Saddam's half-brother captured!...

... cause, you know, there's a big threat!

Next up, his gardener!

On writing and writing and … okay, so I played video games…

It has often been said that writing a novel is like running a marathon, you need a lot of longevity and get ready for a sprint at the end.

Well, I'm sprinting. I can see the finish line. I am winded and I am sore and I am tired. I can't imagine what writing this book in one stretch would have been like and understand fully why I had to stop when I did - I pulled a muscle from overexertion. But I stretched with some acting and I walked it off by writing some plays and I'm back. Oh, baby, am I back!

I wrote some great stuff Friday and I was ready to spend my Saturday hammering out even more pages! Four hours on Saturday! Six hours! Eight hours!

… but then we went to Target and I bought World of Warcraft…

(Okay, so we all need some down time, right?)

I returned to work this morning feeling… cooled off. Like running, you can't just start and stop. You need to warm up if you take too much time away.

And how do you warm up your philosophical muscles? You think? You see, I'm coming to a pretty pivotal scene towards the end - actually, they're all pretty damned pivotal at this point. I had to set it up in my mind. I knew what I wanted to have happen but I had to find the context in which it would. Philosophical context, that is. Context about the Vampire Society, a society whose highest virtue is consumption. I began to think of public policy: the privatization of national parks, welfare reform, etc. But this is a very deconstructionist philosophy - that is: it all comes down to YOU - so government becomes but a scapegoat. You must move beyond that. You must reduce. You go to the scale of a city. You go to the scale of a neighborhood. You go to the scale of a family. You move smaller and smaller and then, finally, as if on its own, it starts to hit you and you get one, single line.

Here's what I got today: Our society is only as ethical as you are when you're given the wrong change.

And then you put that into the context of a love triangle… and then you realize you still have a long way to go...

You listen to my bitching - I give you game…

As many of you know, I was one of the Alpha-Beta testers for World of Warcraft last year. (And to think, before the Lucky's merger, that would have made for a great grocery store joke…) I loved WoW (as we affectionately call it). It was fun, easy to use, addictive, beautiful to look at - it had everything!

But, alas, I had to give it up, cause, well, the Beta test ended and I'd have to pay.

PAY?! PAY?! How dare they!!!

I may be cheap but at least I'm consistent.

But now I've found another MMORPG to play - and if you don't know the acronym you really should join us here in the 21st century, we've got great wars you know - and that one is Anarchy Online.

And now, you can too! And it's so cheap, it's free! Sure, you don't get the cool expansion packs but, hell, IT'S FREE!

Mind you, I only started playing last night and things are still a bit shaky. I mean…. It's not WoW.

BUT IT'S FREE!

What are you complaining about? IT'S FREE!

Ben & Jerry's, please take note!

Canada to USA: "You ain't my daddy!"

Canada, once again, has shown the good sense to not in line with the United States. They're too smart for that and they're too smart for a missile shield that could, at best, not work, and at worst start a new arms race (no, not the present one - a NEWER one). Sorry (burning) Bush, but not everyone's going to bend over when you say "Jump".

Head hit wall - Brains splatter forth…

I have a headache this morning so you'll have to forgive me. Yes, you will, too.

I'm about to write more stuff about Vicky and I can't help but think, "Who would want to read such tripe?" The answer, of course, is NO ONE. So, why do I write it? Well, considering I've been writing like this for over 20 years, I guess it's a little late to start asking stupid questions now.

Vicky and I are having problem. What couples don't? Vicky has this "you will" mindset that's beginning to drive me right to the edge. It's especially noticeable when it comes to the wedding. "You will wear this kind of tuxedo." "You will behave this certain way." "You will do this at this precise time." If she keeps this up, she'll be lucky to see me there at all!

I don't think anyone ever explained to her that giving orders, in any situation where you're in no position to do so, is a fast way of finding disappointment. Or, they didn't do a very good job. And, after a while, I begin feeling more like table-dressing than a groom. (You know, 50% of the wedding couple.) She never asks, "Could you?" She never says, "I would like it if." She never even tries, "I would like".

