Dara and I held an interesting discussion last night regarding how differently peoples' brains process information.

Hers, for example, does. Mine, however...

It's an organisation thing, to be more precise. Dara tends to group and file things in her brain that are similar in literal senses, i.e., her proficency at language. It's as though there's a bin in her brain labelled "chair", and into that bin she dumps all the various words in different languages for chair. When she needs it, she dips her hand in and voila.

Wouldn't that be handy?

I tend to save thoughts in concepts and emotions, more sensory memories, which is why I can access dialogue to movies I haven't seen in years because it *entertained* me. If I wasn't attached to it somehow, it's deleted. Same as being able to pick up a sax and play a song I haven't played in 20 + years. Now memorizing subjects I can't relate to (diagramming a sentence was the example last night), too bad, but it's gone. But spelling, for some reason or another, spelling is vastly important to me (gee, have control issues much?), and I pretty much know when a word that I've physically spelled before is incorrect in it's spelling.

Fascinating, I realise, but your brain is a complex, mysterious, and slimy place.

Whew. What the hell happened on Thanksgiving? Shitted if I know, considering the 9 bottles of wine we drank and bottle and a half of scotch. Luckily, I haven't had a drop since then.

Rrrrright.

It was quite lovely to fill our home with friends from all different walks: I, Dara, Tard, Kate and Eric and Raleigh, Mike, and Danny pounded down the food as though it might have been our last chance to eat a bird that can't fly. And really, that's ridiculous, considering how much easier they are to catch than the flying variety. Maybe that's why we don't have raven for Thanksgiving.

Something else to be thankful for: We planted 8 shrubs in our yard! At last, it doesn't look like a nuclear blast leveled everything back there. Actually, it looks as though an atomic bomb was dropped and someone planted 8 shrubs, but at least we're out of the starting blocks.

What else? I'm feeling funky today - port wine last night, and that crap stays with you like herpes - so I'm grogged out. Barely have done a lick of work (thanks Troy, you prick bastard) and am watching the clock....tick........................................tock.

I tweaked my ankle on a trail run Saturday. It's not anything severe, but I might take off tomorrow from running as to not exasterbate it, although big dummy head here ran 6.5 miles on Sunday. I guess since it doesn't hurt any worse it's okay, so perhaps cutting down mileage during the week would be a pleasant act to do for my body.

Busy end o' the week:Thursday is the open house at IPSB, Friday I get the color in my tat, and Saturday Javiers installs the sprinkler heads.

Things that I am thankful for (note to self: Read this every day, dumbass):

Dara, Duncan, Paxton, 5708 Craner Ave, Mom, Dad, Renee, Tony, wind, rain, sunshine, mist, haze, mountains, greenery, scotch (the good shite), Leamy, Pat, this gray crap between my ears, another day, freedom (ha!), coffee, a fine cigar once in awhile, Todd, 49% of the U.S. population, Janet, Jill, Andrew, Daniel, Mark, musical notes, Henry Miller, Buk, John, Paul, George, Ringo, curiousity, warmth, cold, my morning runs, the need to not follow, the real, loving, caring God, possibility, dreams, hope, love, grass that's just a bit too long when I roll in it, my memories, artful tattoos, the journey thus far, wool sweaters, the need to wear wool sweaters, the miracle that we're anything at all on this floating ball in outer space.

Oh, and Chicago hot dogs. Gotta love 'em.

Peace - true peace, to all.

I'm paraphrasing a famous saying here, perhaps even slaughtering it, but it goes...a little something...like this...

Those who truly possess power are willing to share it.

In so many ways, this applies to my life at this here moment. My boss, my president, neither of them ever admit that they've made a mistake.

Case in point: Yesterday, ye olde cryptkeeper - er, my boss - accused me in an email (sent to everyone) of not taking down one of his notes in an edit session. Subsequently, a shot wasn't inserted in a cut of the show, MTV asked for it, but it was too late. His accusation: "Didn't you notate my saying that shot needs to be included?" After asking the other FOUR people in the edit bay if they'd heard that note and receiving resounding "nos" from each of them, I wrote him back, CCing everyone, stating, "Sorry that note was missed, but no one in the room remembers hearing you give it."

