from the hospital Wednesday morning. I’m now on “Mom watch” at home while my Dad does his thing at work. When I was down here in November, the drill was based around my Mom’s good days and bad days. Now it’s good hours and bad hours. This is going to be a very long month.

Time moves very slowly here at my parents’ house. I had some other projects that were due this week and I got them all done early. I spent fifteen minutes the other day throwing rocks at a huge lizard sitting out on the deck. It never moved, so I concluded it was dead and prayed that a cat or a gardener would come along to take care of it. A few hours later it was gone. I've made some really good pre-production progress on my TV show. I think I also need a book.

My back problems are starting to come back a bit. There’s not really a good place for me to sit and work here. You’d think in a two-story, four-bedroom house there might be one decent spot to plug in a laptop. You’d be wrong. My first night here, when I was really stressed out about my pending deadlines, I worked in bed until 1 am. When I got up, that old familiar stabbing pain came back. No more of that. I think I also need to keep up with the exercising and get back on some of the supplements I’d been taking. If I can survive a three-day drive down the entire west coast without any pain, I don’t want to start deteriorating here in a San Diego suburb. Which means I also need to stay out of my parents’ kitchen, which is stocked mostly with junk we’d filled our Christmas stockings with. Chocolate-covered “moose droppings,” anyone?

I’m hoping to make it back up to LA this weekend to see some more people, hit the MOCA opening on Saturday and maybe catch a show. Monday is, of course, Valentine’s Day (“fucking hearts”) but even better is that it’s also Tim’s birthday. And! Filet Mignon Night at Taix! So maybe I’ll stick around for that. Tuesday is my parent’s anniversary so I’m sure something will happen that night. If it’s a good day.

Greetings from Willows, CA.

The goal today in my drive south was to reach Redding, CA. When I made it there around 5 pm I decided to keep going until I couldn't take it any more. My new goal became Santa Nella, where there is nothing much but a lone Pea Soup Andersens' hotel, restaurant and BAR. I have always wanted to throw back a few in the vaguely Bavarian-themed Pea Soup Lounge. Sadly, I couldn't possibly have made it, as my time calculations would've had me arriving around 10pm, just as the bar would be closing. (I called and checked)

Instead I wound up in Willows, which isn't all bad. I have free high-speed internet in my room, not wireless as promised by the plastic banner out front but it'll do. The one thing that really sucks about my room is that the TV is off to the side of the bed instead of at the foot, but after adjusting both the furniture and my position in bed it will be fine. I tried moving the bed itself but it seems to be attached to some sort of ancient hydraulic-type system. I didn't do too much poking around back there-- ignorance of what's lying behind my hotel bed is my only hope for semi-blissful sleep.

It's quite funny that I ended up here in Willows, because I actually was thinking about this town today but forgot the name. On my drive/move up to Seattle in April, I stopped here to pick up some KFC to eat later in my train-car room in Dunsmuir, about 90 minutes north. While at KFC I asked the chicken handlers if there was a liquor store nearby, as I had learned that neither the restaurant nor 'bar car' would be open at my beloved Railroad Park Inn in Dunsmuir, where I was planning to stay. Turns out there was a liquor store right across the street.

I walked in and there was a line of migrant worker types waiting to get their Bud Light rung up. I wanted some wine, and I was pleasantly surprised to see a dark, paneled room near the back with dusty wrought-iron wine displays. And as I poked around in there, I was even more pleasantly surprised to see all these reasonably priced, fairly decent wines. They even had quite a few Australian/New Zealand wines, which I love. But here's the best part: business was not booming in that particular department, as indicated by the cobwebs and dust. So all these okay wines had been sitting there on the darkened shelves, literally gathering dust for who knows how long... in other words: cellared! At their original low-rent prices! I think I bought six bottles.

So I was thinking about that place today and meaning to keep my eyes open for shitty, out-of-the-way liquor stores. And it wasn't until after I checked in here and went wandering around Willows that I located that very same store. Perhaps I told too many people that story from my drive up, because the selection was not as good. But I still got some really great deals on what I hope will turn out to be really fantastic wines. A 97 Mondavi merlot for 8 bucks is nothing to sneeze at... even if it is covered in dust.

