All Soul's Night

I'm due for some soul-searching....
_________________________________

In other news, I'm working through At Play in the Fields of the Lord. Ooph, another seriously deep book. Mostly over my head. Wow. Next up, Atlas Shrugged and then something a little lighter. Maybe Dickens, but that's not so light, I guess. Once you get past the language, though, Dickens novels tend to have fun, crunchy plots.

Sleep Fairies

Man, the Sleep Fairies love me! After dropping off my dad at work I return home to “fill up the tank” (get in those last two hours of sleep I need to function). I’m all snuggled up under the covers when I realize it’s Friday and the street sweeper comes today. So I put the car in the driveway, but with the rear wheels just barely resting on the slope of the driveway in order to leave room for my dad’s wife to maneuver her car around mine since she’s parked ahead of me.

I get all snuggled up again and maybe half an hour into a very interesting dream—it was one of those where I’m just lucid enough to kind of sit back and watch the dream like I’m watching a movie and I love when that happens!—so half an hour later I’m woken by a knock at the door despite my earplugs. I play dumb and go back to sleep, but the harm’s done ‘cause I can’t get back to that dream again.

Another half hour later I’m being shaken awake to the sound of “Your car’s rolled out of the driveway and clear to the other side of the road!” Damn. I forgot to put it in gear, something I get on my sister’s case for doing and something I almost never do.

Ok, one more time. I’m back under the covers with red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. This time, in addition to the earplugs I pull a beanie over my head and eyes to keep out the mocking sun. I’m in the middle of a very nice dream. A bunch of people (yes, She was among them, but I couldn't quite see Her; I just knew) are throwing me a surprise birthday party and they’ve just begun singing Happy Birthday and handed me over a gift and I’m getting all teary-eyed and emotional and…and the phone rings. It’s a cold call from some guy who found my name on the internet on a list of registered patent agents.

At this time, the local high school marching band decides it’s time to rehearse the drum solo and I give up. Ah, Sleep Fairies!

In a Nut Shell

I’ve made several allusions in past posts to not being able to sleep well (too tired now to hyperlink them here). It’s a usual occurrence for me, but especially bad the past month or so.

A few posts ago I also said something about not being a Hamlet, moping about and such. Hmm, I’m thinking of one particular line that is apt, however:

"O God, I could be bounded in a nut-shell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams. "

Only it wasn’t the spectre of a dead father that haunted my dreams last night….

(Really, I'm much too dramatic! (Pun most certainly intended.))

License to Steal

Someone came to me recently with an interesting legal problem. The person had registered a domain name that is also a registered trademark of some people who could afford to hire the lawyers to write a cease and desist letter.

This is such interesting stuff and right up my alley too...but I'm not an attorney yet and I find myself in that interesting position once again of trying to figure out the limits of what I can/should do or say. (There’s more I would say about this, but it’s probably not in my interest to be explicit.)

Funny, there have been about four different "opportunities" along these lines in the last few months. Some even came with the promise of remuneration, and all of them were unsolicited. That never happened when I was an engineer!

P31 Men

Proverbs 31 describes the ideal Godly woman--maybe a little too perfect--so it was poetic justice that someone should write the following parody for men:

Proverbs 31 (For Men)

Who can find a loving husband, for his value far exceeds that of a gardener, handyman, or financier.

The heart of his wife shall safely trust in him whether in the presence of a beguiling lady or a lonely woman seeking a listening ear.

He spendeth more time at home than on the golf course, bowling alley, or hunting trip.

He exerciseth restraint when bicycles and roller skates clutter the driveway.

He accepteth strawberry jelly kisses and peanut butter hugs with gladness.

He fixeth dump trucks and disjointed Barbie dolls with equal skills.

When wife screameth, he runneth to rescue and steppeth on a black spider without ado.

He forgetteth not wife's birthday and anniversary.

He noticeth wife's new dress, hairdo, shoes and purse, and complimenteth her accordingly.