And, quite frankly, I'm getting sick of it.

This only becomes a problem when, after suggesting we talk over and over, she completely ignores me. Yes, obviously, we're riding two different rails here and, folks, I did that once. I'm not doing it again.

Maybe it's her upbringing. Her folks, wonderful people, are decidedly middle class. Mind you, when I first met them, I couldn't help think they were upper class but then I started reflecting on what "middle class" once met and…. They is that. But they are people who are used to quick requests in short terms, i.e. orders. My family is from the lower rungs of lower middle class - we considered ourselves "upper destitute". My mom had to beg and plead a lot. There was no, "Do the dishes." It was either "I'd really appreciate if you did the dishes. I had a rough day and will probably die if I do one more thing but if you want to live with your mother's death on your head, then…" or "Do the fucking dishes god-dammit! Can't you stop making my life hell?!" - very little in between. So, I'm not used to orders and, in fact, react very poorly to them. I'm more apt to do just the opposite! Requests I can consider and threats I can acknowledge but orders tend to get laughed at.

Vicky and I seriously need to work on how we communicate and I write this only because I know she's a reader. We need to work together. Seriously. And you know it's serious when I'm putting it out there for everyone to read.

I love the smell of dead televangelist in the morning...

In case you didn't know, Gene Scott is dead!

... so, where do you think he's going????

On weekends and women…

Vicky and I went up to Lancaster this weekend to see her family. Vicky's family is very different from my own, which is to say I get along with them. It's quite a shock, especially when you consider my previous in-laws and the ex-mother-in-law who threatened to have a "hit" put out on me. It's nice.

We visited her grandmother, who lives in a residential rest-home. This isn't your stereotypical rest-home, with elderly folks cramped together like cattle. She has her own room, which she'll soon be sharing with her husband. They have a nice living room, kitchen - it's just a regular house. And I was glad to see that because she's such a nice lady. Vicky and she talked for a while, had a nice visit, as I watched this horrible movie with Snoop. It was one of those typical "black man on a rampage, taking a helpless woman prisoner in her own home while the white police (and "oreo" cop) (Okay, so I HATE the "safe black man" stereotype because it basically says there's nothing about a black man that can't fixed by making him white!) try to coax him out by saying they'll treat him with respect though you know they won't, not in our society, anyway he has to be evil because, after all, he is black" kind of movies. Worse than junk food, completely disrespectful towards anyone's intelligence, just preying on our fears. I was ashamed for Snoop. Worst still, I didn't get to see how it ended…

Then, we had coffee at an IHOP with her aunt and uncle and grandfather. I feel terrible for her grandfather, who's mental faculties have left him over the years. What a sad way to age.
We finished the evening at her mother's restaurant. Thankfully, she didn't stuff us like the last time - though we did leave there FULL. They're so good to me!

And on top of that, her mom bought me a watch. A rather expensive watch! Now, I don't like watches. I don't wear watches. I'm not at all attracted to watches. I already own three and they just gather dust! Well, I figure I'm going to wear this one because she was kind enough to think of me. I think I'm going to like being their son-in-law.

Oh, one more thing. Her grandmother - whose name is Audrey, pretty funny considering my mom and sister also have that name - asked took my hand before we left and asked if I would like to be her grand-son. Now, look, I'm not a big fan of old people. Not only have I been conditioned through years of television to consider them disposable, I don't like the previews of coming attractions, you know? But this old woman has such incredible grace and the undeniable dignity of love, I would have given her what little youth I have had she asked and had such a thing been possible. I guess I’m fortunate it's not! I leaned in and said that I would be happy to be her grandson… and it was kind of liking proposing all over again. They say you don't just marry the girl but that you also marry the family. With Rosa's family, I never felt that. They were all to quick to take advantage of me while disrespecting me. Now, with Vicky, I'm not even married yet and I already feel this incredible devotion to them.

