The Home Fires Burning

San Diego is burning.

Again.

Just been sitting here TRYING to get some news on the fires. In case you hadn’t heard (and from what I’m seeing, you may not have), San Diego is pretty much on fire. Multiple blazes, driven by Santa Ana winds (man, I always hated those), are tearing across San Diego County, burning homes by the hundreds, driving people by the hundreds of thousands (that’s not a typo) to evacuate. So while looking for live coverage this evening, I turn to MSNBC, and what do I find there? What do you know. ANOTHER prison documentary! I’m sure another installment of “To Catch a Predator: The Blooper Reels” will be on next. I ended up on Fox, and found live coverage. From Geraldo Rivera, no less.

In a very surreal moment for a former San Diegan like myself, I’m watching Geraldo broadcasting, as if from Iraq (or a gangster’s empty vault), live from Qualcomm Stadium in San Diego, the same stadium I lived next to during my seven years there, the same one I drove past every day on I-15 on my way to work…to work in Poway, a town now deserted and burning, to an office that may or may not still be there. He’s walking around interviewing some of the 10,000 San Diego evacuees that are calling the Chargers’ stadium home tonight. The mood there—no surprise to me—is upbeat and hopeful. People are coming together, helping each other out, looking for the best in a bad situation. It’s these people that make me both miss and love San Diego so much. There’s a reason that it still feels like home in my heart.

This is all very familiar to me. It was four years ago, while I was still living there in the suburb of La Mesa, right next to the SDSU campus, that I got up late on a Sunday morning, not bothering to turn on the TV. I eventually went outside, and I remember looking up and trying to figure out why the daylight didn’t really look like daylight…and why the whole sky was orange. It wasn’t until I turned on the tube and that I found what I’d been totally missing (I’d been working on the computer all night and hadn’t bothered to check any news). San Diego was, for all intents and purposes, on fire. Neighborhoods I knew, that I drove through when I’d decide to get off the freeway early on certain days to take the scenic drive to work, were being consumed by fire, and people were fleeing. Some, not fast enough. I remember hearing the first story of a body found in car, someone trying to outrace the inferno and get out of their neighborhood…and losing. It was serious. And it was personal to me, because my office—the GEICO building in Poway—was in harm’s way. Work was called off for a couple of days while the fires raged on. Once it was all over, I was able to return, and to drive through the devastation, to see once beautiful wooded areas looking now like the surface of the moon, to find that the fire had blackened every hill on its way to my building…and stopped just a few hundred feet short of it.

For the next year, the reminders of the disaster were ever-present, everywhere you looked. The landscape had changed dramatically, in both form and color. For moments there you could almost understand what living in a war-torn nation must be like, to look around and see everywhere how the senseless destruction had scarred your world and transformed it into something hopeless and unrecognizable.

And now it’s happening again, only this time, I’m hundreds of miles away, and part of me, for some reason, feels like a traitor for it. I’m seeing shots of familiar landscapes and neighborhoods either engulfed in flame or shrouded in thick smoke. I’m seeing my former fellow citizens in dramatic photos online, carrying their belongings (including fish tanks), on their roofs with hoses trying to save their homes, or sitting in tents in the Q parking lot, not tailgating a big game, but getting served dinner by Red Cross volunteers as they wait to find out if their homeless is temporary or more permanent.

And I’m worried about friends and family there. It took me a while to really realize what was happening in San Diego, because, of course, the whole world thinks Southern California is just one big L.A. All the news I was getting was about fires in Malibu, and the homes of stars being threatened. They slowly started mentioning “other fires” in San Diego, but soon couldn’t ignore it anymore. Seriously, it was like, “Yes, Tom Hanks is worried about his house. So is James Cameron. In other news, additional fires in San Diego have caused the evacuation of 250,000…wait, did you say 250,000?!” I got the news late. My first thought, hearing about the affected neighborhoods, was my friend Tony and his family. I’d heard that people in San Diego were being asked to limit their cell phone use, so I didn’t want to tie up lines by calling. So, from work, I sent him an email, knowing that he’d get that through his iPhone and would give me details when he was able. I figured he was pretty busy. Turns out I was right. I got to work today and found an email from him sent at 7:00pm last night. He and his wife and three kids (and their dog, Angel) had bugged out and relocated all the way to a hotel in Anaheim. As I wrote him back: “Tony Graham, your neighborhood’s on fire. What are you going to do? ‘I’m goin’ to Disneyland!!’”. Tony and the family are safe and sound. My mother got me info on my step-sister. Sherry, and family (I just saw her this weekend when she and Frank were in town for my sister’s birthday party), as there were some Chula Vista worries, too, but it sounds like that area’s doing okay. From what I can tell. It’s hard to keep up when you’re not getting local coverage. I didn’t bug Summer because I had a feeling there would be a blog coming from her on the subject, and I was right. Good local info from her there. And so far, her mother’s home, in the middle of a big burn area, seems to be okay, as do her dogs and horses. I wonder what’s happening with Aaron’s family, who were like a second family to me when I was living there. And with J.D. And Rebecca. And Conrad and Jen. And Andy and Jo. I’m waiting until tomorrow to check on my other friends, as I’m sure they’re getting enough in the way of frantic calls. I just hope everyone, and their homes, are doing well and ending up in the “lucky ones” category, unlike so many others this week.

Oh, and now it looks like Camp Pendleton is burning. Once again, I’m stunned by the “in other news” aspect of such things on a day like today. How many friends of mine did their basic training there over the years? I can only imagine the Marines over in Iraq watching the news, seeing that place they called home under attack by nature. Considering what basic training must have been like, come to think of it, some of them might be cheering…

I’m just dealing with all kinds of weird emotions. I’m remembering the at once great and annoying thing about living in San Diego…that no one seems to know it’s there. You get annoyed at moments like this that so many in the world think it’s a suburb of L.A., but at the same time, when you’re living there, you’re happy that L.A. tends to ignore it and leave it alone (until L.A. Raider fans come to town when their team plays the Chargers and start beating up and stabbing people to show their team spirit). I shouldn’t be feeling any ill-will towards L.A. right now, and I need to knock it off. This isn’t a class war thing. The rich and famous have much better homes, but their homes are still filed with irreplaceable family heirlooms and memories that are going away forever, and their lives are being torn apart, too. This is exactly the wrong time for the knee-jerk “us vs. them” mentality a lot of us who’ve lived in S.D. feel, so I’m trying to keep it out of my head. I think I’ll focus my annoyance on the press, not Angelinos. But Geraldo’s actually doing a really decent job with his reporting, really humanizing things and getting some great interviews. Just saw one with a group of high school kids who came down there to volunteer and serve food and do what they can. I’ll be honest…if I had any vacation time left this year, I’d probably be taking it right now, and I’d be down there. Stupid, I know. It’s not like there’s anything I could do. But I feel like I belong there. Like I want to do something, anything, for the city that I love so much, and the people I called neighbors all those years.

But all I can do is watch the news, and pray, like everyone else, that the winds die down tomorrow, so firefighters at least have some kind of chance to do ANYTHING. So far, they’ve been powerless. We’ll see how tomorrow morning’s news looks, if I can manage to turn off the set and get some sleep and wake to it. It’s going to be a long week in America’s Finest City. It may not have a happy ending, but at this point, we’ll just settle for an ending, so the city can, once again, pick up the pieces and start to rebuild. That’s what San Diegans do.

Stay tough, S.D. I love you. And God bless you.

P.S. Those wacky scamps on Fox News' late night show, Red Eye, are having a great time cracking jokes about California fires. Okay. I'm now done with Fox. Forever.

Radio Symmetry

Remember that scene in “Jerry Maguire” where he’s driving his rental car away from Jerry O’Connell’s house, just having managed to hang on to his one big client? Remember how he’s going through the radio dial, trying to find just the right song to fit the celebratory mood? He has a few misfires, then drops in on Tom Petty’s “Freefallin’” and sings along loudly (and badly) in his (short-lived) victory. We’ve all had that moment when you’re just trying to find the perfect song for the moment, to match your mood, to make you feel a certain way, to just be dead-on to be part of the soundtrack of your life in that particular scene you’re living.