He remembereth her beauty during uncomfortable pregnancies and showeth patience when new baby demandeth her time.

Shampoos, rinses, conditioners, assorted combs, curlers, and hair spray leaveth him confused, but he pondereth them all in silence.

He is not the perfectionist that thinketh an unmade bed or unwashed dishes indicateth laziness.

He hangeth curtains, fixeth faucets, and repaireth steps promptly, and thanketh the Lord that wife naggeth not.

He goeth to ball games and cheereth enthusiastically for son's team whether winning or losing.

He patiently endureth piano, clarinet, and violin lessons and sitteth on front row at recital.

When in-laws cometh to visit, he maketh them welcome.

He occasionally goeth shopping with wife and refraineth from grumbling, though lingerie and millinery appealeth to him not, and he secretly hopeth no other male seeth him.

When waiting for wife in car, he resisteth temptation to blow horn; upon departure, he accelerateth at normal speed.

He keepeth temper under control while helping children with modern math and applaudeth grades received, but he comprehendeth them not.

He refuseth not to attend Team Fellowship meetings and school Christmas programs.

He bestoweth affection lavishly on wife and children and remembereth to express appreciation verbally.

He communicateth freely with wife, doth not pout and sulk during time of disagreement.

His strength supporteth family in times of crises, yet he showeth tenderness and compassion.

He calmly accepteth wife's bewildering ways, though he may never fully understand her, he loveth her just the same.

Meet him at the door with combed hair, freshly pressed dress and powdered nose.

Greet him with a smile, a kiss and a warm welcome, for he is a priceless treasure.

(Unattributed)

The Fountainhead

I could sit here and write a review for every book I read and movie I watch, but that wouldn’t do. I would run the risk of boring myself and I can do that very well on my own! Even so, I rarely have the opportunity to discuss what I read with anyone else and when the book in question is so interesting as my latest read, my urge to talk about it gets the best of me. So, even if only by a few brief paragraphs on an anonymous blog, I'd like to say just a few things about Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead so that I can look back and remember something about my thoughts.

In The Fountainhead, Rand presents to us her conception of the ideal man: the producer who lives by his own effort who does not receive charity, does not give to the undeserving, and who honors achievement while rejecting envy and victimhood. Her hero is a creator, a man of ideas, a builder who depends on his own talents and then uses what he creates to trade with other independent people to reach his goals. You can discern in her philosophy the fundamentals of laissez-faire capitalism in which a strictly limited government protects each person's rights to life, liberty, and property and forbids infringement of those rights by other individuals.

Looking back at my years of schooling, I have vague recollections of reading excerpts of the works of Marx, Hegel (?), Jung (collective unconscious), Bryant (populism) and other authors whom I would broadly term "collectivists". To one extent or another their philosophies advocated a certain communal approach to economics and politics. My teachers often presented this material with a wistful longing, as though they would implore us to consider the error of our ways. There is something in the human psyche that is easily persuaded to feel guilty of our achievements, especially when we are confronted with the non-achievement of others. The idealist in us is persuaded and even led astray by these well-meaning feelings of—is it benevolence? No, it’s pity and there’s a world of difference between the two. The latter has the power to kill the creative impulse of the individual that drives prosperity. It also has the ability to make slaves of both the pittied and those that pity (read the book!).

Rand makes exactly these points in The Fountainhead and so, if we were intellectually honest (a trait I honor tremendously) we would have to acknowledge that her writings offer a response to the collectivist theories I’ve mentioned above. Indeed, a good teacher would require his students to study such a thoughtful and intellectually rigorous expression of the countervailing view. Instead, all I ever got was a reluctant acknowledgement (did I detect a flicker of shame?) that this country, marked by the individualist ethos like none other, remains a bastion of opportunity and freedom. No, my teachers were not particularly intellectually honest. Shame on them.

I don’t mean to impugn all of academia by my comments, but I dare say my experience was not atypical.

Do Potato Bugs Sleep?