In my line of work, it’s not uncommon to get confusing or downright contradictory direction from my clients. It’s really not surprising anymore and totally comes with the territory.

This is, after all, an industry where we sometimes resort to a “mis-direct,” which involves setting the audience up for one type of emotion/experience, only to do a fast switch. Surprise! It’s actually this kind of movie! This can actually work well for either horror movies or comedies, but it’s a trick that’s been done to death.

The other trick we sometimes pull is to tell our own version of the story, focusing on the most “sellable” aspect of a film and making it seem like that’s what the movie is all about. For example, I once worked on a depressing movie about drug abusers that became (in our trailer) a sexy movie about star-crossed lovers.

And sometimes you get direction that just makes you laugh out loud. The all-time best I ever heard was, “We want something like, ‘In space, no one can hear you scream.’ But funnier.”

Last week I was working on a movie about a girl with unbelievable luck. I was really happy with the job I did, with my one concern being that I might’ve been a little too edgy/racy, as the audience for this movie is strictly teenage girls.

Surprise! The client felt my stuff was “too old-fashioned,” that I needed to be more hip and current.

So what do they want instead? “Position her like Ann-Margaret, Mary Tyler Moore or ‘That Girl.’”

I’m fairly certain that most teenage girls have never even heard of any of those examples, and doubt that an average 15 year-old would relate to them. But that’s studio logic for you. It doesn’t get more Hollywood than that.

Wow! Looks like I'll be spending both days at the fest again this year.

What a great mix of new and "old." Cocteau Twins under the desert stars gives me chills. Actually, this whole lineup gets me all goosebumpy.


Sat April 30

Coldplay
Bauhaus
Weezer
Cocteau Twins
Chemical Brothers
Wilco
Keane
Snow Patrol
Rilo Kiley
Cafe Tacuba
Doves
Sage Francis
Amin Van Buuren
Raveonettes
Bloc Party
Mercury Rev
Fantomas
Hernan Cattaneo
Zap Mama
DJ Peretz
Secret Machines
Jamie Cullum
M83
Ambulance LTD
Four Tet
MF Doom
Josh Wink
Amp Fiddler
Tiga
The Kills
Donovan Frankenreiter
Spoon
Boom Bip
Katie Melua
DJ Marky
Immortal Technique
Jean Grae
Razorlight
Swayzak
Radio 4
Buck 65
Eisley
Sexy Magazines
k-os


Sunday May 1

Nine Inch Nails
New Order
Bright Eyes
Gang of Four
Prodigy
Black Star
The Faint
Roni Size
Arcade Fire
Roots Manuva
DJ Krush
Thrice
Junkie XL
MIA
British Sea Power
Dresden Dolls
Miss Kittin
Fiery Furnaces
Aesop Rock
Perceptionists
Jem
Autolux
Sixtoo
Tegan & Sara
Stereophonics
The Bravery
Matthew Dear
Diplo
Subtle
Beans
Shout Out Louds
Futureheads
Sloan
Kasabian
Blood Brothers
Matmos
Wolf Eyes
Gram Rabbit
Smokestacks
Zion I

To the tranny performer at Pho Bang last night who did the deaf-mute lip-synch performance of Cher's "I Found Someone," thank you for making me nearly wet my pants.

I pray I'm wearing Depends the next time I see something that funny.

Aside from some things I've seen in stage shows and on television, I think I’ve attended maybe one modern dance performance in my entire life. Until this month, when I saw three.

Two were last Saturday at On The Boards. Carlos invited me to join him for a double-bill show, and so far I’ve been pretty impressed with everything I’ve seen at OTB so I took him up on the offer.

The first performance was not very good. I spent the first 5?10?15? minutes (it felt like forever) trying to figure out what was going on, how I was supposed to feel, what the point/purpose was. There were two women dressed as stewardesses walking very slowly with two women dressed in white-blond mop top wigs, the latter also in lederhosen and walking on their knees. It wasn’t until one of the mop tops climbed onto a serving cart and started eating a gingerbread house that I made the Hansel & Gretel connection. Having the slightest clue about what was going on made it a bit better, and the witch who eventually appeared was kind of creepy-cool. But then it just got weird again. And boring. And lame.