Zing! ooooh, sna-zap!

to which dragon face - er, cryptkeeper - replies, "It makes no sens (sic) that no one heard it."

You know, you're right. It doesn't make ANY sense, you nitwit, because YOU DIDN'T GIVE IT. Admit you're wrong, accept responsibility, and move on. Simple, effortless, HUMAN. I wonder if he'd speak to me face to face in the same tone. Something tells me no, not the case. I envision a lot of crying on his part, a sniffle, the insertion of a bit into his mouth, a saddle tossed across his back, and me holding on for dear life for 8 seconds.

I just got an email from Dara that she got a promotion to ATD on next year's Disney release "Wilbur Robinson"! She's scurried her way up the corporate rope ladder more quickly than "I've fallen and I can't get up" wound up on t shirts.

I, on the other hand, am sitting at my desk, waiting for my tool-of-a-boss to shuffle his pock-marked ass in here so we can view an episode of Bam. I then will be allowed to listen to his asinine and frankly retarded suggestions, nod my head, pull out a gun, and blow my fucking brains across the edit bay walls. Then he will dance about my corpse like a monkey who's just learned the conjugation of 5 verbs and is blessed to own his own company and fuck his assistant who has been promoted to my the position of my immediate superior.

Not that I'm complaining. After all, we did get our sprinkers installed this weekend, at long last. Yahoo!

AHA! I got you!

I am of course referring to that nasty little bugger called "the possibility of a career switch", something that has evaded me lo these past four years. Never once had it dawned on me how much interest I have in sports massage therapy. I mean, I love muscles (gee, what gal doesn't?), really enjoy making others feel better, and also have this weird energy thing, this electricity, that fucks up nearly every electric appliance I get my hands on. Seriously now, in the past five years, I've burned out three hard drives, one to the point of having to just trash the whole computer, one Ipod to the point that Apple just sent me a replacement, our CD player is completely insane, and tons of others. Gee, you think that might be useful in the hands-on arena of massage?

I don't know. I mean, it really is the beginning kernel of an adventure, but it's the first career option I've though about that excites me. Wow, a day without watching footage, without cow-towing to non-visionary idiots; wonder what that would be like? Instead of damning people to a lazier and fatter and more stupid existence, helping people feel better and more centered. Plus, it would be something I could take overseas, if ya know what I mean, wink wink, nudge nudge.

Who knew?

Moby on his online journal said that he believes Americans are happier to hear comfortable lies over uncomfortable truths. How sadly true. One of the biggest lies was post 9/11 when Douche - er - Bush said that we will defeat the evildoers and terror itself. It's what people wanted to hear, albeit an impossibility: I mean, how do you defeat a concept?

"We will defeat jealousy."

"We will conquer ennui."

"Someday, we hope to overcome justice."

I have on my George Bush "SCAM" shirt today, and I hope to incite inflammatory remarks, because I've penned a stock response I'm fairly happy with. In the likely event someone says something negative, I'll bark back, "I have to deal with that dickhead as president for the next four years. I think you can put up with a t shirt."

Oooooh - snap!

On a less somber note, we saw The Incredibles at the Disney lot yesterday and WOW, whatta flick. It had everything a major motion picture should have; plot, characters, a slick look, raucous laughs, and it's a cartoon. Great fun and inspiring to boot. I give it two enthusiatic butts up.

Ha ha ha. This is too funny to ignore:

http://www.theonion.com/news/index.php?issue=4045

Thought: Why is Michael Moore skewered for his so-called radical political stances and Bill O'Reilly is considered entertaining to conservatives? I, personally, find very little entertaining about anyone whose face shows up on my tv, but truly, at least Michael Moore does *something* instead of bitching and griping. So what makes O'Relly a scathing viewpoint of broadcast genius and Moore a whiner?

Yesterday, for the first time since the Reagan/Bush v. 1 years ::shudder::, I read a conservative quote about "liberal whiners who would be willing to die for their beliefs". It nearly made me crawl out of my skin. What do you call the countless, faceless names of soldiers getting blown to shreds in Iraq? Somehow, in modern America, blind patriotism is more heroic than standing up for a cause; it's more honorable to grab a gun and kill a stranger because some cigar-chewing Senator says so than to hold up a sign in protest because you read, researched, calculated, and finally came to a conclusion that you don't believe something is right.