Wow, these things are hideous! I’ve come across two of these 2” monstrosities in as many days! The head looks half-human, it’s got a body like a scorpion, and the bright bands are nature’s universal sign for DANGER!

I thought is was time to conquer my fears so I looked up a little information about these Devil’s spawn. Found in the western U.S. and down into Mexico, these suckers are not poisonous as many believe. In fact, they’re non-aggressive and have no poison glands. They do, however, have powerful jaws it uses to chew on herbaceous matter which can also inflict a painful bite. They spend most of their time underground, completing a life cycle yearly. They are not pest animals since they rarely appear in large numbers. Being a type of cricket (aka Jerusalem Cricket) they make noise by “drumming” their legs against their bodies.

For a humorous parody site with lots of disgusting pictures for the sadomasochist, follow this link.

_______________________________

I just can't sleep again. I'm dead tired, but I can't sleep. I once described it to my roommate as something like a hyperactive mind. I close my eyes and relax my body, but my mind just races on with all sorts of thoughts from things I'd like to build, things I'd like to write, conversations I had or would like to have had, just constantly processing, analyzing, synthesizing, sometimes just jumping from one thing to the next in a weird game of free association. That's what happens when you spend too much time swimming in your own thoughts!

I've read all these web sites that offer sleeping tips and they just don't seem to address the problem. I wonder, short of drugs, if there's something else I can try. Well, I know one thing that's helped in the past is a regular routine with regular exercise. I'm going to try a couple of things: I'm going to a force a routine on myself and, regrettably, I'm gonna try some of those sleeping pills, at least until I can get a regular routine going.

More on "Covering the 'Flood'"

Oh, I loved this story! It points out, in a funny and benign example, that the news as reported by any one outlet is not an immutable declaration of fact. News reporters are subject to bias, exaggeration, personal agendas, business exigencies, etc.

To be honest, I've got no problem whatsoever with bias in the media in and of itself. What does concerns me, however, is that people are often not aware of it and tend to place certain news outlets on a pedestal like CNN and the New York Times. Another thing that bothers me is the relative dearth of dissenting viewpoints among news reporters. This is changing, however. I just hope that as news consumers we are savvy enough to read some of those other news outlets and come to our own conclusions.

I remember, many years ago, when a local television news broadcast adopted a new slogan for its commercials. It was something like: “We report the news…and tell you what to think about it.” I cannot begin to describe how utterly aghast I was at the stupendously blatant arrogance inherent in that statement. I just couldn’t believe they had just said that. Well folks, what can I say. Don’t let anyone tell you what to think of anything whether it be Fox News, CNN, the Washington Post or anyone else. But by all means, listen to them all.

Covering the "Flood"

The media of all people should know the power of a picture to uncover and expose distortions, fraud and deceit...or to create them. No, I'm wrong; they're quite aware of that power.

Black Coffee and Fruit Loops

Following is an excerpt from a short story I wrote many years ago. People sometimes mistake my decidedly conservative politics and strong views on many issues as something they're not. I bet some of those people would be surprised to know I wrote something like this. Shame on them for believing the stereotypes.

Black Coffee and Fruit Loops

How can I know what my father knew? I am another generation far removed from the mesquite-strewn hills of the Sonoran desert. As children my father forbade us to drink coffee—bitter, black and scalding. He drinks it now to remind him of his “sense of history.” Black coffee was his childhood drink and it was everyone’s childhood drink among the Mexican families who subsisted on those hills. Fruit Loops was all I knew as a child and today I very rarely drink coffee. I have a history of my own now, albeit incomplete until I know the acrid taste of his childhood coffee. Then I will know what he knew.

***

The cat watched us languidly from his imperial perch atop the leather armrest. My sister and I lay sprawled, asleep, near the Christmas tree on the tendidito* my father made. Because we were young, it was only ten minutes ago that we were lying on either side of my father, whipping his head toward us by the chin, competing for his attention. This was the time when I believed the too fantastic stories of his childhood heroics.