During the intermission, everyone we talked with pretty much hated it. Oh well— I’d rather have a “bad” experience than no experience at all. Fortunately the second performance was much better. It was a local group called Locust, and they definitely had a more familiar, Capitol Hill-esque attitude and flair that everyone totally tapped into. There was a video element to their production that had everyone laughing, and the way they staged elements of the performance offstage was intriguing and effective. I was very impressed.

But even Locust paled in comparison to what I’d seen the previous weekend: Buttrock Suites II: Sweeter. Modern dance interpretations of heavy metal music. God was it good! And hysterical, like the opening number where the dancers emerged in slo-mo through a cloud of fog, all dressed in 80s rocker regalia, to the synth faux-horns opening of Europe’s pop-rock hit, “The Final Countdown.”

Not every number was played strictly for laughs. In fact, may favorite was the Joan Jett medley, with four female dancers dressed in ripped black clothing getting all sexy and sassy with each other and flashing their tits at the audience. I actually got chills at one point – it was that good! Or maybe that was just the $2 PBR they were encouraging the audience to consume. No, it was the performance. The crowd got really into it, for a dance performance anyway—whooping and cheering and holding lighters in the air during the medleys. Diana and Candace came with and they loved it too. Hope there’s a Buttrock Suites 3.

Looking forward to doing a lot of dancing myself at the Scissor Sisters show at the Paramount on Thursday! Josh rocks for scoring us sold-out tix for the 21+ dancefloor. Their show last year at Neumo’s was fun but that was before I had the album, which I now love, so this should be even better.

It took me all of 24 hours to reach a few important, attitude-altering conclusions about my upcoming month away:

1. Driving myself down will give me the freedom to come and go whenever/wherever I want. Duh. And I can see some friends along the way. And while I'm in LA, I might just buy myself a new car for the ride home.

2. I can get a ton of necessary stuff accomplished while I'm in SoCal: get my taxes done, do research & planning for the show (some of which will be as simple as watching my LA-based inspiration, Huell Howser, on TV), meet with new clients and catch-up with others, make plans with my family for our upcoming Alaska adventure, and even get a haircut from James, stylist to the stars!

3. I'm going to have a fucking blast! The Dim Sum Club has invited me to join them on a trek to Monterey Park. I'm thinking this might also be a good opportunity to see the Palm Springs Follies 'cause I'm definitely planning to spend some time out there. Finally get to check out some fun new clubs I've been hearing about, including Akbar's "Dirty House." And there a ton of great concerts coming up, including Duran Duran @ Staples (and as this is the night before the Oscars, you know it's gonna be celeb-heavy), Interpol @ Grand Olympic, Luna & Midnight Movies @ El Rey. I have a sneaking suspicion that there might be a Grandaddy & Earlimart gig in LA next month as well.

4. Finally, and most importantly of all, my Mom is very excited I'm coming. And my time with her comes before all the above.

My parents left the Mayo Clinic today. The good news, if you can call it that, is that the course of treatment my Mom had been undergoing in San Diego was determined to be her best bet. The bad news is that there was no magical Mayo silver bullet, which I think we were all holding out hope for. They still aren't even sure exactly what kind of cancer it is. But a world-renowned team of Mayo Clinic doctors decided that surgery was out (for now) and put her back on the long, uncertain road of chemo treatment we started on.

People ask me "How are you doing with all this" and there is no adequate or accurate answer. My official role in the family is Mr. Power of Positivity, so I'm trying to keep that going externally at least. And when I'm home, I'm the Minister of Good News/Bad News, aka "Phone Grinch" by some of my Mom's friends who call way too often for updates and get sort of huffy when I won't wake my Mom up out of a chemo-induced coma so they can chit-chat with her. In short, there's a lot of spin going on. But the situation is so uncertain, I feel like it's better to focus on the positive and best possible outcome. Even if I don't always believe it myself.

In other major life-disrupting news, I finally got the schedule for my kitchen remodel: Feb 7 - Mar 4. That's if everything goes well and on schedule. I'm having to apply a lot of spin tactics to this as well: I'm getting a new kitchen! This is a perfect opportunity to get out of town! See my Mom! Visit friends and clients in LA! Relax in Palm Springs! Do some work on the cabin in Birch Bay!