… which is good because Vicky can be a real pain in the ass sometimes. (Sure, but I love her.)

The rest of the weekend was not what I'd call a thrill-ride. I awoke Sunday morning with my shoulder screaming "I HATE YOU!" and Vicky was feeling pretty crappy on Monday. But a weekend is a weekend, after all, even the worst of them. We went to a birthday party on Sunday and spend Monday saying, "We should start getting up", which we did around 5pm…

Geek Addictions...

Everyone knows I'm a smoker.

Everyone knows I'm a drinker.

Everyone knows I'm addicted to ice cream and video games and puns of many lands...

I am what they called an "addictive personality", which is to say I get into shit.

My most recent addiction has been moderately better for me than most but so steeped in geekdom that I have to a crown of geekliness around the house. Vicky makes me. I'm not kidding.

Yes, we're talking about Audible. Oh my god, how I love Audible. I joined back in July, thinking it would only be temporary... and was shocked to discover that this morning! Temporary?! Sure, like life if temporary! Hell, if this keeps up, people are going to wonder which relationship will last longer: Vicky or Audible!

With that in mind, I decided to cancel my account. It was getting to be too much! (Submitted for your consideration for the Understatement of the Year Award!) I downloaded my last two last night, one history book and one travel book (by Michael Palin), and this morning I was ready to cancel the whole thing.

... But then, I found out I could lower my subscription to the Basic level, saving me some money. Sure it would mean only one book each month but - believe me - once you burn a book on CD and put it in your car and listen to it as you drive - OKAY! SO I'M A GEEK! FINE! I SAID IT! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!

... I need help.

Scatologically speaking…

Today's My Side is dedicated to the foul and gross. Here's to you! (clink!)

So, this morning I was at the gym again, as I am most mornings. As I went to the sit-up/cruncher bench, I realized, to my dismay, that I really had to fart. But you don't do that in a gym. There are other people around. They'll know where it came from.

But you can probably understand that doing sit-ups puts pressure on your stomach muscles. It squeezes things….. Out.

And so, I crunched.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

(Uh oh. I really need to…)

Six. Seven Eight. Nine.

(You'd better stop this, son…)

Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen.

(Pressure building. Can't hold it back…)

Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.

(This is gonna be loud. Seriously. Cut it out or I'm cutting it!)

Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.

(Control! Must have control!)

After 120 sit-ups, I got up. I finished my workout. I went outside into the empty parking lot.

Boy, did it echo.

Now, to Suki…

Suki is my dog, through Vicky, and like most dogs she feels compelled to eat most things we wouldn't.

Cat shit, for example. She loves the taste of cat shit. The texture. The bouquet. I don't know what it is about it but she just loves it. (Vicky calls it "Almost Rocha"…. Totally ruining almond rocha for the rest of my life. To think, I used to love it.)

A couple of weeks ago, when Tim was visiting, he told us that cat shit is composed mostly of protein.

… Hmmm… Protein.

And I suddenly realized that Vicky and I could save a heck of a lot of time and money. It would work like this:

a) Cats eat cat food.
b) Cats poop.
c) Suki eats poop.
d) Cat box is cleaned.
e) EVERYBODY IS HAPPY!

But Vicky doesn't want Suki to eat the poop. Vicky is the wrench in so many of my great plans.

And, of course, I can't close this without making one more scatological statement: George Bush.

Is he really writing?...

For those of you who know me... and know that when I say "I'm writing", I usually mean "I'm playing video games"... I've got some news.

This morning, I hit the 65,000 word mark on Vampire Society. I've actually made a dent. I not close to done but I can see a glimmer of light out there on the horizon.

Thanks for your support and I'll keep you posted.

The Greatest Generation…. Today….

So, Vic and I went to the in-laws house (hers, not mine) for dinner last night and something happened that has really stuck in my craw. (The worst thing about something sticking in your craw is that no one really knows where the "craw" is…)

Joe, my step-dad, isn't a particularly bright man. He makes spurious statements as if they're true. He said that the allies catch-phrase during WWII was "No retreat". Wrong. That was WWI, pre-US involvement. He likes to watch war documentaries because he sees some glory in it. Again, not too bright.

So, at one point, watching his WWII doc, he asked, "I wonder if people alive today would be able to fight a war like that?" I was surprised to hear Vicky say, "You bet, we could." That's some optimism!

For my own part, I wanted to bitch-slap him. I've often said that the problem with people isn't that they don't say the right answers, but that they don't ask the right questions. This is a stupid question to ask. If you put your energy into planning for wars or for fights, you take energy away from preventing the same. If you can only see in two dimensions, you'll never see your way around the seemingly inevitable. It's deterministic thinking. It's fatalistic. And, again, not too bright.

Must remember to make my kids never listen to this man…. And laugh at him…. A lot.

Valentine's Day, after all these years…

This My Side is about Vicky. I write about Vicky in this space as much as I used to write about Rosa. Just get used to it and shut up! Anyway, as I said, this is about Vicky…

… it's just going to take some time to get there, is all.

When I was a kid, I never had Valentine's. Never got cards. Never got dates. Girls just didn't like me. I was the shy kid with glasses, the little, wimpy kid. And so, year after year, nothing.

I think applying Valentine's Day to kids is a stupid idea, anyway. What the hell do kids know about that shit?

But even when I got into high school, I was pretty much overlooked. Even when I had girlfriends, it was never around Valentine's Day. Christmas? Sure? Summer? Sure. Autumn? NO! NEVER! Honestly, Tim, it meant nothing!!!!!

….er, where was I?

Then, of course, there was Rosa, with whom I celebrated nearly 15 Valentines Days (Valentine Days?). Now, you'd think with so many of them that one or two would stick in my memory. But, no… nothing. I can hardly remember. I know they happened. I remember cards and dates and things but, with the trauma of our divorce, it's all buried under so much scar tissue.

After Rosa, the only people I dated near Valentine's Day was DeAnna and Kerry…. And DeAnna broke up with me the weekend before, after I had her gift ready and everything… And Kerry, as nice as she was, was nothing more to me than a good friend… though she did give me candy. But, basically, it was years of spending these stupid Valentine's Days all alone…. Probably getting drunk, if I know myself…

But then, along came Vicky. (See, I told you I'd get to her!) And she was good and she was fine. She was like a cool breeze blowing all the dust and cobwebs off of my shut-away heart.

I'm not going to recap the whole story. You know it. Met - proposed - moved in together - bought a house - and then realized we'd been together only six month. (Whad'dya know! I did recap!) But here's something I haven't told you, something Vicky does not know.

When Vicky and I were first together, I was crazy about her and had no doubts at all about how I felt. Then, I proposed. And then, we moved in together. And I realized something that really frightened me. I realized I didn't love her like I loved Rosa. You see, I loved Rosa with a love that was totally encompassing and, well, a bit intense. (He means "psycho".) But my love for Vicky is lighter, it's easier, it makes me feel good. And I was terrified that this meant that I didn't love Vicky as much as I loved Rosa.

So, I went to San Diego to visit Tim and I told him about this. He told me not to worry. Of course, I loved Vicky differently, that's just how it worked. "You're never going to love anyone as intensely as you did your first," he said.

So, I took his advice and hoped things would change.

They didn't.

And now, here I am, at my first Valentine's Day with Vicky and I can tell you that I'm glad they didn't. I'm glad I don't feel so intensely about Vicky that it drives me nuts. I'm glad I can just sit by Vicky and enjoy her being there. I'm glad and I realized something Tim didn't tell me that day and that is that it's better than when I was with Rosa. This is so much better and so much nicer, which only makes me love Vicky even more.