***

Twenty years later my father drinks his coffee with cream and as he stirs, I imagine he sees my sister and me in the two eddies spreading from the sides of the spoon. His coffee is not so bitter now. I sit next to him, pour myself a cup and ask him to tell me the real stories of his childhood.

*Blankets piled on the floor.

That's true

God bless my friends for their candid and well-meaning remarks (pardon their French):

"...you need to change your photo...you look like a retard that just s**t his pants and is trying to understand where the 'warm' feeling is coming from."

Recent Doings

This past Friday I found myself in a cool, dark tavern in the basement of one of the buildings of an ersatz German village smack in the middle of Huntington Beach. I happily imbibed a couple large glasses of Warsteiner Dunkel** while I chatted with this guy who worked as a mover for Boeing and another who knew a lot about good restaurants in the bay area. It was great; it felt just like being in a pub back east. The "DJ" showed up a little later--a short, chubby older gentleman in lederhosen. He played such crowd pleasers as Beer Barrel Polka and even got on the mic and sang along. It was wunderbar!

Later that evening I met up with some friends who had a room at the hotel accross the street. I got a little bored, went down to the Oktoberfest festival, listened to an oompah-pa band, grabbed a poster (pictured) and went home. I mostly grabbed it for the benefit of taking a snapshot for this post. My friend wants it and he can have it, though he'll undoubtedly display the reverse side of the poster which features a pretty blonde in a tight T-shirt. To be honest, neither the get-drunk-at-the-hotel nor the get-drunk-and-ogle-women scene at Oktoberfest were my cup of tea. I thought the tavern was great, though, but as usual I was the only one who thought so.


Sunday I went to the Taste of Encino, a street fair and traditional music festival. A taste is all I got. I came *this* close to being a contestant in the hotdog eating contest. I'm so disappointed too because I am absolutely confident I would have won the $500 first place prize! Mr. KABC, who does a show on KABC, did personally hand me a free chili dog from The Stand, though. I should have asked him to autograph the wrapper for me! Anyway, it was great fun. Good food and great music featuring more dulcimers and Irish flutes than you can shake a rain stick at! I wound up staying all day, not just for the contest.

Wednesday night I went to Knott's Halloween Haunt. It was tons of fun and definitely worth going. Monsters, monsters, everywhere and the scariest things were the rides! See, the rides are fun when you're a kid because you're still afraid of them. Then they get boring when you become a jaded teenager. Then you become a cautious adult and they're scary as heck and loads of fun all over again! The only downer for the night was that I wound up going on my own because the date thing didn't work out again, for the fourth time, maybe the fifth because the nice person I met didn't want to go after all.

It did occur to me that I was supposed to be here with Her tonight. I won't dwell on it except to say the hurt's still there. I put too many of my eggs in that one basket with the hole in the bottom and now I'm paying for it with the hunger pains from the eggs that fell and broke and didn't make it into my omelet this morning and...nevermind, I killed that metaphor, on purpose. Just trying to make light of a weighty topic (pun most certainly intended).

**A word about German beer: terrible. I'm no expert, but I have a pretty good pallet for beer. Every single German beer I've ever tasted has the same herbal/medicine/green taste like they ran out of hops and substituted fresh grass clippings. Am I the only one who thinks so? I don't get it. All I can conclude is that either Germans have a weird sense of taste or they have great marketers that have managed to convince the world that their swill is drinkable. Sorry guys. Good cars; bad beer.

King of Infinite Space

The following post is best described as a sort of diary entry. One of the reasons I like to write is that is helps me work out some of my own ideas. I suppose I could do this outside this very public forum, but I’m feeling generous! I very often share personal thoughts and goings-on with a lot of friends and family to get their inputs. Funny, but some people—even my own sister—mistake this as ambivalence or lack of conviction. No, no, not usually true. I just don’t get to discuss “the big things” with a lot of folks and I kinda miss that. I guess it’s like being a sports fan: it just isn’t the same to sit in front of the TV and root quietly for year team if you can’t also talk to your buddies about it after the game.