The overriding problem is that the timing just stinks. I have so many things I could (and should) be doing here in Seattle, especially with a pending May start-date for my local TV production. But staying here is not an option. A well-informed source recently told me that as a Libra, creating a comfortable environment is very important for me, as well as a sense of balance, order and control. So trying to live through a kitchen remodel is out for sure. And spending the next month away, not by choice, is also a tough nut to swallow. I'm sure my outlook will change once I'm floating in a Palm Springs pool with some friends I miss terribly. What's weird is that I used to have no problem leaving LA for weeks, just to hang out in Seattle. I guess I really like it here. Love it even.

My Mom & Dad arrived at the Mayo Clinic on Sunday. 'IT'S COLD IN ROCHESTER' read the subject line of the first email from them. Some other town in Minnesota apparently reported temperatures of 54 below zero. 'Brrr' would be just the beginning of the understatement.

Apparently the whole town of 89,000 is built entirely around the Mayo Clinic. The whole downtown is connected by skywalks and underground tunnels to the clinic. Every hotel/motel makes some mention of the M.C. on their signboards. It sounds to me like the Disneyland of Life-Threatening Illnesses, a comment which was almost enough to make my Mom laugh.

A whole lot of emotions hanging in the balance right now. Fingers and toes crossed accordingly.

Checked out a Seattle Thunderbirds hockey game last night with Mike and Diana. A fine way to spend two hours and ten bucks.

Sweaty boys in bulky gear, wielding sticks, smashing glass, taking swings, pulling no punches. And most fearsome of all: a white trash woman with painted purple nails, taunting the guy from the other team who got put in the penalty box after fighting (and losing), her sitting three feet away with one inch of plastic between them. “YOU GOT YOUR ASS KICKED BY A ROOKIE!” All he could do was lower his head.

We lost. But we’ll be back.

On Sunday I was over at Dave & Jake’s to watch the premiere of “The Surreal Life” season 4. Kelly and Hannah were there too. All of us nearly died. The show has finally reached its zenith, I think… but in this case is that a high point or a low point?

I think the only thing I’ve ever seen that was more cringeworthy was this old educational film from the 60s that was produced to teach mentally-handicapped girls about feminine hygiene. And the only thing I’ve ever seen that made me laugh harder was "Casual Fridays," also presented by Dave & Jake. I’m very lucky to have friends so like-minded in enjoyably warped ways.

We all laughed hysterically, painfully even. And after it was over, someone mentioned feeling "dirty.” Perhaps that explains why I came home and cleaned my office until 2 am. Thank you, nude and inebriated Verne Troyer, for turning me into a white tornado.

Looking forward to more exciting episodes...

This photo along with that headline (CATCH THE WAVE!!!) arrived in my inbox as spam, promoting some sort of business opportunity "with the man who created the infomercial!" Ugh.

Not that spam was ever known for tastefulness or tact. But in our post-tsunami times, this really sucks.

This is the first time I’ve ever lived in a part of the world where they actually have winter. I spent most of my years in Southern California, where it certainly gets colder around this time of year but is nothing compared to this.

This morning I woke up sometime around 6:30 am. I hadn’t even made it to bed until 3, so I have no idea how it was that I had woken up.

I was thirsty after a night of drinking, but before I went for water I walked straight to my front door. And there it was, for the first time in my life: my world, covered in snow.

It was such a novel experience, all the wonder, excitement, curiosity and surprise I was feeling at once. When was the last time I had felt all that? Though I’d been obsessed with the weather reports for days, hoping that it might snow here in Seattle (and knowing that it likely would) it still came as such a surprise. I literally felt like a kid on Christmas, and the grogginess I awoke with vanished instantly. I threw on some sweats, grabbed my camera and went outside.

It was so quiet, and the sky was this very peculiar shade of orange, broken by gray clouds and darkness. The only sign of life was a single car in the distance, plowing across the Aurora Bridge. Knowing that their journey over Lake Union had to be a white-knuckler, my heart went out to the driver.

I took some pictures of the backyard then walked to the front of the house. Everything was covered in snow in such an unbelievably perfect way. It looked almost like the streets and trees and houses had somehow sprouted snow, every inch of frost a wonder of the kind that only nature can produce.