I've waited a long time for this and it has certainly been worth it.

Happy Valentine's Day, Vicky. I love you very much.

Contradictory jackass…

I don't mind calling myself that because I know that, deep down, it's what we all are. We are all contradictory jackasses.

Say it with me. "I am a contradictory jackass." Good. Now, don't you feel better?

And so it was that I spent my Saturday afternoon shuffling through my valuables. I had finally found a place to put our CDs. I set up the cases and displayed them in alphabetical order. I also had to sift through all the receipts and paperwork I'd gathered over the past year to get ready to start preparing my taxes. Oh, I looked through piles of Costco receipts and DVD Planet receipts, receipts for booze, receipts for cigarettes…

Concurrently, as I do this, I am also working on a novel about ethics, a novel about the evils of the consumer-based society. I'm telling people to consume less. I'm telling people that if they don't need it, they shouldn't have it.

And I was also wishing I had more wall space. There's so much I could do with more wall space!
And then, Sunday night, Vicky and I went to the mall and bought me a pair of sunglasses and some perfumed soaps…

Contradictory.

Jackass.

It's what I am. I can't deny it

But, for all we know, Freud probably did his mom, Nietzsche was probably a wimp, Descartes probably never was...

Fortunately, I couldn't understand them…

It's a story that happens far too often, someone suffering from a mental illness cannot get treatment because hospitals are criminally under funded.

Let's stop and think for a minute. Hospitals heal the sick. Wars kill. But what gets the lion share of our society's money? It's just fucking sick.

So, anyway, the story happens far too often. This wasn't the first time I heard of it. It was how the story ended, however, that makes it special.

I'm talking about Joseph Parker, who, two years ago, walked into a grocery store in Irvine and went on a killing spree with a samurai sword. He'd tried for years to get help but no one would help him. We were all too busy putting our money into wholesale slaughter to help a fellow human being. I'm sure that someone exclaimed, after seeing the bodies on the news, "What the fuck is wrong with this world?!"

And the reason this story is special is because of what I read about him today. Turns out that he heard voices for years and he had troubles sleeping… sounds awfully familiar.

Now, I haven't heard my voices in nearly half a year and, for the most part, I sleep just fine. But there were long years there when I'd hear the voices daily and nights were spent walking in my sleep, screaming awake from nightmares, or too terrified to sleep. I think back on that time (trust me, without a single desire to go back) with a great deal of fondness for the people in my life who helped me make it through. Without you, I might have ended up like Joe Parker. Now, okay, I would always joke that I couldn't make out a word the voices were saying but they were so loud at times, I would often think I was losing my mind. I look at Joe Parker and think, "There but for fortune…" and I feel a strong compulsion to thank those who were with me - you know, even if they don't read, the bastards! - for helping me get through.

Now, of course, the only voice I heard at night is Vicky's and she's saying, "Stop snoring!!!" And I consider myself amazingly lucky.

Did somebody say "Recount"?...

Turns out they're going to recount the votes!... in Iraq. Yep, looks like we don't like the result over there so we (being the US, not you and I) are going to recount the votes there.

Funny how they couldn't do a recount here. Isn't that interesting?

Mind you, we probably had more votes in the US than a few Shi'ites and a Sufi...

More proof... as if more was needed...

According to a story out in today's NY Times, the Bush administration received 52 intelligence warnings naming Bin Laden or Al Qaeda in the six months before 9-11 that planes would be used in a terrorist attack. Rice denied it even happened. So did Bush. More lies - and who was hurt, do you ask?

It's time for a visit from Mr. Sleepwalker…

(run Mr. Roger's theme music)

Hi. We're gonna talk about some really neat things today. We've got some special friends to meet and some special places to go, too. Can you say that? To? Sure. I knew you could.

We're gonna take a trip to slumberland and visit with the magic -

(Kill Mr. Rogers.)

(Can't. He's dead already.)