Shouldn’t I be concentrating on career first before thinking about a serious relationship? Being a responsible, care-taker type I've always felt that yes, I've got to be well established in my career before anything else, but here's the thing: I will always be working on some new project. Here's what I envision. I pass the bar. I get an ok job, but I'm still not "established" because a couple years later I'll really be marketable and I'll be looking for a better situation. That's a typical pattern for attorney careers, I think. Then after that with a little money in hand, I'll be working on some real estate ventures that I've been wanting to try for years. That'll tie up a lot of cash, so maybe I should wait.... And then after that, because I really want to get involved in community groups and maybe local politics, well...maybe I should wait to see where that goes.... So the years pass and I keep putting the family thing on hold. Yes, actively on hold. As it is, I put off buying a house back in 1999 or so because I thought I might be going to grad school. If I'd taken the plunge then I could have sold the house and paid for law school with the proceeds.

To be honest, it's been almost ten years that I've been ignoring that part of my life completely; it's a rather recent innovation that I'm looking for someone in earnest. When I was an undergraduate I had some tough times during which I really struggled with direction and purpose. What got me through the last couple years was the conviction that God's plan for my life was to be a family man. So the “direction” I was heading was to be a family man and the “purpose” for what I was doing was to prepare me to go in that direction. So, I completed my degree so that I could get a good paying job that could support a family someday. Ditto for the law degree, though there were other reasons too.

That’s all well and good, but two things come to mind. First, this notion of having a well established career first can too easily become an excuse to stay out of the dating scene and it probably has for me. Of course no one wants to be with someone who’s a bum who can’t/won’t hold down a job, but my situation’s a little different. When I left my last engineering job in 2001 I was earning about $70K/year and I stand to earn more as an attorney. It’s just a matter of time before it happens. I don’t think a woman would have to worry that she’d be getting together with a deadbeat. I don’t think that my current situation, then, is a good reason to not look for a serious relationship now. What about all the things I envisioned doing? Don’t you need to do all those things first before you settle down? Yes and no. I think I may still be able to do a number of things while fulfilling my obligations to my family. On the other hand, make no mistake about it, the day I get married my life is no longer my own (indeed, it isn’t now, but that’s another discussion) and my ambitions take a back seat. Better said, my family becomes my ambition.

Second, a woman can be a great help. I don’t mean she can pay the bills while I go to school, or keep house while I work crazy hours. No, I’m referring to something I learned about my personality when I was an undergraduate: I will work tirelessly and gladly for someone I love. In fact, I almost need someone to work for. (This is undoubtedly a very ISFJ personality trait.) I’m very self-driven, but in my quieter moments, I realize that ambition, pride and a sense of accomplishment are not enough for me.

So, I know the direction I’m heading and the purpose for which I do things like work on the career, take care of my health and work on my spiritual life. Things should just fall into place, right? I shouldn’t rush it, right? Well, yes that’s true. After all, I do have faith that God will come through, albeit by His own timetable. Even so, there are things I could be doing, especially because I’m fishing in a puddle in the middle of the desert. What I mean is that I need to make an extra special effort to meet people who share my beliefs and values and it seems those folks are rare, especially in Los Angeles. And mind you, I mean I need to befriend more folks like this. I do really, really like the idea of getting to know a woman outside the pressured environment of a dating relationship (whatever that means).

So, in conclusion (and everyone who ends an essay this way ought to be shot!) I will not rush it, but I will make an extra effort to meet more women with similar beliefs, values and relationship goals. I’ll do this now despite my nascent (second) career, faithfully trusting the Man Upstairs will work out the timing.

That’s it. I’m thinking about writing a series of entries along the lines of this one, maybe on topics like my views on love, life, relationships, faith, etc. Dunno, just thinking about it. I don’t expect anyone would read them, but they’d make nice diary entries! Gosh, I must sound like all I do is mope around all day like Hamlet. Not so! It's just that us ISFJ types have a "rich internal life!" Maybe I'll write about what I did this weekend next.