I walked down the front steps, careful to keep my footprints to the side of the walk, not wanting to disturb the pristine powder. But once I got into the street, there was no way to move without leaving tracks behind. I started walking, stopping to take pictures of untouched areas before I entered, then moving through.

A few times I would also turn to look at the tracks I’d left behind. And while I always felt the same sense of wonder and excitement looking forward, I experienced such a weird mix of feelings looking back. I finally stopped in the middle of the street, staring back at my path through the snow, trying to make sense out of a surge of emotions.

I’m usually really good at figuring things out. People, places, directions, destinations—I thrive on feeling like I know the story on all these sorts of things, whether through intuition or understanding. And when I draw a blank, or am just plain wrong, it really throws me for a loop. Especially when what I’m trying to figure out is myself.

Like a lot of issues I’ve had to wrap my head around lately, I’m still thinking about what I was feeling this morning, out there alone in the snow. This is as far as I’ve come in making a conclusion:

Every move makes an impact, no matter how seemingly small. You can’t undo what you’ve done. All you can do is remember how you got where you are, while moving on and looking forward to what lies ahead.

Perhaps it’s more complicated than that. But for where I’m at in my head, I think it’s a good place to start.

Conclusion #2: Maybe I should be writing Hallmark cards for a living.

My parents called to remind me about the Orange Bowl game tonight. As a USC alumni, I should’ve been with my friends in Miami for the game. Or at least watching it on television. But I got sucked into Tsunami Watch and didn’t switch over to the game until the 2nd quarter.

Thank god I started watching in time for the halftime show, because it was exactly what I needed today: a huge joke.

It was moderately funny when they announced “superstar Ashley Simpson” and the crowd could be heard booing. And a good chuckle when the show was kicked off moments later by Kelly Clarkson and a dead microphone, with backing tracks kicking in to the rescue. And unbelievably funny that Ashlee Simpson sang both out of tune and time with her own backing vocals. Will she never learn?

But the most hysterical element of all was the huge “anarchy” symbol they had as a stage backdrop. You. Have. Got. To. Be. Fucking. Kidding. Me.

Suffice to say, the whole performance got an ever bigger boo at the bitter end. Except from me: I was laughing too hard.

Then a U2 video came on and reminded me of when/why I *stopped* liking them. That was a short second honeymoon! Actually the new album is not so bad, but Bono's vocals aren't what they used to be. Maybe he could pick up some backing track tricks from Ashley and Kelly.

After a disturbingly slow period for me work-wise, I picked up a brand-new client. As is often the case with new clients for me, they were pitching a new client themselves and needed a whip-smart writer (that's me) to help them out.

I thought the project wouldn't be happening until January, but I got the call on Wed, Dec 29 - it's a go! And! It's due Friday! And! We probably won't have the information you need to do your work until Thursday!

So I put my thinking cap on and starting brainstorming concepts... most of which would get tossed after I finally got the project brief on Thursday. I was a little worried about pulling this off: three separate web campaigns for two different fast food clients, which to me meant I had to present at least 15 concepts. They wanted edgy. They wanted breakthrough. They wanted viral. And they wanted it in less than 24 hours.

And if that wasn't stressful enough, I had a meeting with Brad that night. I had a Christmas present for him that was burning a hole under my tree. More importantly, I hadn't seen him since our relationship hit an iceberg. But we had at least lowered the terror alert level from "break up" to "time apart." Or so I had thought.

So I go to a bar to meet Brad. He's an hour late, not his fault, and actually good because it gave me some time to have a drink and...just...relax. He finally shows up and we exchange presents. He'd had a hefty chunk of his cd collection stolen from his car recently, so I bought him a new cd case and stocked it full of music that we both loved, with special emphasis on bands we'd seen together. It was my last attempt at a meaningful reconciliation. Aside from the gift itself, it failed miserably.

Because about an hour later, after Brad had told me how good I looked and how much he missed me and kept touching my leg, I finally asked him: "What's up with us?" Besides his last request of me weeks ago that I give him some time "without giving up" on him, he still had his Friendster profile listed as 'In a Relationship.' And as silly as that may sound, Friendster is how we met. And I still remember the day we both changed our profiles to 'In A Relationship,' and talking about how that felt and what a big deal it was for us both.