Undead Mr. Rogers?! Holy Shit! Oh, Dreamworks Pictures?! I've got your next summer blockbuster!!!!

Where was I?

Oh, right. Sleeping.

Didn't do too much of that last night. My brain decided it would much rather have me sleepwalking all night. This should come as no surprise, as I told Vicky, considering how my sleepwalking started, years ago.

But back to last night, we went to bed around 10pm, since I get up so early these days (4:30am!!!!) to go to the gym in the morning. Soon, I was up and getting ready to hit the gym. I got my PJs off and put on my shorts and… looked at the clock… 11:45pm!! So, I went back to bed. Soon, I woke up, put on the rest of my clothes, put on my shoes, went downstairs to put on my sweat-jacket… looked at the clock… 1:30am!! Grrrrr…. So, I went back to bed.
And, of course, woke up late…

Can you say "crap". Sure. I knew you could.

Being American means working THREE jobs...

Remember when working two jobs was a bitch?

Well, now (burning) Bush seems to think that's not enough. He seems to think it's funny to have to work three jobs! (I don't normally link Drudge but this is an exception.)

Transcript:
MS. MORNIN: I work three jobs and I feel like I contribute.
THE PRESIDENT: You work three jobs?
MS. MORNIN: Three jobs, yes.
THE PRESIDENT: Uniquely American, isn't it? I mean, that is fantastic that you're doing that. (Applause.) Get any sleep? (Laughter.)

Puritans get weirder every day...

Some people have serious problems with body parts. Tits, dicks, nipples, vaginas, asses... they'd probably be happier if we were born without them!

And you know it'll just get weirder don't you?

You should.

And you don't even have to wait long! Because today the state of Virginia has passed a law that makes it illegal if people see your underwear! That's right! Your underwear! Your garments! They're not even attached to you! They're not even a body part! And yet the uber-right over there can't bear to see the sight of fabric that just might have touched your naughty bits.

Idiot of the day? The whole fucking state of Virginia!

Progress on my first novel in five years…

As I might have mentioned a while back, I've decided to start working again. This old machine has got to get revving or it's never going to get anywhere! To much time has been flying by. Time wasted. As I might have mentioned, I'm back to work, this time on a book.

The book is called "Vampire Society". I started writing it sometime in 1998 and set down the last few words without finishing it towards the beginning of 2000, just before Rosa and I split up. For two years, I agonized over it because - and I say this only because I am assured that you are fully aware of my deep and suffering modesty - it's painfully well-written. Every word added had to be just as good. Every idea had to hold true.

Shockingly, they were and they did and it was shockingly well-written when I printed it up and started reading it a few weeks ago. All told, it held about 60,000 words. I took those words and hacked and slashed my way through it, changing quite a bit, molding it to allow continuation after all this time, and adding another 1,500 words before I even continued the story.
So, you're probably wondering just what that story is.

Well… it's the story of you. And of me. It is the story of us. All of us. Our whole, damned society. Told as through the eyes of two unusual souls - one a black young man adopted by white parents, the other an hispanic girl raised alone by a struggling father but with a confidence ignoring that - this novel delves into the ethics of consumption and the everyday crimes of the modern world. What happens when an entire nation, an world strives for nothing more than to consume all it can? That is when you have a Vampire Society. Without question, it is thus far the most profound philosophical novel I've written to date. (I'll leave to you how meaningful that statement is.)

Now, I have about 20,000 words to go until my projects 80,000 total. This is actually short of my standard 100,000 but only because the culmination of the book is in a final essay. The point of this essay, having spent 80,000 words examining the crimes of the Vampire Society, is to delineate a workable solution for the Vampire Society. In other words, having written a book about what's wrong with the world, I will then tell everyone how to fix it.

And I don't know which is scarier, the fact that I would put myself in such a position without knowing what I'm going to write… or the fact that I'm sure I can write it.

I'll keep you posted.