Why I'm Single

This is another spooky-accurate test result from OKCupid. It purports to tell me exactly why I am single.

Male Best Friend

You're always there, you're nice, you're the shoulder to cry on, you get along just fine. Why won't she date you? You're the "male best friend."

A woman has a close male friend. This means that he is probably interested in her, which is why he hangs around so much. She sees him strictly as a friend. This always starts out with, you're a great guy, but I don't like you in that way. This is roughly the equivalent for the guy of going to a job interview and the company saying, You have a great resume, you have all the qualifications we are looking for, but we're not going to hire you. We will, however, use your resume as the basis for comparison for all other applicants. But, we're going to hire somebody who is far less qualified and is probably an alcoholic. And if he doesn't work out, we'll hire somebody else, but still not you. In fact, we will never hire you. But we will call you from time to time to complain about the person that we hired.

That's Nice

I met someone nice today. Maybe I won't be going to Knott's Halloween Haunt alone after all. That's nice.

I just stepped on a huge slug while wearing only a thin pair of holey socks. My god, you wouldn't believe what's inside those suckers! That's nice.

I lost my favorite radio at the gym today after turning my back on it for 1½ minutes. That's nice.

I can't sleep again. That's nice.

Everything I See

I spent all day at the beach yesterday. I read, I played in the surf, I got hit on by a gay guy. I asked him if he had a sister about my age.

The beach was near San Diego so I drove by the San Onofre nuclear plant on my way down. The freeway passes pretty close and there is a clear, unobstructed view of the concrete reactor container domes. Well, I mention San Onofre because I chuckled out loud at remembering a scene from The Naked Gun: Frank’s riding shotgun in a car complaining to Drebin that he can’t get his ex out of his mind; everything he sees reminds him of her. As he’s speaking these lines, the camera is catching a view of the domes through the front windshield that looks something like this:

Ok, the truth is, I remember that cheesy scene every time I drive by San Onofre! In light of recent happenings, though, I chuckled just a little louder.

The Siren coaxed me out to sea, but threw me back. Aparently there are plenty of anchovies in the sea. *sigh*

Update 2/4/07: This one was kinda funny and not terribly self-pittying. It stays.

Tribute to Bánh Mì

Meat loaf and fried chicken don’t cut it. I love America as much as the next Joe, but typical American cuisine (excepting some regional specialties) is about as interesting as the steam trays at Hometown Buffet or the frozen food section at the super market.I'm something of a foodie and I love interesting, novel flavors and ingredients most of all. As it turns out, however, ingredients don't actually vary that much the world over as you might think. What makes food most unique is the particular combination of ingredients and the means used to prepare them.

Enter Bánh Mì, or the Vietnamese sandwich. These sandwiches are an interesting marriage of French technique, Chinese ingredients and Vietnamese know-how. They are a culinary mirror to Vietnam’s history of failed colonialism. These sandwiches feature a tasty combination of flavors--just enough meat (Vietnamese style deli meats and pâté), sweet pickled carrots, cool cucumbers, refreshing cilantro and spicy fresh green chilies. All this goes into a slightly toasted baguettine (small baguette) that has had some Vietnamese style mayonnaise spread on it. Vietnamese baguettes often have some rice flower mixed in to give them a lighter texture than their French counterparts.

In California there is an excellent chain of restaurants that sells these called Lee's Sandwiches which, interestingly, but not surprisingly, also features an in-house French bakery. They have some mouth-watering pictures on their web site too.

_______________________________

I'm off to the beach for the day. If I suddenly stop posting it'll be because I was coaxed out to sea by a beautiful Siren. Don't mourn me; I'll be in a better place, especially if she has sisters!

That special shoebox in the closet

My "dyed-with-dirt" T-shirt—I'm just not ready to "own" it, not yet. I wore it yesterday, but I'm going to have to retire it for the time being because...I just don't like the feelings that come along with it. It'll go in this box wherein I'd started a collection of mementos.... [Update 2/4/07: These few lines of revisionist censorship brought to you by an enlightened me.] ...So now I’ve got this shoebox I don’t know what to do with.