But apparently it was all for show. "I thought it was obvious that we weren't in a relationship," he said. I guess I should've expected as much from the guy who first mentioned any problems with our relationship by simply informing me that it was over.

The conversation got messy and confusing from that point. I left, horrified and humiliated. I called him when I got home, trying to figure out what happened, trying again to save our relationship or at least make sense of it. The one thing I remember him saying was, "I'm out." Tough to find a way around that. I hung up.

So I took a sleeping pill at midnight and went to bed and woke up at 4 AM anyway and sat down in front of my computer. And though I had this huge, insane deadline for a brand new client (and their brand new client), I started writing a letter to Brad. The letter was, I must admit, not very nice. But once I got a first draft done, I was finally able to get started on my work. And then I went back to the letter. And back to the work. It went on like this all fucking day; a sentence here, a few words there, me trying to concentrate but my emotions grabbing the wheel and veering me back and forth at a dizzying, disorienting rate.

I only took a break to keep an appointment with a dermatologist. And while sitting in the examination room, waiting for the doctor to come in, I actually thought I was having a heart attack. My chest started pounding and hurting and my teeth ached in a very weird and painful way. I described it to someone later and they said it was probably an anxiety attack, but I've never experienced anything like it. Thankfully it stopped after a few scary minutes, but for a moment I considered running out into the hallway and screaming, "A doctor! I need a REAL doctor!"

I came home and went back to work on both pressing projects. Finally, around 9:30 pm, I sent off the work. It wasn't due until the morning but I just wanted it sent and gone. And within a few hours the creative director (who also, apparently, spends too much time in front of his computer) had emailed me back: You did it. You kicked ass. This is awesome. You are amazing.

Today the work got presented to the client's client. They loved it too - my revisions were miniscule at most.

The letter to Brad I never sent. We did have an email exchange in the aftermath, but I think that's gonna be it. As hurt and confused as I am over what's happened with us, the thought of him hurting, or me hurting him, is weirdly the worst feeling of all. And I guess some letters are best written but never sent.

This artwork was posted on the Grandaddy message board today. I'm assuming it's the work of my prolific and talented pal, Aaron Burtch.

It's almost unreal how perfectly it sums up exactly how I feel on this night of nights.

Grandaddy to the rescue, again.

2005 can't get here fast enough. Of course it's silly to read too much into something as ultimately meaningless as the end of one year and the beginning of another. But for what's it worth, it works.

So many people, places and parties to choose from for the big switch. Will it be old friends or new flings? New places or familiar faces? I'm kind of shooting for a bit of both. And I definitely want to see some of the fireworks. After spending the last few weeks in a long, slow fizzle, I'm ready to fucking explode. In a really good way.

Shimmer on horizons, everyone. Happy New Year to you all.

Finally something good to come out of Florida:

"http://www.southflorida.com/news/sfl-scaredsanta.photogallery"

It's Sunday night and I'm still only semi-recovered from Diana & Mike's annual XXXmas party and Giftapalooza, which celebrated its 13th anniversary over the weekend here in Seattle.

This is the party where people bring some seriously fucked-up presents to unload on the unsuspecting random masses. You bring a present to put under the tree, then try your luck at picking out a new prize from what others have brought. It was a bit of a smaller crowd than in previous years, but the "quality" of presents (and people in attendance) was very, very high. So to speak.

New Seattle resident Sasha Krushnik made an inspired first impression with the present he brought: a bag of mushrooms. The poor girl who opened that was immediately bum-rushed.

Still, I think I may have been the recipient of the most popular present. And as Christmas is a time for sharing I let everyone at the party get a piece of the action, as you'll see from the photos I put together in a quicktime movie.

Download "hoho04.mov" from here:

"http://homepage.mac.com/keith_bacon/FileSharing2.html"

Not sure how I let the blog slip by me for so long. Maybe too busy, maybe too involved with other stuff. And now feels like a weird time to jump back in it with so much insanely heavy stuff going down in my life.

I think I'll keep this re-entry simple and just say hello. Again.