So guns = good, thinking = bad. Got it.

Thing is, you don't need a license to think.

Ha ha ha. This is too funny to ignore:

http://www.theonion.com/news/index.php?issue=4045

Thought: Why is Michael Moore skewered for his so-called radical political stances and Bill O'Reilly is considered entertaining to conservatives? I, personally, find very little entertaining about anyone whose face shows up on my tv, but truly, at least Michael Moore does *something* instead of bitching and griping. So what makes O'Relly a scathing viewpoint of broadcast genius and Moore a whiner?

Yesterday, for the first time since the Reagan/Bush v. 1 years ::shudder::, I read a conservative quote about "liberal whiners who would be willing to die for their beliefs". It nearly made me crawl out of my skin. What do you call the countless, faceless names of soldiers getting blown to shreds in Iraq? Somehow, in modern America, blind patriotism is more heroic than standing up for a cause; it's more honorable to grab a gun and kill a stranger because some cigar-chewing Senator says so than to hold up a sign in protest because you read, researched, calculated, and finally came to a conclusion that you don't believe something is right.

So guns = good, thinking = bad. Got it.

Thing is, you don't need a license to think.

Below is from the Village Voice today:

"Does anyone else find it eerie that the terrorists who want to bury America shout "God is great!" as they blow up American soldiers in Iraq, and the American president shouts "God is great!" right back at them?"

This put into words what I've been mulling over since 9/11: WHO are the "bad guys", Georgey, you separatist fucko?

My words, as you see, aren't quite as elegant.

When I came in from my morning run yesterday, Dara was at the computer with a web page pulled up that read "Get me outta here!". It's a site that deals with emmigration from the U.S.. Now it's not that we want to run away from the problem, which isn't ever healthy, it's the fear that we won't have the choice to in the very near future, which is even unhealthier. Think Poland 'round 1937; herding up the "heathens" (liberals) and "converting them" (work houses), the biggest problem being that these days, George W. can stand up at a podium, pointing his thumb in that politician-way, and say, "Everyone can choose their own religion - it's what makes America great" and with the other hand sign bills and laws that bend our rights oh so slightly and slowly towards the fanatical religious right.

You know, soon will be gone the days of the liberal outcry of: "I love America, but this isn't what our founding fathers imagined, and I want to return it to that". My fear is that many a person will thumb their nose at this socio-political experiment and take off for greener shores.

Like us.

On my run this morning, a weird little visitor came into my brain: Hope. Foolishly perhaps, I started to wonder *how* conservative GW really is - was it a ploy to win the election? I mean, yes, he's a douchebag, but is said douchebag half empty or half full? Then, lo and behold, I kick-start the old internet this morning to find that Dubs (yeah, we're tight like that) is mulling over legalizing illegal aliens. I imagine there's some sorta subtext to his actions, but in my dying, black little heart, there's that diminutive bitch Hope whispering, "See?"

Let's face it as well: No other president in recent history has had a better chance of legalizing cocaine. At least in D.C.

The weather in L.A. today rocks my ass: Cloudy, cool, nothing like 98% of the sunny and 85 degree monotany we normally get. Makes me look forward to gettign home, cranking up the latest from Tom Waits (Real Gone = REAL GOOD), corking some red wine and sucking in the crisp, night air, maybe alongside the smoke from a Padron 3000.

Remember being 23? If you can't recall those golden days of yesteryear, well, I hate to break it to ya, but there's a pretty good chance you didn't know when to shut up and thought you had it all pretty much figured out. God, I pity the folk who knew me then and can't believe my wife didn't murder me in my sleep. Then there was that rude awakening, around 25, when you realized everything you had learned might not be the right thing, and just because you liked something didn't mean the rest of the planet should share that same view. That was like taking a colossal dump; so much weight lifted, although I did freak out for about 6 months upon reaching that realization.

I've really grown to love my thirties, and from what I hear, your forties are even better. Hopefully I'll make it to them.

You know, love's pretty damned grand, as the saying doesn't go. This weekend a friend of mine got hitched and for the first time, I was a groomsman! That's right, I got to hang out in the groom's room beforehand and watch my buddy pace and sweat, carry on drunkenly and stupidly at the amazing Ebell in Los Angeles, and dance like a retard to Dixieland and traditional Irish music.