I still have a couple letters from a crush/friend from high school and I still have a huge pile of letters from the woman I was quite in love with as an undergraduate. Fortunately, time really does heal all (though it probably takes a little longer for me than most), but for some reason the passage of time hasn’t made it any easier to get rid of these collections. So when is it time to throw away that special shoebox in the closet? I'm sure most people have had a collection like this at one time or another. So when did you decide it was time to toss it? Maybe one answer is when it no longer serves the purpose for which you saved it. To be honest, though, I’m not sure what my purpose for saving these things is anymore.

* I started writing a piece (instrumental, piano, strings, etc.) inspired by a song at the concert (track 14 on the CD). Someday when I finish it I’ll place it in the box too. I dunno, maybe not.

_______________________________________________

In other news, I think I'm going to go watch Sean Hannity in this live event here in LA Friday. I'm such a talk radio wonk.

Rhymes with "Bucket"

I don't actually expect anyone to read this whole thing. Just thought it was fun and a welcome departure from the subject of the last post. (The penguin really was too cute, though!)

The following is a serial limerick comprised of contributions from various newspapers, individuals, etc.

There once was a man from Nantucket,
Who kept all of his cash in a bucket,
But his daughter, named Nan,
Ran away with a man,
And as for the bucket, Nantucket.
But he followed the pair to Pawtucket,
The man and the girl with the bucket;
And he said to the man,
He was welcome to Nan,
But as for the bucket, Pawtucket.
Then the pair followed Pa to Manhasset,
Where he still held the cash as an asset,
But Nant and the man
Stole the money and ran,
And as for the bucket, Manhasset.
Of this story we hear from Nantucket,
About the mysterious loss of a bucket,
We are sorry for Nan,
As well as the man-
The cash and the bucket, Pawtucket.
There now is a man from Nantucket,
Who used to have cash in a bucket;
Today, sad but true,
He hasn't a sou,
Since the man who ran off with Nantucket.
Nan decided to chuck it-
The adventure, the man, and Paw's bucket.
Whe opened a store
Three miles from a moor
And, delighted, grew rich in Nantucket.
Nan followed her Pa down to Wheeling,
The bucket of bills to be stealing.
But her Pa wasn't scared,
And became well-prepared,
He knew she'd be Wheeling and dealing.
The scam about Nan running off with a man
Leaving Pa without cash or his bucket,
Tis unfair and untrue,
If you all only knew,
Nan, Pa, and bucket are all at Consue.
Nan's tryst with the man soon turned rancid.
She could fend for herself while in transit,
So Nan on the lam
Told the man he could scram,
And they split when they reached Narraganset.
Nan returned to her home in Siasconset,
With the bucket for whoever wants it.
Bedecked in bright lace
She, not one to efface,
Said: "I gots it and I'm gonna flaunts it."
The bucket wound up in Kentucky,
Where Nan bought a horse named Nantucky.
When the Derby took place,
Nan's horse won the race
So she dumped Man and called herself lucky.
The Man first hid the cash when he tuck it,
But when grabbing it from where he stuck it,
Along came a cop.
He had no time to drop
It, to hide it, or simply to shuck it.
A modern-day Nan would have snuck it,
(The bucket, that is) from Nantucket.
Her Paw wouldn't guess
She had had UPS,
(For safety, she wanted to truck it).

She had it sent up to Alaska,
It's farther, she thought, than Nebraska.
Did she and her man
Fool her Paw with this plan?
Well, the next time I see her, Alaska!
Nan's lover, named Kit, was from Madaket
And there he returned to be close to it
not the lost love of Nan
but Pa's gold, was his plan
But, now Nan and her Dad are both Madaket
There once was a man from Nantucket,
Whose finger he pinched in a bucket.
As he roared and complained,
His distraught wife exclaimed
"Don't go on so, my dear, just go suck it!"
Now, where in the Hell is that bucket?
Has it surfaced again in Nantucket?
I just can't keep track.
Did someone bring it back?
Is there cash left; perhaps just a Ducat?
While the bucket was stashed in Alaska,
It was found by a man named Prohaska.
He said with a grin,
I know it's a sin,
But I'll hide it in Lincoln, Nebraska.

When he tucked the bucket in Lincoln,
Prohaska started to thinkin,
Perhaps I'll call Nan
And be her new man
And up with her I'll be linkin'.

Now Paw was back in Nantucket,
Wondering where in the heck was his bucket.
He tried to call Nan,
But instead got a man,
Twas Prohaska from Nebraska in 'Sconset.

Fickle Sleep

I have sleep issues, I always have had them. Some nights I can't sleep at all, especially when I'm stressed about something or sad or worried. I was a little of all those things when I found myself staring at a clock that read 4:55am. I had to drive my dad to work at 6:30 and there was no point trying to fall asleep now. So I decided to go get myself some breakfast. I made one of my rare forays into Yahoo Chat. I found myself something like a Romance/Regional/Los Angeles chat room and randomly announced "join me for breakfast, Norms in Downey." No takers. I wasn't expecting any and I wouldn't have followed up anyway. I was just wasting a little more time. Nobody wanted a free steak and eggs breakfast. Fine. Time to go anyway.

Go where? The only places open at that time were Norms or Dennys. I chose the latter and had me a huge chicken fried steak breakfast. Now, I often like to go grab a bite by myself—I usually bring a book or my laptop or a newspaper. I like to get away for a bit, usually lingering a while. This time, though...sigh...the last time I was at Dennys this early in the morning I wasn't alone... I quickly finished, placed a few bills on the counter and left. Half way to my car, when the waiter came running after me because I accidentally hadn't left behind enough money to cover the check, I realized my mind had been elsewhere. Update 2/4/07: I had to get rid of some stuff here, but the rest stays because I like the mood it captures.

(↓ click on it, several times, quickly ↓)



_________________________________________

I Still Wanna Go

This past Thursday was the first night of the Halloween Haunt at Knott’s Scary Farm, when the western-themed and family-oriented Knott's Berry Farm covers the park in cobwebs, ersatz fog and roaming ghouls. They also modify the décor of each of the rides. The Log Ride, for example, usually features animatronics woodsmen sawing logs using one of those two-person, long-bladed saws you see in the cartoons. During the Haunt they become boogiemen sawing off some appendage or another from some unfortunate Joe. They also do other things like pitch gypsy tents so you can have your palm read and be told whether you and your date are destined to have 12 kids together. (matching M’s?)

Four times I have tried to go and every one of them ended badly. The first time I never even got into the park—sort of. An aunt of ours had invited a bunch of her nieces and nephews to go to Knott's during the day. Even though admission to the park for the nighttime Haunt required a different ticket, the daytime visitors still get to see some of the preparations. So here we were, a bunch of rambunctious kids begging our aunt to get us tickets so we could stay. To her credit, she actually tried, but they had sold out. You can imagine how disappointed we were to leave just as the monsters were starting to come out. I still contend I could have hidden in one of the trashcans!

The second time I went I took a “friend” of mine from high school. I swear I had no idea what a scaredy cat she was. She would not go through any of the many “mazes” they set up throughout the park. You can’t even get on many of the rides without going through a maze. And to make matters worse, she was a little more “friendly” than I felt comfortable with. We only got on a couple things, went through no mazes, and left early.

The third time I went, I took another friend who has the peculiar habit of falling into a narcoleptic sleep whenever you feed her. I fed her—early into the night. We went home early without going through any mazes and I’m not sure we even got on any rides.

The fourth time…well, it was supposed to be this year, but things didn’t work out between Her and me... Update 2/4/07: No whining!

So, at this point, I’d be glad to go with a complete stranger who’s reasonably non-narcoleptic, isn’t too afraid of her own shadow and probably won’t slap me if I squeeze her hand when things get scary. Any takers? I didn’t think so.