I had just left my friend Tim’s place, having to cut out early from the poker game that was going on (early being around midnight) because I was on a deadline and had some work to do at home. I knew, taking off, that I was heading home to a good two to three hours of computer work before I could sleep, and was trying to get myself energized for it, and in the right mood for it, so I could stay awake through it all.

This was my first time going to Tim’s new place, and on the way there, I took all surface streets in what seemed like the most logical route. It felt like it took me forEVER. Guess I’d forgotten how far away Watt and Fair Oaks really was. I must have hit every last light on the way. On the way there it was early evening on a Saturday, so traffic was heavy, too. I wasn’t looking forward to that again on the way home, even though the hour was late this time. So, having to make a right turn to get out of his complex, I decided just to skip the U-turn and keep on going down Fair Oaks Blvd, and take it all the way to Winding Way. Fair Oaks, on that stretch, instead of being littered with endless strip malls and gas stations and Burger Kings like Watt, is a winding two-lane road that goes through more residential and often tree-lined areas. I thought it might be the longer route, but it at least sounded more pleasant, so I took it, with my mind running through all the things I’d have to do when I got back to my place.

I popped on the radio. I’ve been listening to a lot of NPR lately (where, apparently, you can actually find out what’s going on in the world, and not just what Britney and Paris are doing), but was in the mood for some music, and was hoping for just the right kind of music. I didn’t want to waste my thoughts and energy jumping all over the dial the whole ride home. I just wanted to end up on one station and not have to think about it. Though your chances of finding one station to fit your needs for a whole 15-20 minute drive are pretty slim.

Not even sure what station I landed on, I dropped in right at the beginning of “Goodbye to You” by Scandal. Wow. I don’t know if I’ve even heard that since high school. I’m sure I have, but I can’t recall when. Complete blast from the past. I always really dug that song. So immediately, I was hit with a warm wave of nostalgia, and found myself smiling. This little rock-n-nu-wavy tune had my head back in 80s. I felt like putting on a checkered shirt and my jean jacket and going to a midnight movie down at Arden Fair Mall. It was just the thing I was looking for, something upbeat to wake me and get me ready for a lot of time sitting in front of the computer in the dead of night. Ironic, it being upbeat, as it’s a song about breaking up. A lot of songs in the 80s were like that. I recall plenty of people merrily bouncing their heads and cluelessly singing along to Suzanne Vega’s “My Name is Luka”. Child abuse is peppy, isn’t it? But, at its heart, “Goodbye to You” is really a song about getting over it and moving on. It’s that perfect song to play at the end of a film, with your main character driving off into the sunset in an old convertible, wearing a big old grin and ready to face whatever’s coming next. Definitely a song made to order that night, and a lucky find.

As it ended, I was prepared to start scanning the dial, but instead, that rolled right into the Alarm’s “Rain in the Summertime”. Oh, yeah. Some will always chalk them up to no better than U2-wannabes, but these guys put out some good stuff. And this particular track was perfect for a quiet drive on a dark night with the street practically all my own, at once introspective and empowering, carrying me along on wings of memory and possibility. “And love is the faith that keeps on burning”. Another spot-on addition to my drive.

Hearing it head toward its ending was a little sad, because let’s face it…three in a row just isn’t going to happen. I was prepared to have my moment violated by Gloria Estefan or any random selection off the Dirty Dancing Soundtrack. But out of nowhere, the unexpected struck again. Alanis Morrissette doing “Hand in my Pocket”. Like the others, this was not a song that I’d ever given that much thought to, by a performer I owned no CDs from, and probably never will. But like the others, it was a perfect fit. Rounding out my ride was a smile-inducing ditty about the absurdities of life, and the duality we all live out each day in this crazy game called breathing.

I'm broke but I'm happy
I'm poor but I'm kind
I'm short but I'm healthy, yeah
I'm high but I'm grounded
I'm sane but I'm overwhelmed
I'm lost but I'm hopeful baby

It ended just as I was pulling into my complex (I’d made better time than I’d expected), and instead of worrying over how little time was left in my weekend and mentally putting web pages together in my head, I had been gifted with a little musical pocket of peace and gratitude. Three perfect songs from my ever-growing past had dropped in to keep me company and remind me that life is good, and that sometimes you have to just relax and enjoy the ride.

And what it all comes down to, my friends
Is that everything’s just fine, fine, fine.

As if I run fast enough
I can leave all the pain and sadness behind.

Guess it’s better to say

Goodbye to you.

...But I Love Her.

Summer's answer to the "rules" question (short and to the point...I could have tried that and saved everyone a lot of time...) got me to thinking about a song that kind of sums up life, and how I feel about it. It's not a song you can get off iTunes or buy a CD of. It's a song from the last two minutes of an episode of the NBC show "ED". Which, at this point, you cannot get on DVD (I'll be blogging more about that later...I'm building up steam...).

The set-up: In this episode, an old high school friend of Ed's dies. Ed hadn't seen him in years. He and the other old friends get together after hearing the news, and start watching on old camcorder tape of the guy in question. This guy was the drummer in the band the four of them had in their high school days, one called the "Youth Bandits". While he's talking to the camera, the guy reminds them of a promise he'd made them make...one they'd forgotten all about. The promise was that if he died, they'd have to get up at his funeral and play a song he wrote...one called "She's a Bitch (But I Love Her)". The episode then deals with them trying to decide, as adults, what to do here (okay, are you going to get up in a church at a funeral and play a song with THAT title? With two of the band-mates now a doctor and lawyer, no less?). They made a promise (as their pal, played by Andy Richter, keeps reminding them, because he just wants to get the band back together). But that promise was made amongst boys. And are we really the same people then that we eventually become? The ep dealt with these issues, and the decision, as it went back and forth. And it was actually a really poignant look at how our lives change as we grow older...and yet, how we need to remember those people that we were. In the end, the Youth Bandits (sans drummer) do get up at the funeral and do the song, and yet the song we've been waiting for ends up being not quite what we expected.

Go check out the clip, and listen to the words. I think that about sums it up.

Crazy bitch.

My Rules

Okay, my fellow blogger buddy Jim tagged me with a meme. If you’re like me, you have no idea what a “meme” is. But after sussing it out, I reckoned that that meant someone had “tagged” him to write his own personal “rules”, and he was now “tagging” me. So he wrote his personal rules, and passed the torch. So I guess I have to write mine. I guess we all have them, but I’ve never really given much thought to what mine are. Guess I will now.

1. That “golden” one.

You can never go wrong with the classic. And it’s true, and I realize I do try hard to live my life by it. If you want to be treated a certain way (or not) by people, why not treat them the same way (or not)? Do you appreciate it when someone else lets you over in traffic when you suddenly realize you’re about to miss your offramp? Why, then, would you see someone trying to get over and speed up and cut them off, just so you won’t be faced with the moral outrage of another car getting in front of you? Would you want someone doing that to you? Then don’t do it to someone else. The more sociopathic readers out there might say that you doing something nice for someone else doesn’t guarantee someone will be nice to you. Well, maybe not. But it was Gandhi who said that we must become the change that we wish to see in others. And he was a pretty smart guy. Not a big eater, though… In the bigger sense, maybe others seeing your example might take it and do likewise next time they’re in that situation, and hence, the world slowly becomes a better place. On a more personal level? Doing nice things for no apparent reason builds in you something called “character”. Which, to some people, is its own reward. Or if your spiritual beliefs orbit the karmic, maybe the universe might throw some of that back at you.

2. Courtesy. Look it up.

This one (and probably the rest of them) kind of springs from #1. Say please. Say thank you. Say I’m sorry when you do something dumb. Say excuse me. If someone has one item in their hands at the supermarket and you’ve got twenty-six in your basket, let them go ahead of you. Tip your waitress or hair stylist or valet appropriately. Just show people some respect. We live in a (mostly) civilized society. Let’s act like it. I, for one, am getting tired at this point in my life having to justify the fact that I have manners to others who don’t think that’s “manly”. Me, I think being a man means being an adult, and acting like one. The alternative is acting like a child. Treat people nice. They’ve got their own problems, and they’re dealing with life just like you. They deserve the little effort.

3. Don’t ask me about the five no-nos.

I realized a while back that there are certain things that I’m just not comfortable talking about in polite conversation. In general, they break down into the categories of money, religion, politics, sex and medical. You may notice that many or all of these are some people’s FAVORITE areas of conversation. Me, not so much. First, never ask me how much money I make. I hate getting this question, because I think it’s a completely rude and inappropriate one. My correct answer to your question should be “none of your damn business”, but, then, see rule #2. I will not discuss that with you. I also don’t want to discuss religion with you. My religious beliefs are my own, and my own business. Chances are if you’re asking me about mine, that means you’re trying to sell me on yours. I’m happy that you have yours…I just don’t want them. I have my own. And how often does a conversation about them end up well? Same with politics. I speak with my vote. And don’t ask me who or what I voted for. That’s too personal of a question. And I can’t stand what political interjections do to a conversation. I’ve seen it too many times. I’ll be with some people at a nice dinner gathering. We’re all getting along, all having fun. Suddenly, someone starts spouting off their politics. Next thing I know, people are literally yelling at each other over the table, and someone gets up and actually leaves the party over it. What the hell? If you really believe in your politics, and they’re not just fashion or a tool you use to try to make yourself look cooler or more enlightened, see if they still mean as much to you if you’re not allowed to tell anyone about them. Don’t ruin the party because you’re trying to impress a talk-radio jock that doesn’t even know you’re alive. Sex? Okay, I’m old-fashioned. Not going to talk about it. And, frankly, I don’t want to hear about it. In particular, if your significant other is also a friend of mine, I really don’t want to hear all the details of that thing you talked her into doing. Keep it in the bedroom. It’s supposed to be, like, #1 on the list of things that are meant to be personal. Medical? Well, that one’s not quite so big a thing to me. General questions, when it comes to my Dystrophy, for example, don’t bother me. I don’t mind talking about that at all (assuming you’re asking without a leer of morbid fascination, like you’re about to hear the details of a gory crime scene). Specific questions like, after I get back from the doctor, of “So what did the doctor say?” set off my “none of your business” reflex. That’s kind of between me and the doc.

4. Does it make sense?

I’m really big on logic. Things need to make sense to me. I had, in the past, a boss who really didn’t know what he was doing. But situations would come up with a customer and I’ve have to go to him. He’d give some answer to give them that, in his mind, closed the matter. But it didn’t. His answer, more often than not, made no sense. And he expected me to go get that person back on the phone and tell them this. How am I supposed to sell someone on something that doesn’t even make sense to ME? Logic is what separates us from the squirrels and the polar bears. Yes, we all have emotions, and that’s good. But we can’t let our emotions guide all our decisions. If what you’re doing doesn’t make sense, why are you doing it? If your religion doesn’t make sense, and has holes in its dogma big enough to drive a Hootie and the Blowfish tour bus through, how do you expect me to believe it? If this great new procedure being implemented in the company makes no sense, why are we implementing it, and can’t we just skip to the part where you realize it’s not going to work (because it doesn’t make sense) and not waste everyone’s time? Racism makes no sense. The Electoral College makes no sense. If it doesn’t make sense, then it is flawed, and it needs to be rethought and fixed.

5. Can I do anything about it? Then let’s move on.

This is sort of my “no regrets” philosophy, but in a less broad and more practical way. It’s taken me a long time to get to a place where I can ask myself, about something that’s happened or something I’ve done, “Is there anything I can do about it NOW?” If there’s not, then there’s no point in wasting energy agonizing over it. You learn the lesson it offers you and you move on to other things. I used to be a big wallower, reliving a thing that happened over and over, thinking of all the things I could have done differently, blah blah blah. You cannot change the past. You learn, and go keep on keepin’ on.

6. Tomorrow is, in fact, another day.

With age, thankfully, comes perspective. You’re able to look back at your life, and remember the times when you thought all hope was lost, and that your life was over, and realize that you’re now on the other side, years from that moment, and everything’s fine. So if badness happens again, chances are that soon, you’ll be looking back, again, wondering what you were so worried about. Life throws you some pretty nasty curves. I’ve had plenty. But I’m a firm believer that these things make you stronger, and build up your character, and make you a better person. You have to weather the storm and get on with living. Things will always get better, if you want them to and if you let them. We are in control of our lives and our emotions. Take the speed bumps. Keep driving. There’s an awfully nice view right up around the next corner.

7. Someone’s always got it worse.

So, yeah, I’m in a wheelchair. Guess what? It took me a lot of years to finally get into that wheelchair full-time. I had plenty of time to get used to the idea. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be leading a normal, healthy life, suddenly get t-boned by a truck, and wake up paralyzed. In that comparison, I have it easy. My father died back in ’91. I knew it was coming. It came faster than we all thought, came on suddenly, and it was still a shock. But I had two weeks basically living in that hospital to deal with what was coming. And I was able to be there with him when he went. I’m grateful for that. Why? Because so many other millions of people, just having an ordinary day, get a phone call that lets them know their loved one isn’t coming home, ever, because they had a heart attack at the train station. How does one deal with THAT grief, that kind of amputation of someone from your life with no warning? It chills me to imagine it. But it happens to people every day. And THOSE people, as hard as they have it, didn’t have to deal with long months of a loved one in immeasurable pain slowly being eaten away by cancer…a sadly common story in this day and age. I don’t want to deny people their emotions and their grief. They deserve them. But me, I always like to keep things in perspective. This helps me deal with my life and my problems, realizing that people who have things much worse have struggled and suffered and found a way to make it through. If they can do it, I’ve got no excuse to give up.

8. Robin Williams isn’t funny anymore.

Okay, that really doesn’t have anything to do with this list and doesn’t belong here, but someone had to say it out loud.

9. Cut to the chase.

If we know we're going to end up somewhere, let's just get there. Why waste time with complications and useless roadblocks? This is another work thing for me. If I know we're going to end up paying for something in the end, inevitably, I've got one or more people in management deciding to throw some steps in the way. Why? YOU know we're going to pay it, THEY know we're going to pay it, why are we going to make the situation worse by dragging it out unnecessarily? I'm a bottom line guy. I'll think something through, and if all paths lead to one place, I just want to go to that place. There's no need for sight-seeing along the way. Life's too short.

10. Comedy is life, as life is comedy.

You have GOT to find the humor in things. I generally do. Things may be darkly funny at times, but damnit, they’re still funny. That time I was trying to lower my wheelchair out of my van by hand (because the lift in the back was out…again) and the chair ended up yanking me bodily out of the van and onto the asphalt? Come on, that was funny! Okay, maybe just to me, but it was. The time my ex came to town to visit me for the first time since our breakup a year before, and ended up asking me to drive her to a blind date? That’s hilarious! That is such a screenplay moment waiting to happen. When I have to sometimes take a prop plane somewhere and therefore can’t get wheeled onto the plane in my chair, so they have a strap me to this “aisle chair” like Hannibal Lecter and carry and roll my ass in? Humiliating? Yes. Funny? HELL yes. The time the lady outside the supermarket tried to hand me a dollar because I was sitting there in a wheelchair so she assumed I must be a panhandler? That is GOLD! Life is FUNNY. You have to find the humor. Lighten up and have a laugh.

11. It’s never too late to start over.

This is a fairly recent addition to my rules list, but it’s an important one. It’s never too late to change your life. It can happen today, if you want it to. Past failures don’t matter. Feelings of inadequacy don’t matter. What other people think about you doesn’t matter. You are in control of your life. The hard part is realizing that and overcoming all the mental barriers. Doing something about it is actually the easier part. The world is filled with stories of people who decided to go back to school late in life, who decided to finally write that novel, who followed their dream after it failed them again and again, only to finally see it come to fruition. You can have a new life every single day. The past does not matter. It really doesn’t. Today is all that does. Each day we live is a 24-hour metaphor of life. We’re born as we wake and get out of bed. We go through struggles and challenges and adventures and surprises as the day goes by. And we lay ourselves down to sleep at the end of it. But unlike the bigger “life”, we get another one of these daily ones each time we wake. And what we do with it is all up to us. If the last one didn’t go so great? Here’s another chance when the alarm clock goes off. The distractions and complications of life can blind us to this fact, but we can take control any time we want and make our lives into what we want them to be. I believe that. Do I live that? Well, sometimes. But I’m working on it. As we all should. And if I don’t manage to pull it off today? See rule #6. Bet your bottom dollar.

Guess I’ll throw this tag to Summer. And if you decide to do it, other people just make a simple list. Yours doesn’t have to go into excessive explanation and example if you don’t want it to. That’s just me. Excessive is my business. That kind of thing IS my bag, baby.

And the Nominees Are...

Just wanted to shout out some family props! My cousin, Ryan Schnell, accomplished and rockin' local actor, got nominated for an Elly Award here in Sac for his performance in A Midsummer Night's Dream! The Elly awards are a local Sacramento thing, where SARTA (Sacramento Area Regional Theater Alliance) judges high schools, community colleges, universities and private acting theaters throughout the area each year. This year Ryan got the nod for Leading Actor, Adult: Young Person's Play. Actually, of the five nominees in the category, three of them were from Ryan's acting troupe - Take Note Troupe. Also, three of the actress nominations went to Take Note gals.

Winners were announced at a ceremony at the Crest Theater downtown on September 23rd, and while Ryan didn't take the award, the nomination cred is AWEsome. You know from previous posts how I feel about Shakespeare, and I'm sorry I missed out on seeing Ryan's performance this one. I'm just glad to see the continuing streak of creative talent in my family, and that we're representing in the arts (even low-brow ones like comic writing...okay, so I'm not the Shakespearian one in the family). Big congrats to Ryan for the well-deserved recognition from those in the know in Sacramento theater. They know rising stars when they see them. Obviously!

A Gift is a Wish Your Id Makes

Ok, COMPLETE coincidence here that I'm posting this 11 days before my birthday, I ASSURE you...

I just happened to be updating my wish list on Amazon and knocking some stuff off that I'd already bought in the year or so since I last checked the list. And while I use the list just for myself and to keep track of the things I plan to buy in the future, it occurred to me that the other reason to have such a list is that IF people are planning to buy you a gift, such a list would be helpful (assuming they wanted to get you something you really wanted...though some of the best gifts can be those it turns out you didn't KNOW you wanted...)...but only if people 1) knew you had such a list and 2) knew where to find it. So, seeing as how this is my official web page, I figured I might as well put the link up there in case someone gets stumped (that is for those people who don't know already to just buy me a good cigar and I'm happy...).

So in case you're ever wondering, you can go to:

My Amazon.com Wish List

...and see what I've got my eye on. This is, of course, just a public service. And an excellent way to show people what a giant nerd I am as well.

And if you don't have one for yourself, how about making MY life easier and going to Amazon and setting one up? If nothing else, it's lots of fun to window-shop and dream. And who knows? Maybe I might even get you something on your list if the occasion pops up. Which, by the way, is a good reason to keep your list updated, too. Of course, I'll probably still end up buying you a film or TV show that *I* think you need to see. Yes, I'm an entertainment control freak. I swear, it's all for your own good. So get one, and share it with your friends and family...especially those who continually buy you presents that, shall we say, leave you wanting (like wanting to know what the hell they were thinking...).

Occupational Maneuvers in the Dark

I tend to work overtime. It's the nature of my job. Plus, we have kind of a flexible schedule at my office, and where some people chose to come in at, say, 7:00am and be able to leave at 3:30pm, I prefer coming at at 9:00am and leaving at 5:30pm. But leaving at 5:30pm doesn't often happen.

I'll often be there until after 6:00pm, as will a small handful of others. The way my building is set up, the lights automatically turn off at 6:00pm. Not the power, of course, just the main overhead florescents that cover the whole ceiling there on the second floor. Outside, in the hall, is a dial on the wall, a timer switch for the lights. If this lights go off and you want them back on, you just go out there, twist the dial a bit, and light returns.

Now, me? I kind of like it when the lights go out. There's that initial shock (though it happens every day, I never remember that it's coming, since I'm usually deep into what I'm rushing to finish and don't really watch the time too closely), and suddenly, you're kind of sitting there in the dark. I say kind of because during the summer months (which we're mostly still in), it's still light outside, so it's not pitch black or anything. Plus, you've still got the light from both of your monitors (we use two in my line o' work) to illuminate your cubicle. And it's nice. You never really realize how much ambient noise those overhead lights crank out until they switch off in a flash (or in this case, the opposite of a flash). All of a sudden, it's quiet. And it's dark, with the harsh and oppressive lighting above gone. It's really quite peaceful, and soothing, and a nice relief. It changes my whole mood, odd as that seems. I let out a breath and relax. I'm suddenly calm, and I slow my internal engine down (which I'll then realize was really revving without my having taken notice). It's a much better environment to work in. And it makes the last hour (or more) of a long work day much nicer.

Or, it would...

See, of those who work 6:00pm and beyond, there are two camps. There are those like me who welcome the lights going away. And then, there are the stompers. I call them such because scant seconds after the blackout, you can hear one of them, from the other side of the floor (they seem to all be over there), come purposely stomping down the aisle, toward me, as my cubicle is right next to the door that leads to the hall where the dial switch is. They're stomping because they're miffed, and their feet are stamping this message out on the flat, thin carpet. They don't WANT to work in the dark. They want lights. And this (always) unexpected dropout has sent their already-stressed minds into a subtle rage at the inconvenience of having to leave what they're doing and go all the way to the switch to get their precious lights back.

So the "stomper" will come storming past me (I never see who it is, because my back is to the aisle that they march down with such purpose), throw open the door, and head for the switch. The door, by the by, is an added annoyance to them, as it shuts itself and locks, and you need to pull out and use your key card to get back in. The door shuts...I wince and wait. BOOM. The florescents don't flicker back on; they all burst to life at once. For a moment it's partially blinding, and gives me an inevitable mini-migraine that lasts for two or three heartbeats. Where there was serenity and quiet, suddenly the artificial corporate sun is back, back with its alien hum that's no longer just background noise since I'm now fully aware of it. For just that small period of time between the lights-out and the stomper's revenge, my office--the one I'd just spent so many hours stressed-out and frantic in--had been transformed into a gentler, kinder place. But with the angry twist of a dial, that evening's stomper yanked us all back into the same work day we'd just managed to get a break from. Pleasant change to business as usual, just like that.

The stomper will then use their card (the beep, sadly, sounds at the door, taking away my petty hope that maybe they left their card at their desk and had been locked out for their thoughtless actions), fling the door back open, and huff their way back to their desk. You can almost feel the aura of martyrdom in their self-righteous sigh, a sound that says oh no, no need to thank me. Someone had to step up and do what had to be done for the sake of all of us still working, and this selfless stomper sacrificed their own time and effort to bring us all back into the harsh light of office life.

Now I'm not the only one on the pro-dark side. A buddy of mine sits on the other side of my cubicle, and I know his feelings on this as well. When the darkness falls, I know we both sit motionless and wait, wait to see if the silence will remain, and we'll get our welcome reprieve, or if the footfalls of one of the light-huggers will start to sound. It's almost always the latter. And we both quietly mutter our displeasure at this as the stomp-stomp-stomp comes our way. We do it quietly because, really, how far gone do you really have to be, and how burned out, to actually complain about someone turning lights back on that were just on moments ago? We don't really have the high ground here, nor, obviously, the same level of emotion. Where we LIKE it when the lights are out, and think it's nice, we obviously don't feel as strongly about it as someone who thunders across the whole office in an indignant rage to bring them back. Not only would I feel very petty and silly for voicing my desires on this, but I might also want to worry about my personal safety. That stomper is obviously riding the ragged edge already. I really don't want to be the thing that pushes them over it and makes them snap. The janitors could find my body the next morning in the copy room with half a florescent tube jammed down my throat.

So, for just a handful of seconds, I know some peace at the end of my work day. And then it's snatched away, by someone who obviously had night-light issues as a child. I'm getting the idea that it's maybe a 50/50 split on the matter among those who do the overtime thing, but I may be wrong. Maybe just a couple of us appreciate and understand the need for a small oasis at the end of a long day's pilgrimage. Regardless, it seems we will ever be denied the full enjoyment, as long as there is a stomper waiting to take a stand and rage against the dying of the light. Shine on, you crazy diamonds. Shine on.