The ceremony itself was all of 10 minutes, officiated by Simpsons writer/comic Dana Gould, and it was touching, true, and outwright hi-rarious. "Marriage is a noun, but it's also a verb, as it is an ongoing process," he said during the vows, and how true it is. You have to embrace the work that it takes to be married, and I really feel as though a lot of people miss that very point: It can exhaust, frustrate, weaken, and sometimes break you, but the results of working at it open up a world of love.

God, I wish Dara was here right now.

If anything, this posting on a daily basis is keeping me writing regularly. Like digital fiber, I am regulated.

I'm realizing that I'm not a conspiracy nut because of this past election. Apparently, there are all sorts of "below the radar facts" that are being tossed about how the election was rigged, Kerry should have demanded a recount, why did he concede so quickly, et al, but I don't see th eneed for it. And I am truly bummed that I'm not driven by the thought of a conspiracy happening. I mean, how much cooler was Mulder than Scully?

No, friends, I don't think the election waas rigged, I don't believe that UFOs abduct cows and probe them, I don't think the Pepsi Challenge is fixed...okay, that's an exagerration.

Just returned from an AWESOME trail run up in Topanga Canyon and munching on a sandwich and chips and maybe even a beer (gasp!). Maybe it was navigating the rough terrain, the clean, smog free, air, or those strange looking mushrooms I picked and ate, but I"m not as down in the dumps as I was this morning about the election.

OH DON'T GET ME WRONG - THIS SUCKS BIG TIME, but I think I've grown out of disbelief and am rambling slowly towards acceptance. Accept it: 59 million people are fucking idiots, accept it: the government presiding over this great land SUCK$, and now, we gotsta do what we can to live our lives, love, and resist the regime. The smart, creative contingence who voted Kerry can't just rest on our laurels. We have to get active.

Dara and I talked for about an hour on this this morning, and I can't say enough how thankful I am to have a spouse who gets it in the same way that I do. In her words before she jumped in her car for work, "If I had to live under an oppressive regime with anyone, I'd want it to be you." Aww. Who says romance is dead?

Saddened. In disbelief. Frightened. Angered. Mortified. Stymied. Dissapointed. Freaked fucking out.

George W. Bush and his Republican regime have bought another 4 years in power.

The hopelessness is deeper than anything I've ever felt. The disbelief in my soul that 51% of my fellow American are fucking idiots. It hurts me that now, not only do we live in a sovereignty led by a born again Christian extremist, but more than 1/2 of the population supports that.

Let the drinking commence until 2008....

God help us all.

It's election eve, and here I sit, with what will be my first in a series of glasses of red wine. It's not looking good for Johnny boy. Bush has 195 electoral votes, JK only 112, and the remaining states are belonging to the Tyrant - er - our Commander in Chief.

I will allow myself to feel sorrow, be depressed, and work through this, but when my eyes do finally peek above the dark seas, there will emerge a more motivated, more determined adversary to Totalitarianism and the Monarchy.

As Obi Wan said, and I paraphrase: "If you strike me down, I will become more powerful than you possibly imagine."

Whoa. I just realized Lucas was paraphrasing Ghandi's, "What does not kill me only makes me stronger."

What a tool.

UPDATE: It's been roughly an hour since I posted the original message (and another glass of wine), and Kerry is still down, my hopes dwindling. Unfortunately, now I am completely angered, sickened, distrought and ambivalent towards the Americans who would dare cast a vote for George W. Bush. What could possibly be running through your minds? We can't look "weak" to our "adversaries" in a time of war? Who exactly are we fighting? We defeated Saddam Hussein - to put it in laymen's terms, if we'd been invaded by a more powerful army and George Bush was found hiding in a hole (a likely place to find a snake), what else could be done? Your army would be up against the true believers in the old regime. So now what? Kepp hacking away at the underbrush until you defeat all of the Republican rebels? When do you know you're done then? How about until you kill 100,000 + innocent Chicagoans in your smart bombing campaigns. Done yet? No? NOW WHAT DOUCHEBAG?

Fuck. Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck.